Tash had always been told he was perfectly and completely useless.
‘Perfectly and completely useless,’ his father would say, in a voice that was an instrument for making absolutely clear statements of mathematically precise fact. His brothers would nod their heads solemnly in agreement, and his sisters and mothers would creak wheezily from their alcoves to show that they also agreed that Tash was perfectly and completely useless.
Tash would bow his head and let his arms droop, as if to agree that what his father said was true.
‘And yet,’ Tash would think to himself, ‘I am not useless at all.’ And he would daydream of what he would do one day to prove to everyone that he was not perfectly and completely useless and lose track of what his father was saying.
It is not my intention to excuse anything Tash did or didn’t do on the grounds that he had an unpleasant childhood. I am not telling you this so that you will feel sorry for him, or so you can psychoanalyse him. It is only that if Tash hadn’t had an unpleasant childhood, he would have gone on to live a very ordinary life like his brothers and would not come into this story at all.
For the first four years of his life no one said a kind word to Tash. Four years among the thalarka is about the same as fifteen or sixteen of our years, for the world of the thalarka rolls sluggishly around their great green marrow-fat pea of a sun. In all that time no one told Tash that he was anything other than perfectly and completely useless.
In point of fact, he was useless. To live in the Plain of Ua requires stamina, to work all day in the endless fields of mud: planting grith, and fertilising grith, and weeding grith, and warding off the beasts of mire and mist that are eager to eat the tender young grith plants, and harvesting the spindly fruit of the grith that must be picked in darkness and husked and pickled the same night it is picked so it will not spoil. Tash was weak, and could not do any of these things for more than half an hour at a stretch. Furthermore, he was sickly, and was forever getting fevers that made him no good for any work at all for days on end. Worse, he was impatient and easily distracted, and long before he was too weak to work he would usually have wandered off to tease some many-legged crawling thing with a bit of stick, or make little dams and canals in the mud with the hoe he was supposed to be weeding with. And he was clumsy: he would trample the little grith plants, and pull them up instead of the weeds, and at harvest time he would get bits of husk in the pickling pot, and drop fruit in the mud, and stab his fingers on the prickly parts of the fruit so that they swelled up and were perfectly and completely useless for any more husking.
Once in each long year of the thalarka was the festival of Quambu Vashan, which was held in the city where the Procurator of the Overlord had her alcove, some days journey away on the edge of the Plain of Ua. There was always great feasting at the time of the festival of Quambu Vashan, and acrobats and clowns, though only old Raaku of all the villagers had ever seen them.
Two or three times a year the rain would stop and the sun would peer down through a canyon in the clouds. Then the thalarka in the fields would down tools and try not to look up at the great green marrow-fat pea of the sun and mutter proverbs. Tash would always look up at the sunlit sides of the canyons of cloud- which were almost too bright to see- and dream of what it must be like to be up there.
Eight times a year was the frenzy of the harvest, and after the harvest came the feasting, and after the feasting the coming of the Overlord’s tax collectors, to carry off rather a lot of the pickled grith that was left over from the feasting.
Two or three hundred times a year there would be some sort of holiday to break the round of working in the fields, with the proper dates for each holiday kept in order by the priests. There would be dancing in figures, and wagers on fights between caged mire beasts that were things like hairless weasels, and the priests would usually sacrifice something and make patterns on the walls of the priest-house with dripping bits from its inside.
Every day it rained.
The plain of Ua was a plain of grey mud, and the skies were of grey cloud, and the stick-like grith were grey, and the huts of the thalarka were grey. The thalarka themselves were also grey. The huts of the thalarka were dry inside with a fitful clammy dryness, in which lamps burned only with a feeble bluish flame. Tash thought fire was splendid, since it was not grey. That was how he managed to burn one of his hands rather badly just before the harvest. At this particular harvest he was needed more than usual, since his two oldest brothers had been married off into other villages since the harvest before, but because of his injury he ended up being even less useful than usual.
This was not long before the festival of Quambu Vashan. Besides clowns and acrobats, great numbers of sacrifices of a particular kind were always required at this festival, so it was the custom of the tax collectors of the Overlord to demand from each village they visited at the harvest an appropriate sacrifice. This would not be important if it were not that the sacrifices required for the festival of Quambu Vashan were thalarka of about four years of age. It was required that they have all their limbs intact, and have no obvious serious blemishes, but otherwise it was all the same to the Overlord whether they were useless or not. This part of the festival did not feature in Raaku’s stories, and the older thalarka of the village tended not to discuss it in the presence of younger ones.
‘We should give Tash to the tax collectors for sacrifice at the festival of Quambu Vashan,’ said Tash’s father to his mothers one night. ‘For he is perfectly and completely useless for anything else.’
A family that freely gave the sacrifice for the festival of Quambu Vashan would be noted on the books of the tax collectors and not be called upon to give another for a generation, during which time more useful members of the family suitable for sacrifice would be spared to work in the fields. It was also the custom in Tash’s village for the families who had not given a son or daughter to the tax collectors to bring presents to the family that had, and speak approvingly of them, so Tash’s father’s suggestion was quite a good one. It is only fair on Tash’s mothers to report that they did not croak their agreement immediately, not until Tash’s father had reminded them of these things.
So after the harvest when the tax collectors of the Overlord came to the village Tash was sent off with them.
‘You are being apprenticed to the tax collectors,’ Tash’s father told him. ‘You will leave with them when they have finished lunch.’
Tash did not realise why he had been sent off until he had been travelling the rest of that day with the tax collectors. He had spent most of the afternoon staring up at the roiling patterns of the clouds, imagining that they had hidden meanings. They were like secret symbols from a mysterious power in the sky sending orders to its minions in the mire, in a tremendously complicated language that never said exactly the same thing twice. The tax collectors had already collected four other young thalarka for the festival of Quambu Vashan. Three of them were girls, and Tash could not understand their speech – it was another part of Tash’s uselessness that he had a bad ear for women’s language – and the fourth was a boy. He was slow-witted and smaller than Tash, but he had paid more attention to the world around him.
‘Where do you think we will stop?’ said Tash as it started to get dark, meaning ‘where are we going to stop tonight’, but the slow-witted one took him at his word and said, ‘At the festival’.
‘Why did you say, ‘at the festival’?’ said Tash, since he was bored and couldn’t think of anything better to do than quibble with the slow-witted boy. ‘Why not say we’re going to the city of the Overlord’s Procurator?’
‘I don’t understand,’ said the slow-witted boy. He hung his head and drooped his arms in exactly the same way Tash had always done when his father told him how useless he was.
‘So, what does the festival have to do with it?’ said Tash impatiently.
‘I’m going to be a sacrifice at the festival,’ said the slow-witted boy. He said it in the same way that Tash’s brothers would say things like ‘I’m going to weed the south-eastern corner of the field today’.
Tash looked around at the others and thought that the tax collectors had treated all five of them in exactly the same way since they had left the village. Here they were, all walking in a line through the mud. And he realised that his father had very probably lied to him, and that he was going to be a sacrifice as well. For a while he could say nothing at all.
‘I seem to be in terrible trouble,’ Tash thought.
Over the next few days of tramping across the Plain of Ua Tash tried to escape many times, but the tax collectors were experienced collectors of sacrifices, and he had no luck. They went through nine more villages and collected nine more sacrifices for the festival of Quambu Vashan. Five of these were boys, and they were all slow-witted except for Zish, who was contrary.
‘I was opposed to the ways of the village because they were brutish and stupid,’ said Zish, in a way Tash had never heard before, that was bitter and mirthful at the same time, as if it pleased Zish more than anything to call the ways of his village brutish and stupid. ‘So I’m to be sacrificed now,’ he went on. ‘At least my blood will be of some use to the Overlord Varkarian, if it is of no further use to me.’
‘I’m sure there is some way to escape,’ said Tash. ‘If we work together’-
‘There is no way to escape,’ said Zish in his bitter mirthful way. ‘This is our destiny, Valgur’ – he had confused Tash with one of the other boys, whose name was Valgur, and took no notice of Tash’s efforts to correct him – ‘to serve the Overlord by being sacrifices at the festival of Quambu Vashan. Our destiny is inexorable. Our destiny is irresistible.’
Tash stopped listening to Zish as he talked more about inexorable destiny and the usefulness of being sacrificed. Tash was not sure whether this was what Zish really believed or not. Perhaps he did not know himself whether he believed it or not. Sometimes Zish talked in such a way that Tash thought he must be mad, and sometimes Zish told Tash that he was mad.
‘I have said the same thing to you a dozen times, Valgur, and you haven’t said a word back, just gone on staring at the clouds,’ said Zish. ‘You must be mad. It is no wonder you are only fit to be sacrificed.’
At any rate Zish was too contrary to be in any way helpful to Tash.
If he had not known he was going to be sacrificed at the end of it Tash would have had a lovely time. The long hours of walking were dreadfully wearying at first, but he felt himself growing stronger each day, and the sacrifices were fed twice a day with the freshly pickled grith the tax collectors had gathered, which was more and nicer food than Tash had eaten before. Each day he saw new villages, with new and different temples, and new fields cut into different shapes, and great coiling worms of rivers, and broad lakes spotted with rafts, and companies of spear-men and javelin-women marching on the highroads, their armour as silvery-grey as the lakes and spotted with metal spikes instead of rafts. He had seen nothing but his village and the fields immediately around it for his whole life and found he quite liked travelling.
At the edge of the Procurator’s city Tash’s party met up with several other parties of tax collectors. All the sacrifices were collected together and tied in a long chain to keep them tidy, ankle to ankle and wrist to wrist, and in this way they all shuffled together into the Procurator’s city. This city was made of grey stone, huts and palaces alike, and they were scattered together in no particular order over the plain, at first with plenty of space between them but then closer and closer together until they almost blocked out the clouds.
‘Do not let the splendour of this place fool you, Valgur,’ said Zish. ‘Here, too, the ways of the common people are brutish and stupid. But we are irresistibly called to a higher destiny. Inexorably!’
In the middle of the city was the Tower of the Procurator of the Overlord, ten or twelve times higher than any other built thing Tash had ever seen. It was carved on every side with images of mist-beasts and mire-beasts and thalarka, all larger than life, and all making gestures of obeisance to the sigil of the Overlord Varkarian, which was at the top of the tower and was worked in huge blue stones like fire.
‘Sweeter than narbul venom is it to serve the Overlord,’ intoned the most senior of the tax collectors, when the party could first see this sigil in blue stones like fire. All the more junior tax collectors dutifully intoned in unison that it was sweeter than narbul venom to serve the Overlord, and so did the long line of sacrifices. Strictly speaking Tash had no idea whether this was true or not, having never tasted narbul venom nor anything other than grith. But he intoned along with the others. They only had a few moments to look at the tower. Tash would have stared longer, but was dragged along as he was chained to everyone else. Then they were steered through a big black door and down a long ramp which stretched down into a chamber somewhere underneath the tower. The ramp ended somewhere in the middle of the chamber, which stretched off into darkness on every side, over-warm and evil-smelling. Some dozens of boys and girls for the sacrifice were there already, chained to posts set in the floor in groups of six or seven. On top of these posts there were lanterns, and every post that had thalarka chained to it had its lantern lit, with a dancing flame that was more green than blue. Tash’s long line of sacrifices was split up into groups of six or seven and chained to posts, and at the same time the lanterns on top of the post were lit. But there were still many many more empty posts with unlit lanterns.
The chamber was drier than any place Tash had ever been. You or I would have found this its one redeeming feature, but to Tash it was unnerving. The dryness hurt his ears and made his throat itch.
The thalarka who lit the lanterns was an old priest woman, bent over like a grith plant that has grown in too dark a shadow, and she lit the lanterns with a thin silvery stick longer than she was tall. Tash found the lighting of the lanterns very interesting and wondered if the old priest stayed down in the chamber all the time, waiting for a reason to light the lanterns, or if she went somewhere else. She seemed so completely a creature of the dark chamber that Tash could not imagine her being anywhere else. Tash ended up chained with a group of dim-witted boys around one of the pillars at the edge of the darkness.
As soon as all the sacrifices were properly chained a group of younger priests handed out something to eat that was not grith. They were cakes of something very much nicer than grith, though I dare say you or I would still have found them very nasty, and Tash devoured his greedily. So did all the others. When they had finished eating two more priests in more resplendent garments – still mostly grey, but shiny – came and gave speeches, one in male language and one in female language.
The speech that Tash heard went something like this:
‘Welcome in the name of the Overlord Varkarian. Truly it is sweeter than narbul venom, and more pleasant than the song of horn and cymbal, to serve the Overlord Varkarian. Truly are you favoured, for through your sacrifice the Overlord will be glorified. Truly will your sacrifice bring the inscrutable designs of the Overlord closer to their inexorable fruition. Though you may have been useless until this moment, very soon you will attain to a destiny greater than that of many a skilled spear-man or artifex. The part you play in the designs of the Overlord is a very great one.’
There was much more like this and Tash soon stopped paying attention to it. He was more interested in the costumes of the priests than in what they were saying. Their chest pieces were particularly splendid, much more splendid than the chestpieces the priests of his village wore when they sacrificed mire beasts. They were set with such marvellous stones, blue and green and other colours he could not name, and shone delightfully in the lanternlight.
The priest explained while Tash was not listening that they would be given things to eat as nice as the cakes, or nicer, for the next few days until the festival, and that they would be taken out in batches and cleaned and ornamented before the ceremony, and then again that theirs was a rare and glorious destiny.
Because he was not listening Tash was taken by surprise to be taken out and scrubbed and plastered with some sort of oil and hung with jangling bits of fine chain. The only good thing about the oil was that it made it quite impossible to tell how evil-smelling the chamber was. The smell of the oil stung and tickled and burned and it was almost impossible to think of anything else when you had been plastered with it.
‘What’s that you’ve done to your hand, lad?’ asked the young priest who was seeing to the oiling of the sacrifices. ‘Burnt it, eh?’ The young priest found this amusing. ‘Well, mind you keep it away from the lanterns now. Stick one little finger in the fire and you’ll be sizzled to a crisp in an instant, with that oil on you.’
Tash took respectful note of this advice.
Tash had been chained to a post on the other side of the ramp from Zish, and the dim-witted boys who were chained with him were too dim-witted to be any use talking to. He spent the night peering out into the further reaches of the chamber, wondering what was there and thinking of all the marvellous things he had seen in the last few days and what a pity it was that he would be sacrificed in a few more days. The sacrifices around him shuffled and wheezed and jangled in their sleep and the smell of the oil hung thick and heavy in the air. No one came and turned down the lanterns, but they seemed to dim of their own accord, and burnt with feeble flames that were greenish-grey, if such a flame were possible.
Tash found it impossible to get free of his chains. Even if he had, it would surely have been impossible for him to have forced his way through the heavy doors, past the watchers beyond, and made his way to somewhere safe.
‘It seems such a waste, when the world is so big and interesting, to be ending so soon,’ he thought to himself. And a black mood took him and he thought to himself: ‘Perhaps I am useless after all’.
Aronoke was left by himself with a deluge of disturbing thoughts to contend with. How could Ashquash be drugged? How could anyone do such a thing to her, here in the middle of the Jedi temple? Why would anyone want to?
And then the truth hit him. It was a punishment. Not a punishment for Ashquash, most likely, but a punishment for him. He had reported the strange message, reported all the odd things on his datapad. Ashquash was his friend and had been attacked in order to convince him that this was not a good idea.
He slept little for the rest of the night; would have liked to go running, but knew that was not wise. That Razzak Mintula would not have liked him to go alone, not just then. So he meditated instead. After a long time he was able to calm his thoughts enough to fall asleep.
He awoke quite late the next morning, but Ashquash was still not there. Razzak Mintula was not there either. Mintaka, the instructor who sometimes stood in for her was there instead.
“Razzak Mintula will not be here today,” Mintaka announced at the start of their first lesson. “She was up very late tending to Ashquash, who is sick. Ashquash has been taken to the medical bay, and she is fine, but she will not be back for a few days.”
Aronoke could feel the weight of Draken’s eyes and knew that Draken wanted to ask him all sorts of questions, but he refused to meet the other boy’s eye and firmly concentrated on his lessons.
“What happened to Ashquash?” Draken asked as soon as they went off to the refectory for the midday meal. “She seemed fine yesterday.”
“I don’t know,” said Aronoke. “She woke me up in the middle of the night, and Razzak Mintula took her to the sick bay. That’s all.”
“Oh.”
Aronoke did not want to tell Draken about Ashquash being drugged. Draken was his friend, but inclined to gossip with people from other clans. Aronoke thought that if he were Ashquash, he would feel ashamed and wouldn’t want the real story spread about.
But a few days later it became apparent to everyone that there was more to the story than merely Ashquash falling ill. Razzak Mintula was back by then and had reassured Aronoke that Ashquash was fine and was being decontaminated. Aronoke sensed that she was angry that something like this could happen to a student in her care. He felt the same sort of powerlessness himself.
“Today our schedule will be a little different from usual,” said Razzak Mintula as they gathered in the clan room after breakfast. “We will be having our first session in here today, so it will almost be like a kind of holiday. An investigator will be coming to ask some questions about Ashquash. He will want to know if you noticed anything the day before she was sick, because there is some concern that it might have been done on purpose.”
“On purpose?” asked Draken, his voice rising in his surprise. “Ashquash was poisoned?”
“That’s bad,” said Andraia, one of the smaller humans. “I don’t want to be poisoned!”
“It is bad,” said Razzak Mintula. “But you don’t need to worry. There is no reason to think that any of you will be poisoned, but you must be sure to answer the investigator’s questions carefully.”
“Yes, Instructor Mintula.”
When the investigator arrived, he was a man who looked largely human except for his skin, which was marked like that of a spotted cathar. He was accompanied by four droids and Aronoke wondered why he needed so many of them.
“This is Investigator Rythis,” said Razzak Mintula to Clan Herf, who sat cross-legged on the floor. “He has set up his office in our usual classroom, and will want to ask you all some questions, as we have previously discussed.” Even while she spoke, three of the droids began cruising about Clan Herf’s rooms, scanning everything.
The investigator was a dour looking man for a Jedi, Aronoke thought. Either he was of a naturally sombre disposition, or he was not pleased at having to interview a bunch of initiates. Perhaps though, to be fair, thought Aronoke, the Investigator judged the situation was serious enough to warrant such an attitude.
“This is a serious matter,” said the Investigator sternly. “I intend to determine how your clan-mate Ashquash was drugged, so we can find out who is ultimately responsible. I will take you one at a time to ask you questions. I want to know if you noticed anything unusual about Ashquash or anything else, so you should think about that while you are waiting for your turn.”
The way he spoke was very intimidating, and Aronoke noticed several of the smaller clan members edging closer to their fellows.
“Which one of you is Initiate Aronoke?” asked the Investigator. “I would like to speak to him first.”
He pronounced Aronoke’s name wrong, which hadn’t happened in some time.
“I’m Aronoke,” said Aronoke, by means of correction as he climbed to his feet. He met the man’s intense gaze steadily. This was just a Jedi investigator, here to help Ashquash, and Aronoke hadn’t done anything wrong. Besides, he wasn’t anywhere near as frightening as Careful Kras, and Aronoke was determined to show the smaller ones that they need not be afraid.
“Come this way,” said the Investigator, gesturing towards the door that led outside.
“Yes, Investigator,” Aronoke said.
He followed the man across the hall into the classroom on the other side of the hallway.
“You are Ashquash’s room mate?” asked the Investigator, and Aronoke agreed that this was so. “This whole situation seems somewhat irregular,” grumbled the investigator disapprovingly, and Aronoke wondered what he meant. Because Ashquash was a girl? Because they were different species? Because both he and Ashquash had unusual backgrounds and had come late to the Jedi Temple?
The Investigator did not explain himself, but lots of questions followed, concerning what had happened the night Ashquash was drugged. Aronoke did his best to answer all of them. How had Ashquash woken him up? Had she ever done so before? Did she usually touch him like she had when she had shaken him? How did she usually behave around him? What sort of sparring did they do? Did they ever go sparring together alone? Did they go out in the middle of the night?
Aronoke began wondering if initiates did all these strange sorts of things more often than he realised. He also found himself questioning exactly what it was the investigator was investigating.
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to drug Ashquash?” the investigator asked.
“I thought it might be part of the unusual things that sometimes happen to me,” said Aronoke hesitantly. “I thought it might be a punishment, because I did not do what the message in one of them told me to do, because I knew it was wrong.”
“Unusual things?” asked the investigator. “What message?”
Aronoke was surprised, thinking that the investigator would have known about all that.
“I reported all of them, either to Master Insa-tolsa, or Master Altus, or Razzak Mintula,” he said. “Unusual things happen to me sometimes. Someone is trying to manipulate me. I thought what happened to Ashquash might be a punishment because I refused to do as I was directed.”
“These incidents will have to be recovered from any reports that were made by your superiors,” said Investigator Rythis primly, his fingers flickering over his datapad. He seemed annoyed with Aronoke, like this information was not helpful at all.
Aronoke shrugged. He tried to explain everything in detail, but by the end of it he still felt that the investigator was not pleased with him. Whether the investigator had expected to find a connection between Aronoke and the drugging, or thought Aronoke was purposefully concealing things was not obvious.
“What was it like?” Draken asked, he face alight with anticipatory relish, when Aronoke returned. “Was he scary?”
“No, not really,” said Aronoke calmly. “He just asked me lots of questions.”
“What about the droids? They didn’t torture you did they?”
“No, of course not!” said Aronoke. “There was one taking notes. The others seemed to be off scanning things.”
Draken was caught between relief and disappointment.
“He can’t be much of an Investigator then,” he muttered, “if he’s not as scary as he seems. Really it’s an affront to Ashquash to send somebody so tame. How can he be a proper investigator?”
“You can’t have it both ways you know,” pointed out Aronoke. “It’s either scary and then you’ll be scared because he’ll probably want to talk to you next, or it’s not scary and it’s boring.”
“Hm, I guess,” said Draken, unconvinced.
The investigation did not result in any great revelation that Aronoke ever learned of. No culprit was brought to justice, although eventually it was revealed that Ashquash’s toiletries had been tampered with, and that this was how the drug had been administered. Aronoke looked at his own toiletries with new distaste. He had never been fond of them – the water was bad enough by itself – and now he was even less inclined to use them.
It was difficult to relax and be calm after that. He felt angry and unsettled. More and more it seemed that what had happened to Ashquash was his fault, if only indirectly. If he had not been here, than would this have happened to Ashquash? He didn’t think so. It wasn’t fair. She only had this one chance to succeed at being Jedi, like he had, and because she was Aronoke’s friend it was being taken away from her.
It would be better, Aronoke reasoned, if he had no friends. He knew this was not right. After all, clan-mates were supposed to work together to solve problems. But most of Clan Herf was so small. What good would it do to involve the little kids in his problems? What if one of them was hurt next? That thought was unbearable. He wished Master Altus was here to talk to. That in itself was pointless, because it seemed likely that none of this would have happened if Master Altus was here. Aronoke knew he should try to be brave and independent, even if he felt out of his depth.
Ashquash came back a week later, quiet, withdrawn and grumpy, in many ways reverted to the angry uncommunicative person whom Aronoke had first met. Aronoke took care to behave like he had done then. He sat quietly and did his lessons nearby, not ignoring Ashquash, not paying undue attention to her, but focusing on his reading.
Ashquash sat on her bed and did nothing for a long time.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it,” she said finally. Sadly.
“Don’t say that,” said Aronoke, shocked. “I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t make it. You’re smart and strong as anyone else.”
“Someone doesn’t want me to,” said Ashquash. “It’s obvious. They don’t want me to succeed, so they did this to me. And right now, it’s only the stubborn, angry bit of me that wants to stick it through, just so that they don’t get what they want.”
Aronoke was overcome with remorse.
“That’s not necessarily true,” he said. “It is possible that some Jedi masters think that you shouldn’t be an initiate, but that doesn’t mean they would go so far as to sabotage your efforts. And for every one that thinks you shouldn’t be given the opportunity, there must be even more who think you should, otherwise you wouldn’t be here at all.”
“Hrm,” said Ashquash, unconvinced.
“And it might not be because of you at all,” said Aronoke, ploughing on despite his better judgement. “Strange things have been happening to me practically since I got here. Especially since Master Altus left. Weird things keep appearing on my datapad. A strange holotransmission was delivered by a droid, trying to manipulate me. I reported them all, and it seems to me that this attack on you might have been a sort of punishment. I mean, you are my room-mate, we are friends, right? Maybe you got hurt so that next time I listen to what it says.”
Ashquash looked up at that, warily.
“I reported those things to Master Insa-tolsa,” said Aronoke. “He said they are trying their best to fix them. I really hope it won’t happen again.”
“Why would they want to manipulate you so badly?” asked Ashquash critically. “To do what? Because you’re so special?”
“Because I’m different,” said Aronoke. “I…there are some different things about me.” He thought for one wavering moment that perhaps he should tell her about his back, but it was too frightening, too strange. Too much to burden Ashquash with.
“I am different too,” said Ashquash.
“Yes, that’s true,” said Aronoke. “I don’t know why they would want to manipulate me specifically,” he continued, semi-truthfully, for although he knew it was almost certainly something to do with his back, he didn’t know why his back was so important. “But it’s obvious that they do, because of the message and the other things that have happened.”
“Huh,” said Ashquash.
“I was thinking,” Aronoke said, “that if it’s true that you were hurt because of me, than perhaps it might be better if you were not my room-mate anymore.”
Ashquash looked up at him. Her complexion darkened like a sandstorm was rolling across it. Her eyes darkened and her young face settled into hard, tense lines that made her look much older. Her anger was a tangible, frightening thing.
“I just don’t want you to be hurt because of me,” he explained hurriedly.
“Maybe it would be better,” said Ashquash tightly.
“We could pretend that we had argued,” said Aronoke. “That’s not true of course. We would know we hadn’t argued. We haven’t argued, have we? But it might be enough to keep you safe.”
“How will we decide which of us should change rooms?” said Ashquash flatly, suddenly looking drained and tired instead of angry. Aronoke felt sick, because he didn’t want to travel this path. Wouldn’t the voice have won a victory if he did? But the alternate path seemed impossible. He wanted to protect his clan-mates from this mess, not get them further involved. They were too small to have to deal with such a big problem, he reasoned. Or had too many problems of their own, like Ashquash.
“It’s okay, I don’t mind changing,” he said. “You shouldn’t have to do anything – it’s because of me that this happened, so I should be the one who changes.”
Ashquash said nothing for a long moment.
“Alright, go then,” she said, bitterly.
Aronoke nodded, got to his feet, and went to Razzak Mintula’s room.
“Yes, Aronoke, what is it?” asked Razzak Mintula wearily.
“Razzak Mintula, can I change rooms?” asked Aronoke.
She looked at him for a long moment, studying his expression. “Perhaps that mightn’t be such a bad idea,” she said, finally. “I am reluctant however, to swap you with anyone else at this time. There is an empty room across the hall, not within the clan rooms, that you can use. Although it doesn’t have the same facilities that your current room has.”
“That doesn’t matter. It will be fine,” said Aronoke.
It was a small matter to move his stuff across to the new room. The isolation of the chamber made it easier to think of himself as being separate. It was the perfect opportunity to divorce himself from his clan-mates, at least in appearance. He must be strong, must not let himself be made miserable or angry by this self-imposed distance, because then the voice would have won. He had to be calm and resilient. He had to be a Jedi.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
It was difficult. There was an undercurrent of sadness that Aronoke found impossible to erase entirely. He could control it while he was meditating, but every time that Draken asked him to play a game, or any of the little kids were particularly forthcoming, he forced himself to be friendly but stand-offish and it came back. Draken seemed puzzled and hurt, and the little kids looked at him oddly like he had been replaced by someone who was not really him.
Just when he had felt he could really belong, Aronoke thought, something happened to force him apart again. Was that what it was always going to be like? Eternal isolation?
Nevertheless, Aronoke persevered in his self-imposed solitude for a couple of weeks. Buried himself in his lessons. Increased the amount of time he spent running and meditating and did a great deal of extra reading to pass the time. Walked down to the pool regularly to look at the water. It was difficult to occupy his mind with enough things to keep himself from feeling depressed, although all the meditation helped a lot. He felt he was getting on top of it most days.
One day he was down at the edge of the pool looking down into the deep water introspectively when suddenly Ashquash was there with him.
“Why do you always look at it like that?” she asked. She seemed tense, irritable.
“Because I don’t like it,” said Aronoke immediately. “It makes me feel uncomfortable, so I look at it to help me get used to it.”
He was going to say something else, but all at once, Ashquash gave him a sharp push. For an instant he thought there was a chance he could regain his balance, but in actuality it was hopeless. Windmilling wildly, he toppled into the deep pool.
The water closed over Aronoke’s head, green and smothering. The world of air was abruptly cut off and he could hear nothing except the rising bubbles around him. Even then, he did not immediately panic, but restrained his fear with barely tethered threads of will. He held his breath and repressed the urge to scream.
But he was sinking. Running out of air with every passing second. His terror was rising uncontrollably.
Kick off your shoes, countered the trying-to-be-calm voice in his head. Undo your belt, slide out of your robe. You can’t swim in all these clothes.
He tried, but his gestures were too jerky, too hurried. The robe came half off and rose over his head so he could not see. One arm was twisted somewhere behind him, caught in his sleeve. He was stuck.
Sinking further, faster. Couldn’t move, couldn’t swim in all these clothes.
What if Ashquash was standing up there, angry and cold, dispassionately watching him sink? What if Ashquash had planned this all along?
His fear exploded, unrestrained. Aronoke panicked completely, thrashing and struggling. He only succeeded in tangling himself more thoroughly and disorienting himself so he no longer knew which way was up. He gasped in half a mouthful of water. Coughed it out. Couldn’t breathe. Reflexively he gasped again and burning water flooded his lungs.
He was drowning, a tiny detached part of him realised. This was how it would ignominiously end. This death seemed a lot worse than being decapitated by a lightsaber.
Something grabbed his shoulders none too gently, tugging at him, dragging him through the water. Irrationally he fought, but the hands were strong and insistent. Then his head broke the surface, and he gasped for air, spluttering and coughing. Thrashing uncontrollably.
“Be still!” said Ashquash crossly, but Aronoke was still caught in the blind throes of panic and struggled wildly. She slapped him hard across the face. He subsided a little in shock and found himself pushed towards the edge. He clawed at it and clung to it, wheezing and gasping.
“What are you doing?” came an irate voice from far across the pool. “Stop that immediately!”
Aronoke struggled to climb out, but floundered ineffectively, unable to find the strength. Then Ashquash was there at the top, holding out her hand, and with her assistance he rolled up over the side and knelt there for long moments, coughing and gasping, retching up great gouts of water.
“You initiates are not supposed to be in the pool,” said someone closer now, an Aqualish instructor, coming over in the company of a warden droid. “It has been reserved for Clan Vequish’s use for the entire afternoon.”
“Yes, we know,” said Ashquash petulantly.
Aronoke could not speak, was too busy coughing still.
“You had better leave and return to your quarters at once,” said the instructor.
Can’t he see that I’m half drowned, thought Aronoke. His fear had been replaced by anger. Anger at Ashquash, anger that she had done this to him, anger that the instructor was berating him when none of this was his fault. Was this Ashquash’s repayment for what had happened to her? She thought it was his fault?
“Yes, yes, we’re going,” said Ashquash insubordinately. Aronoke made a brief sign of acquiescence, but still did not want to speak. He was too angry. It was only when they were moving off down the hallway that lead to the elevator banks that he felt he could talk.
“What did you want to go and do that for?” he snarled.
“It seemed to me it wasn’t helping,” said Ashquash defensively.
“Wasn’t helping?” Aronoke had lost it, he realised. Heard the anger in his own voice.
“All the looking,” said Ashquash.
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean you should push me in.” Aronoke could feel his hands were shaking badly. But he was alright, he thought. He wasn’t dead. He had fallen in and panicked, and he wasn’t dead. That counted for something. Maybe Ashquash was right. And as angry as he might be, he was also relieved that she had pulled him out, was not part of the conspiracy, but had acted, it seemed, through a misguided impulse of her own.
He took calming breaths, interrupted by more coughing. Recited a platitude in his head. Slowly felt like he was coming back under control.
“Just don’t do it again,” he said firmly.
Ashquash stopped, looking wild and a little fey. “I should never have said for you to do it,” she said.
“What?” asked Aronoke, confused.
“For us to argue,” said Ashquash. “I shouldn’t have said it.”
And she turned and ran away.
Aronoke stood there dripping a long moment, confused. Was that was this was all about? She was angry with him for leaving? But he had explained beforehand that it wasn’t real…
Feeling more confused and upset than angry now, he made his way back to his room and changed into some dry robes. He had not yet put the wet ones in the laundry chute when Draken rang the door. When Aronoke opened it, Draken’s eyes immediately travelled to Aronoke’s hair and the puddle of wet clothes on the floor.
“Your hair’s wet,” he noted. “And, um, your robe. But I guess you know that. Do you know where Ashquash is? I can’t find her.”
“She ran off,” said Aronoke wearily. “I expect she just needs a bit of breathing space, and she’ll be back.”
“What?” said Draken. “What do you mean she ran off?”
“I was down by the pool, looking at the water, and she pushed me in,” said Aronoke. “Then I was angry, and told her not to do it again, and she ran off.”
“She pushed you in?” asked Draken. He looked at Aronoke stupidly and stared again at the wet robes. “I hope she comes back soon,” he said finally.
“I expect she will,” said Aronoke.
But Ashquash had not returned by the evening meal and when Aronoke went to ask Razzak Mintula about it, he found Mintaka was in the office instead.
“Razzak Mintula’s been called away,” she said, and Aronoke immediately assumed it was something to do with Ashquash’s disappearance. He hoped Ashquash had not done something too crazy, or gotten herself hurt. He spent the rest of the evening sitting in the common room, studying his reading tasks, but Razzak Mintula and Ashquash did not return. Finally he composed his thoughts and went to bed, hoping everything would be cleared up by morning.
But in the morning he was woken up very early by Instructor Mintaka. “Do you know anything about where Ashquash might be, Aronoke?” she asked. “She is not in her room this morning, and it does not look like her bed has been slept in.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke stupidly. “But Instructor Mintula… I assumed…” he stopped to organise his thoughts and began again.
“I argued with Ashquash yesterday,” Aronoke said, “when I was coming back from the swimming pool. I was angry because she pushed me in. I am… scared of the water. And I didn’t say much, only that she must not do it again. But she was upset and ran off. I assumed that Razzak Mintula had gone off because of her, but… I am stupid,” he finished awkwardly, beset with self-loathing.
“You are not stupid, Aronoke,” said Instructor Mintaka. “Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”
“No, I have no idea,” said Aronoke wretchedly. Ashquash missing, wandering around the streets of Coruscant by herself? Surely she couldn’t get far with all the security. “I’m sorry, Instructor Mintaka. I should have said something yesterday.”
“I’m sure everything will be fine,” said Instructor Mintaka. “I must go and report her disappearance. You should go back to your regular schedule.”
“Yes, Instructor.”
After that, Aronoke decided that he should talk to Master Insa-tolsa about the whole affair and called him by holocommunicator to make an appointment.
“I have just been talking about you, Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa enthusiastically when he answered. “I am here with Master Parothis and we were discussing the possibility of taking you and several older members of your clan on some excursions to various parts of Coruscant, rather like Master Altus did with you. We think such excursions might be of considerable benefit to your education.”
“I’m sure that my clanmates would be very excited to undertake such a thing, Master,” said Aronoke, “but…”
“Excellent. It will be several weeks before the arrangements can be properly made, of course. Master Parothis has several interesting ideas for locations we can visit. Well, thank you for your call, Aronoke. I will be in touch with you as soon as everything is organized, to let you know the details.”
“Yes, Master, but…” said Aronoke, but the ithorian had already closed the connection.
He could have called back, but Master Insa-tolsa was probably still speaking to Master Parothis and he did not want to be a nuisance. Instead he left a recorded message asking for an appointment, and later the confirmation came back that he could visit Master Insa-tolsa the next morning in the Master’s chambers.
The next morning, however, there was a new item on Aronoke’s schedule, a request from a Jedi Master Skeirim.
“Initiate Aronoke,” said the message. “I request that you come and speak with me after the conclusion of your evening meal today. I will arrange for you to be collected from your clan rooms. Please be aware that your Instructor has been properly informed regarding this meeting.”
Though that would be easy to say and not do, thought Aronoke. He sent back a message saying that he would, of course, be available to attend. A mere initiate did not deny the request of a Jedi Master. Then he went to check that whoever was currently in charge was aware of the meeting.
“Yes, I received the proper request,” said Razzak Mintula, who had arrived back. “By all means, go and speak to Master Skeirim. I assume he wants to ask you some questions about Ashquash.”
“Ashquash?” asked Aronoke, confused.
“Yes, Master Skeirim is the Jedi who brought her here,” said Razzak Mintula, “much like Master Altus brought you. He is not always stationed here at the temple. He is a colleague of Master Altus’s, involved in researching and retrieving artifacts from distant parts of the galaxy.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke. “Thank you, Instructor.”
The next morning, Aronoke went to see Master Insa-tolsa. He had not visited the ithorian master’s chambers before. They were dim and green, a tribute to the forest world that he came from.
“Your chambers are very peaceful, Master,” said Aronoke, looking around.
“I find them so,” said the ithorian. “These chambers are supposed to be transient, not personalised. But the Jedi Council has not seen fit to station me anywhere else for many years, so I feel that I may take some liberties.”
“That seems quite reasonable to me,” said Aronoke.
“Master Parothis and I have decided that the first of your excursions will take place in a few weeks time,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “We are considering a number of different venues and I will tell you where we are going closer to the actual day.”
“I am sure it will be very educational, Master,” said Aronoke. “But I would like to talk to you about something else.”
“Of course,” said Master Insa-tolsa.
“You remember I told you about the droid with the holotransmission, Master?” said Aronoke. “And then there was another strange article on my datapad, which Razzak Mintula reported to you?”
“Yes, I remember,” said Master Insa-tolsa gravely. “Has something else happened?”
Aronoke related the events surrounding Ashquash’s drugging, surprised that Master Insa-tolsa didn’t already know about them.
“It is unfortunate I was not made aware of this,” said Master Insa-tolsa gravely. “I should have been informed.”
“I’m sorry, Master,” said Aronoke contritely. He had assumed Master Insa-tolsa would have been told by someone else.
“It is not your fault, Aronoke. It is obvious that there has been some breakdown in communication within the temple, either accidental or intentional. In light of the other incidents you have reported, this one could be seen in a different light.”
“Yes, I thought at once that it might be a sort of punishment. Ashquash is my room-mate and my friend. She is not very social, but we do a lot of things together, like studying and sparring. I thought she was getting better recently, much better than when she arrived. But then that happened…”
Aronoke could hear the emotion creeping into his voice. He found Ashquash’s drugging affected him more than any of the fights or deaths had back on Kasthir. Now, those scenes were distant and disjointed like dreams, as muted as if he kept those memories sealed in an air-tight box. He swallowed and tried to speak more calmly.
“I decided it might be better if I changed rooms. So whoever is trying to manipulate me might think Ashquash and I were not friends any more. So she would be safe. I know, Master, that I should be able to share my problems with my clan-mates, because that is part of being a clan, but most of them are so little, Master. I don’t want them to get hurt. So I thought that maybe separating myself was a better way. Then yesterday, I was at the swimming pool looking at the water, and Ashquash came and pushed me in.”
“You don’t like the water,” said Master Insa-tolsa, “if I remember correctly.”
“Yes, Master. Ashquash pushed me in. I got tangled up and thought I was drowning. Then Ashquash pulled me out again. I was angry with her. I did not say much, only that she should not do that again, but she was upset and ran away. I thought she would come back, but now she has gone missing…”
“Oh dear,” said Master Insa-tolsa with some concern. “That is worrying, although I am sure that efforts are being made to find her and that she will be recovered soon.”
“Yes, Master, but I don’t know what to do. I separated myself to keep people safe, and now Ashquash is, if anything, less safe. I think she was unhappy that I left. I did explain the reasons to her beforehand. But maybe because of the drugs, she was not able to cope very well just then.”
“Aronoke,” said Master Insa-tolsa, “You have only been here a very short time, and as you know, your unusual biology has put you into an awkward position amongst your clan mates. You should not have concerns like these at this stage of your training. It is too much.”
“But these things keep happening. How can I not be involved?” asked Aronoke.
“You should do as you have been doing. You must continue to report these things when they happen. You should not attempt to deal with such difficult issues yourself,” remonstrated Master Insa-tolsa gently. “You should not have the burden of such a great responsibility. These things are not your fault, and you must trust us to deal with them on your behalf.”
“But nothing seems to work! They just keep happening! What if next time something even more terrible happens?” asked Aronoke fretfully.
“You must not think that the Jedi Council is doing nothing to attempt to alleviate these problems,” said Master Insa-tolsa calmly. “A great deal has been done, that you, as an initiate, do not see from your protected place in the training halls. Neither is it appropriate that you are burdened with all the details, as you should be free to concentrate upon your studies. Unfortunately everything that has been done thus far has been of little avail. The perpetrator of these deeds must be someone of considerable power, cunning and influence, or they would not have been able to remain at large for so long.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke, humbled by the thought that his problems had stirred up so much trouble.
“Now I suggest that you go back to your clan and attempt to continue with your training as if none of these things had happened,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “I will make new efforts to see that the person who is manipulating you is discovered and an end put to these provocations.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “Thank you.”
Nevertheless, he did not feel very comforted when he returned to his clan rooms. Either the Jedi Council was incompetent, or his enemy was as powerful as Master Insa-tolsa suggested. Neither option was at all reassuring.
Master Skeirim’s padawan was a sleek human girl who arrived to collect Aronoke very promptly after the evening meal. Aronoke had only just got back to his room.
“Initiate Aronoke?” said the padawan. “I am Padawan Telarfani. I am supposed to show you to Master Skeirim’s chambers.”
“Yes, Padawan,” said Aronoke, and followed her out along the hall.
“I was not expecting you to be so tall,” said Padawan Telarfani smiling and looking up at Aronoke. He was taller than she was, he realised belatedly, and he was still growing. He would be taller still some day. It seemed strange. “I have some good news for you,” continued the Padawan. “They have found your clan-mate, Ashquash. She will be brought back to the Jedi temple soon.”
“Oh, that is good news,” said Aronoke, relieved. “Is she alright?”
“She is unharmed,” said Padawan Telarfani. “I thought you would like to know before your meeting with Master Skeirim, since I am certain you and your clan-mates must be worried about her.”
“Yes, we have been very worried,” said Aronoke. “Thank you, Padawan.”
She smiled, making a minor gesture of respect, which Aronoke returned.
Padawn Telarfani led Aronoke to a door which opened, not into a chamber, as he had expected, but into an elevator. She gestured him inside but did not get in herself. It was a long ride up to the top, and Aronoke wondered where it was going.
When he got out, it was immediately apparent that he was in one of the Jedi Temple’s towers. The walls of the chamber were lined with banks of data crystals, although one was given over to a large curved window showing the dark cityscape beyond. Ablaze with lights, streams of traffic seethed constantly past.
Jedi Master Skeirim was outlined against the window, a tall and imposing dark-skinned human man.
“Initiate Aronoke,” he said. “Come in. I am Master Skeirim. You will probably understand better why you are here if I tell you that I am the one who sponsored Ashquash’s initiation at the Jedi temple.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “Instructor Mintula told me.”
Master Skeirim nodded and continued.
“As I am sure you have realised,” he said, “you and Ashquash have certain similarities which led to your being placed together. You are both unusual students. You have had atypical backgrounds and you are older than the majority of initiates who are accepted into the temple. You suffer unique problems and difficulties that other students do not encounter.”
“Placing you together was something of a risk that I hoped would pay off. There are obviously many ways in which this could have gone awry, but, to be honest, there was no one else who was deemed suitable to share a room with Ashquash because of her problems. I was hoping that here in the Jedi Temple she would be able to adapt to her new situation, that she would come around to the teachings and philosophy and learn a new path which might lead her through life. It has always been uncertain, perhaps unlikely, that she would succeed, and yet thus far the experiment has continued.”
“Now, however, she has run away. She has been recovered and will be returned to your clan rooms shortly. I am hoping that you, as her room-mate, might have some insight to offer as to why she left. I am worried that we are losing her, and should that be the case, her future is dark and bleak. I do not wish that to happen if there is any way in which it might be prevented.”
Aronoke listened to this speech with some relief, glad that someone had such a positive interest in Ashquash’s affairs.
“I think Ashquash was doing a lot better,” he said, when Master Skeirim looked at him expectantly and gestured that he should speak. “When she first arrived, when we first became clan-mates, she was very angry. I know about spice addicts, because I was brought up by one when I was quite small. So that didn’t worry me much, because I knew it was just the drugs. At first, Ashquash was very quiet. We didn’t talk much, just a bit, but before long she began to do things with me. To sit and study, to come and practice sparring during our free time. Later we did a lot more things together. We would go over our lessons, discuss some of the moral stories that we had trouble understanding. Things like that.”
“That is what I hoped would happen,” said Master Skeirim. “Do you know anything about what happened to upset that?”
Aronoke nodded. “I don’t know if this is all true,” he said, a little shyly, “but it’s what I immediately suspected when Ashquash woke me up and wanted to go sparring in the middle of the night. I thought she was drugged right away, because I’ve seen people behave like that before. I thought it might be to do with the strange things that have happened to me here in the Jedi Temple, practically since I arrived. Master Altus knows about them, and so do Master Insa-tolsa and Instructor Mintula. I reported everything to them. Strange articles appear on my datapad. I got a holotransmission message from a droid trying to feed me information. Someone is trying to manipulate me. I reported the holotransmission message shortly before Ashquash was drugged. I thought she might have been targeted as a way of punishing me. Because she’s my friend. It seems an obvious way to get at me. To hurt my room-mate.”
“I see,” said Master Skeirim. “I will have to talk to Master Insa-tolsa and Instructor Mintula and see if they can share their knowledge of these incidents. Aronoke, do you know why Ashquash ran away?”
“Yes,” said Aronoke. He related in some detail all the events that had led up to Ashquash’s disappearance, up to the incident at the pool. “I did not say anything much,” he concluded, “only that she should not push me in again, but she was upset and ran away. I think she was angry that I had left her alone.”
Master Skeirim was nodding. “Thank you, Aronoke. I can see it is not easy for you to talk about these things, but they will be of great assistance to me in helping Ashquash. I would ask a favour of you. I would ask you to help Ashquash as much as you can, like you were doing before things began to go wrong. It would be best, I think, to put these incidents behind us and to try to make things just as they were previously.”
“Of course, Master,” said Aronoke warmly. He would have done whatever he could to help Ashquash anyway. It was also reassuring that Master Skeirim’s words meshed so well with what Master Insa-tolsa had said. “I think you are right, that she will be alright if we make things just as they were, and pretend that nothing has happened without making a fuss.”
“Yes, that is it exactly,” said Master Skeirim. “Thank you, Aronoke. I expect we will speak again at some time in the future.”
“You’re welcome, Master,” said Aronoke, making a small respectful bow in return. He felt a good deal happier and more purposeful as he returned to his rooms. It was good to have something to work towards, a way by which things might be made right. As soon as he arrived, he went in to find Razzak Mintula.
“Can I change back to my old room, Instructor?” he asked. “The new one is too draughty.”
Razzak Mintula stared at him for a long moment. “That would probably be more convenient,” she admitted. “There are some difficulties in having you in a different place from everyone else.”
“Yes, Instructor,” said Aronoke, relieved that no further explanation or persuasion was necessary. He felt his spirit was lightened when he moved back into his old rooms, like he was arriving back in his proper place again. It was a relief to not have to distance himself from Draken and the little kids any more.
Master Altus’s revelation made Aronoke more wary of everything. It was all very well for Master Altus to say that the Jedi temple was safe compared to Kasthir. That meant nothing, because on Kasthir, nothing was ever safe, no matter how carefully it was defended. There was always someone stronger and nastier waiting for you to be off your guard. Beyond that there was the planet itself – the weather, the wildlife.
In the Jedi Temple it was different. The chances of being stabbed physically in the back were minimal, but despite logically knowing that he was safer than he had ever been, Aronoke never felt completely at ease, except when he was meditating. There was always that haunting feeling that he was being watched. Typically, everywhere he went, that was true. There was no one else like him, so people tended to look at him. He wished again that he was not different – wished he was a boring standard human like any of billions of others that no one paid especial attention to, instead of a Chiss, a species allied to the Sith Empire, the uneasy almost-enemies of the Republic. He wished too that he didn’t have a strange picture tattooed on his back that he had to keep hidden.
It was difficult for Aronoke to know what was unusual and what was normal. He found himself scrutinizing all his daily activities more closely. He knew he had not told Master Altus about every strange thing that had happened. He had wanted to think more carefully about things first – about what had happened with the droid in the shower. Was it just a stupid thing, or was it one of the unusual things that Master Altus had said he should look out for? Aronoke had a very strong desire to not appear stupid in front of Master Altus, even though he knew the mirialan master would never embarrass him over it even if he was.
He decided the only way was to investigate more closely first. To attempt to take care of things himself. He wasn’t a little kid – he had been a fully fledged skimmer. How hard could it be?
“Do you remember how that droid drilled those holes in our shower cubicle?” Aronoke asked Draken.
“Do we need to put more stuff in the holes?” Draken queried.
“No, they’re still blocked,” said Aronoke, “but I still think it’s strange that the holes were drilled at all. I wonder if they were drilled in all the bathrooms, or just ours?”
“I could sneak in and look,” said Draken at once, just as Aronoke had hoped he might.
“You’re much better at sneaking than me,” Aronoke admitted, and Draken looked pleased.
“Years of practice, son,” he said sagely, clapping Aronoke on the shoulder and grinning, and went off at once.
Draken found it an easy enough matter to investigate all the nearby bathrooms. People went in and out of each other’s Clan rooms all the time. Before long he was back with his report.
The walls in Clan Zegrith’s showers were smoothly pristine. So were those in the showers belonging to Clan Drexl, Clan Miim and all the other surrounding clans. Draken had checked all those walls for small holes and found none.
“If the maintenance was only performed in our showers, and nothing was broken, then it must be something unusual,” he told Draken seriously. “I think I should report it.”
“If you want to,” said Draken, shrugging. “It’s probably the only way we’ll find out anything else about it.”
Aronoke did not want to bother Master Altus about every little thing – not when he had seemed so tired. Thought it best to go and see Razzak Mintula.
“Yes, Aronoke?” she asked, when he knocked on the open door of the room that served as her office.
“I was just wondering, Instructor Mintula. There was a droid in our showers, doing some maintenance. Weeks ago now. Was there supposed to be?”
“It’s quite normal for droids to go about doing maintenance, Aronoke,” said Razzak Mintula calmly but firmly.
“Yes, I know,” said Aronoke. “But this was strange. It was very early in the morning. It drilled lots of tiny holes in all the walls and said something about hypercapacitors. I don’t think showers even have hypercapacitors. And none of the other clans’ showers have had that done.”
“Well, it may just be a mistake. I remember when a whole lift was sealed off for years because of an error in a droid’s programming. Everyone walked across to use another lift bank, assuming it was intended.”
Well, it would be better if they had questioned it, wouldn’t it, thought Aronoke. Fuelled by this thought, he ploughed on doggedly.
“It still seems strange that it’s just our shower,” he said firmly. “I don’t like the idea of strange droids wandering around in there, Instructor. It’s unsettling. And what if Ashquash finds out?”
Razzak Mintula eyed him speculatively at the mention of Ashquash, and Aronoke stood there quietly, giving her time to envision that scenario. He could imagine it quite clearly himself.
“I will send a query to the maintenance department,” said Razzak Mintula. “I’m sure it is nothing serious, but there is no harm in asking. If it is a mistake then it will be fixed.”
“Yes, Instructor,” said Aronoke. He would feel a good deal more comfortable if it were fixed.
Aronoke’s discussion with Master Altus had also made him more suspicious of his lessons with Clan Sandrek. Whereas before he had considered the older students to be merely resentful of his presence, he had thought that they would have gotten used to him in time, once the novelty had worn off. In the Fumers, new recruits had always felt the need to put Aronoke into his place when they first encountered him. He had to fight most of them in ‘friendly’ matches at least once, and then, after they had inevitably beaten him, they mostly left him alone.
With Clan Sandrek he still felt like they disliked him, even though they had all beaten him in duels by now.
In the Fumers, he had been pushed around, beaten up, been the target of numerous jokes and nasty pranks, but he had still felt like one of them. He had always known that if anyone from any other compound tried to hurt him, the Fumers would be sure to kick in their teeth or other mouthparts.
With Clan Sandrek, he still felt completely like an outsider.
He had told himself numerous times that on Kasthir, Clan Sandrek would be considered green pushovers, that they weren’t as good as they thought they were, but it had taken Master Altus to point out that their greatest failure was that they weren’t behaving like Jedi. Aronoke had felt it was his place to struggle to catch up and fit in with the others, like he always had. To endure any punishment that process required. From what Master Altus said, it should have been Clan Sandrek’s place to welcome him and help him.
Well, they had helped him. At least Vark had, but Aronoke couldn’t help but pay closer attention and realised anew that many of the things Vark said were subtly wrong.
“You have to learn to strike harder and faster, or you will never be good enough to be a Jedi,” Vark said, the very next day on the training field.
Mentor Tolto and the rest of Clan Sandrek were some distance away, practicing advanced moves that Aronoke was too inept to even attempt. The sounds of their voices created a masking background murmur, doubtlessly making Vark inaudible to anyone but Aronoke. Vark was missing out on the advanced lesson, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He had patiently smiled and taken Aronoke aside to help him practice.
“You must learn to strike with everything you have,” Vark continued. “To use every weapon in your arsenal, every advantage at your disposal. You’re already quite good at doing that defensively, dodging and rolling, like when you fought Zujana. You must learn to do the same thing offensively. To facilitate that, let’s try something different – we’ll act out a scenario.”
“A scenario?” Aronoke was not familiar with that term, but Vark did not bother to explain.
“Imagine I’m your enemy,” the green duros said, bringing his blade up into a threatening position. “Imagine I will kill you without compunction. Imagine that I’ve just killed a member of your clan, and spat on his body as it lays twitching at my feet.”
Vark’s eyes dropped to look at the ground as he gestured at it with his blade, and immediately Aronoke could imagine Draken lying there.
Aronoke had seen dead bodies before. Had been made to clean up afterwards, when he was a menial. He could imagine Draken’s dead body all too clearly. Draken’s face contorted with pain, the life fading from his eyes as his blood soaked into the ground. The smell of spilled intestines. Imagined the spit running down Draken’s pale cheek as Vark spat on the grass and laughed.
“Behind you are the other members of your clan,” Vark continued, prowling slowly from side to side, grinning nastily at Aronoke as he switched his brandished practice-sabre rapidly from one hand to another. “Helpless prisoners. If you don’t strike me down, I’m going to do the same thing to them. I’m going to make you watch, while I torture them and kill them slowly.”
Aronoke could imagine them there too – the frightened silence of the little kids, struggling to stay calm, because they were brave and going to be Jedi. Ashquash defiant and glowering, wrestling with her bonds.
“Don’t listen to him, Aronoke,” imaginary-Ashquash hissed. “He hasn’t got the balls to go through with it.”
It seemed so real, Aronoke almost turned to look.
Vark was coming closer, closer. He was going to do horrible things and kill them all. A terrible memory flashed in Aronoke’s mind, of being tied naked to a bench awash in his own blood, while Careful Kras set aside his knife to pick up the syringe of liquid fumes. The pain, the humility and helplessness that swallowed the world.
“Can’t you feel how much you hate me?” came Vark’s soft insistent voice. “How much you want to kill me, so I can’t hurt your friends? That strength is the only thing that can help you stop me now.”
That was right. Aronoke was not tied down now and he had a weapon in his hands. He could feel his anger begin to build. When he was angry enough, there would be no room to be afraid.
But acting without thinking got you killed, Aronoke suddenly remembered. Being angry made you slow and stupid. It was a lesson he had learned many times on Kasthir, where learning it the hard way meant you didn’t survive to be tested again. He had learned it again here on Coruscant, fighting Rancolos.
Besides, fear was wrong, anger was wrong, wasn’t it? He should strike out of a position of calm contemplation, having considered all his options. That was what the Jedi teachings said. Even the younglings in Clan Herf had been taught that.
Why was Vark goading him to act in this way?
Aronoke froze, captured by indecision as Vark came darting closer, his practice-blade dangling uselessly in his hand.
Vark’s blade thwacked into Aronoke’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a bruise.
“And you’re dead,” said Vark, rolling his eyes in weary frustration. “And all your clan with you. You’re not supposed to just stand there like gundark bait, you hopeless moron.”
Vark’s tone was puzzled and irate, and his comment instantly released the tension. It also released the catch on Aronoke’s temper. Hopeless moron, was he? He wasn’t the one doing everything wrong…
Later, when Aronoke remembered that moment, he thought to himself that if he had come from a world where talking could solve problems, he would have questioned Vark then. If he had been a more experienced Jedi, he might have said: “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know that what you’re trying to teach me is wrong?” He might have at least followed the scenario through properly, in the role of a Jedi, calmly defending the imaginary prisoners to the best of his ability. But at the time, Aronoke didn’t think of doing any of those things any more than he would have considered having Twi’lek head-tails grafted on his head and taking up pole-dancing.
For a moment he considered striking out at Vark, but instantly realised that would make Vark the victor. Instead he threw his practice blade down on the grass and stalked off across the field without saying a word.
“What was all that about?” came Mentor Tolto’s voice, drifting over the grass, as Aronoke walked away simmering, taking deep breaths and trying to recover his calm. Vark’s voice was too low for Aronoke to hear his reply.
He had to be careful, Aronoke decided. Had to watch his temper, not let them make him angry and push him over the edge. Attacking Rancolos had been a mistake.
It was not at all easy to do. He continued avoiding the issue, although the strategy was not one he enjoyed employing. Whenever he grew dangerously close to losing his temper, he would throw his practice blade to the ground, as if in disgust, and walk off across the field, ignoring any jibes along the way. He would say nothing.
Of course Mentor Tolto did not like this at all. Probably thought Aronoke was throwing a childish temper tantrum. Aronoke was careful to be polite to him. Would acknowledge him with a little bow to show he meant respect. But he would not say anything until he felt calm again.
It was not long after he began practicing this strategy that Razzak Mintula asked him to come and speak with her.
“An opportunity has arisen, Aronoke, for you to join a different clan for physical training sessions, instead of Clan Sandrek. This group is not as far advanced in their training as Clan Sandrek is, but they are still substantially ahead of Clan Herf. They might suit you well.”
Aronoke was in multiple minds about accepting. To back down now seemed like giving up. Sparring with Clan Sandrek was difficult but he had steeled himself to do it. He had accepted that to get better and catch up he would have to endure being beaten over and over again and that to lose against such odds was no shame. But it was painful. He had an interesting collection of bruises from the older students’ training sticks. It was confusing. He was still learning what was supposed to be right and wrong according to the Jedi. The things Vark said made sense according to how things had been on Kasthir, but he knew that was not the way things were supposed to be here.
Master Altus’s disapproval regarding Clan Sandrek’s behaviour suggested that another group might be more welcoming to newcomers, but what if the next group was equally difficult? Then it would be obvious that he, Aronoke, was the problem. That he had somehow gotten things wrong. Maybe they would kick him out, and what would he do then?
Could Razzak Mintula’s invitation be considered an unusual event? Was this part of an even more convoluted conspiracy? Or was he being given a way to back away from an unpleasant situation gracefully?
But he had taken too long thinking.
“You don’t have to decide immediately,” Razzak Mintula said. “You can tell me any time within the next few weeks if you would like to take up this opportunity.”
“Thank you, Instructor,” said Aronoke. “I will think about it.”
Aronoke did try thinking about it, but that did no good – it was all too hard. Whether it was stupid or not, he should talk to someone about it. But still, he put it off a little longer, hoping he would come to a decision on his own.
Then a few days later, Aronoke was just coming into the clan room when Draken came up to him, bubbling over with excitement. A trail of younglings followed after him, just as enthusiastic.
“Guess what?” Draken said. “We’re going to be learning to swim as part of our physical training program. It’s up on the extended schedule. I know how to already, of course, but it’s going to be a lot of fun!”
The little kids jumped around everywhere like pop-lice. Sometimes Aronoke despaired of them ever learning to be calm. “Learn to swim! Swim! In the water!”
“It’s going to be such fun,” laughed Golmo, obviously copying Draken.
Aronoke did not like the sound of it at all.
“What? When?”
Ashquash stood up and came over. She did not look very happy either.
“Next week,” said Draken. “There’s a big pool on one of the lower levels of the Temple. I looked it up on the holonet to see what it’s like, and it’s huge! That’s where we’ll be learning. It’s going to be great! I used to go swimming on the lower levels, in the filtration ponds, but this should be better, because we always had to dodge the droids down there and watch out for security.”
He suddenly seemed to realize that Aronoke was not as enthusiastic as he was.
“Oh! I forgot. You don’t like to take off your robes, do you? Or to shower, even.” Draken seemed almost gleeful and did not lose any of his own enthusiasm. “Well, you’ll have to now I guess. You’ll get used to it,” he said blithely.
Aronoke was not so sure. It depended what they had to wear while they swam, he thought. Surely they would wear something. Doubted it would be robes. That would be too hard. He would sink. Drown. If it was something very revealing, he didn’t know if he could do it. He did not want to make a fuss like he had in the medical bay. That had only drawn more attention. It would be good to know what to expect in advance.
Aronoke did not want to ask Razzak Mintula. Would be too hard to explain. She did not know about the thing on his back and he did not want to be forced into an explanation about it. Combined with the other matter, about Clan Sandrek, he decided it warranted going to to talk to Master Altus. Certainly before the swimming started.
He put through a call on his communicator and reached what seemed to be a holo-simulacrum of Master Altus which wanted to take a message.
“Hello Master Altus,” said Aronoke, feeling strange talking to the simulacrum. “I was hoping I could come and talk to you soon.”
“Aronoke,” said Master Altus’s real voice. “Yes, by all means, come by this evening, if that is convenient.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke. “That will be fine.”
“Hespenara is not here at the moment. She is busy preparing for some tests, so she will not be able to collect you as usual.”
“That is no problem. I can find my way myself, Master.”
Aronoke closed the communications channel flooded with a great sense of relief. Surely Master Altus would be able to sort these things out if anyone could.
There was a droid in Master Altus’s chambers when Aronoke arrived. Aronoke eyed it with some suspicion. It was a busy droid, churning out convoluted holodisplays of numbers and other data that cluttered up the usually dim and calm environment of Master Altus’s chambers. To Aronoke’s eye, Master Altus himself seemed more rested than he had on his previous visit, although not quite back to normal.
“This is LT-37,” said Master Altus. “He is helping me with some of the calculations and data evaluation resulting from my last expedition. It is looking to be a more time-consuming business than I had anticipated, but that is all to good advantage, since I had hoped to spend some time here on this visit.”
“It sounds more like a good reason to stay away, Master,” joked Aronoke.
“Yes, it is perhaps one reason why I am usually eager to depart the temple as soon as I am able. And yet there are some Jedi for whom a permanent assignment to the temple seems to be the greatest pleasure imaginable.”
“Like most of the librarians,” said Aronoke.
“Yes, like many of them,” said Master Altus. “No dinner today, I’m afraid, since I don’t have Hespenara to run out and get it, but I have collected a store of confectionary just for such occasions.”
Aronoke would have been happy to fetch dinner for both of them, but Master Altus seemed so pleased with his confectionaries he felt it would be churlish to suggest it. Besides, people worried too much about food here. They sat down, and Aronoke tried the confectionaries and found them pleasant, if a little oversweet for his tastes. They were coated balls of a chalky sugary substance with a distinctive but not unpleasant aftertaste. Master Altus spoke of inconsequential things while they ate, obviously expecting that Aronoke would come to the point of his visit in his own good time.
It took Aronoke a little while to begin properly. It felt awkward talking about what must seem like trivial difficulties to someone as powerful as Master Altus. And yet Aronoke could not imagine saying those things to anyone else. Perhaps one day he might trust Master Insa-tolsa enough, he thought, because he had already grown more accustomed to the big gentle Ithorian, but he still wasn’t the same as Master Altus.
He swallowed firmly.
“There’s several things I would like to talk to you about, Master, if you don’t mind,” Aronoke said at last.
“Of course,” said Master Altus, calmly. “You can always come to me with any problem you may have, Aronoke.”
“Firstly, Instructor Mintula told me that an opportunity had come up for me to transfer to a different Physical Training group, one that is not quite as advanced as Clan Sandrek, although it is still more advanced than Clan Herf.”
“Well, that is good news,” said Master Altus immediately. “That sounds like a good idea.”
Aronoke had been going to weigh out the pros and cons as he saw them, but Master Altus’s warm approval washed Aronoke’s misgivings completely aside. Obviously Razzak Mintula’s offer was not an unusual thing, he thought to himself. Perhaps backing away from his struggle with Clan Sandrek was an acceptable withdrawal from a difficult situation, and not a demonstration of weakness.
“Yes, I thought so too, but I wanted to be sure,” Aronoke said instead.
“You know, Aronoke,” Master Altus continued, “that I never approved of you undertaking such advanced combat training so soon. I was willing for you to continue as long as you were happy with the situation, but I must admit I am relieved that another option has presented itself.”
“I don’t like to give up easily,” admitted Aronoke. “It usually makes things worse.”
“It is good to be determined,” said Master Altus tolerantly, “but unwise to throw yourself against an obstacle which can be avoided. On my homeworld they say ‘the river always flows around a stone’.”
“On Kasthir they say ‘sand eats rock’,” countered Aronoke.
“Persistence is certainly a quality that may lead to success,” said Master Altus comfortably, “but we must learn to choose which obstacles must be worn down, and which are better side-stepped.”
Aronoke turned this over in his mind . It was like bone-sucking worms, he realised. You didn’t go looking for them, unless you had to. You simply tried to avoid them. Sandrek clan’s strange attitude was like a poisonous creature, best avoided entirely rather than weathered.
“Then I will tell Instructor Mintula that I am happy to change over,” Aronoke said. The thought of not having to spar against Clan Sandrek any more took a greater burden off his mind than he had anticipated. “I don’t mind losing or getting bruised so much,” he said confidingly, “but some of the things they said made me feel confused.”
“Confused?” asked Master Altus, a little more sharply. “What sort of things?”
Aronoke had not meant to tell him about Vark’s strange lessons, had never been the sort of Fumer who ran to the higher-ups with titbits of information about his peers, hoping to be rewarded. Had stayed away from the higher-ups as much as possible, on account of avoiding Careful Kras’s attention.
“I didn’t notice at first,” said Aronoke reluctantly, “because I was thinking too much like a Fumer, but Clan Sandrek don’t act like the other Jedi I know in the temple. One of them, the one instructed to act as my mentor, seems to be trying to teach me things in a way that seems different to the other things we are taught.”
“Oh, and how is it different?” asked Master Altus.
“I might be wrong, Master, because I am still very new at all these things,” said Aronoke apologetically, “but he seems to be trying to make me use my anger to fuel my fighting, like we are not supposed to do. At first I thought he was merely trying to trip me up into making a mistake, but now I am not so certain.”
“You don’t mean he is merely trying to make you angry?” said Master Altus.
“No, Master. They do that too and I mostly have the trick of it now, although I do get angry sometimes. This is different. He is the one who is most friendly and helpful to me in my training. He encourages me to do things in a particular way, but I don’t think they are the right way. He encourages me to use my anger, my fear, and my desire to win to help me fight more successfully.”
“That is a serious matter, which will have to be investigated,” said Master Altus. “I will have to report it.”
Aronoke fidgeted uncomfortably.
“I don’t like the idea of getting him in trouble,” he said. “It seems almost treacherous.”
“Oh? So I shouldn’t report it?” Master Altus was calm as always, watching Aronoke with warm interest.
Aronoke felt put on the spot. He stared at the floor. Sighed. Looked up to see those blue eyes still regarding him patiently. Master Altus would always act in this way, he realised, in a way that would make Aronoke think about the situation and come up with his own solution. Well then. He forced himself to try to think objectively.
“If I had been here longer, then I think it would be better if I talked about it to him myself first,” said Aronoke slowly. “That I should tell him that I think he’s doing the wrong thing, to give him the chance to change his mind. But I haven’t been here very long and I don’t know the right things to say. I think he would talk circles around me and I would be even more confused. Besides which, he’s nearly ready to become a Padawan. He must know that it’s wrong already.”
Master Altus waited patiently, saying nothing.
“I am changing groups, so he will not hurt me,” Aronoke continued slowly, “but he might still hurt someone else. And then why did he try and teach me that way at all? Perhaps Clan Sandrek might be being manipulated by someone else too.”
Aronoke looked at the floor again. “I suppose you really do have to report them,” he admitted.
“Very well then,” said Master Altus. “Now, there was something else?”
“The next matter is something that happened quite some time ago. I was going to take a shower.”
Feeling silly and self-conscious, Aronoke repeated to Master Altus the story about the droid, and everything it had said and done during its two visits.
“When you said I should try to notice unusual things, I thought of the shower at once, but I was not sure that it was one of those things,” said Aronoke. “So I thought I would investigate a little more first. Draken went to look into some of the other clans’ bathrooms, but none of them had the holes in them. So I told Instructor Mintula about the maintenance. She said she would report it, and now the wall has suddenly been fixed again.”
That had happened only this morning, and Aronoke had taken it as evidence that whatever maintenance had been originally performed was highly suspicious.
“There will be records in the maintenance department,” said Master Altus. “I can have them checked to see why the walls were tampered with and what was done to them.”
“Yes, Master. It just seemed odd to me.”
“You can bring anything that seems odd to my attention, Aronoke.”
“Yes, Master, I will. Although some of them might be stupid things.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“The last thing is a personal thing,” said Aronoke, feeling himself starting to get even more nervous. He found it hard to speak smoothly. Words seemed to desert him. He tried to focus, and ploughed resolutely on.
“It was on the schedule. Earlier… in the week. We are supposed to learn… to swim.”
“And that makes you uncomfortable,” said Master Altus.
“Yes, Master.”
“I assume it is because of your peculiar markings?” he asked calmly. “You don’t like to take off your outer garments?”
“Yes, Master. Mostly.”
“Hm,” mused Master Altus. “When I was in training we wore swimsuits. They were certainly a lot more revealing than the robes you wear, but they still covered quite a lot of our bodies. They would almost certainly cover most of the scars and markings, although not all of the ones on your arms and legs.”
“Those don’t matter, Master,” said Aronoke. “It is the other ones that worry me.”
“Then I think it should be alright. You should try to conquer your fear, of course, Aronoke, but I think you are right to be cautious.”
“I am?” said Aronoke, surprised. He had thought his fear about his back was a failing. Something to be ashamed of.
“Yes. I believe you should trust your instincts to keep those markings hidden. I think it might prove important.”
“I am not sure I always felt this way about them though, Master,” said Aronoke reluctantly. “When I was small…the first time…I did not even know they were there.”
“Nevertheless, your instincts are trying to protect you,” said Master Altus. “And while you should try not to be afraid, there is no harm in taking note of the warning they present to you.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, feeling more cheerful.
“So you will be able to attend your swimming class, do you think?”
“I am not sure what will happen,” Aronoke admitted. “I don’t like the water – it is a strange thing to me – but I will try.”
“Good,” said Master Altus. “You are doing very well, Aronoke. You need not worry.”
The swimming suit appeared in Aronoke’s cupboard the next day. It was black, tight and stretchy and looked very small amongst his other things. He took it out and looked at it in some distaste. He determined to try it on before the swimming lesson so as to avoid any unpleasant surprises on the day. Took it to the shower cubicles very early in the morning.
He felt very naked in it. It was made of some thick almost foamy material that did not show every ridge and scar on his body, but it still seemed very revealing. He steeled himself to exit his cubicle so he could see how his back looked in it in the mirror outside.
It was not so bad. Almost the entirety of the scars on his back were covered. You could only see one small matted patch up near the back of his neck and none of the mysterious markings at all. He was filling out more, Aronoke noticed as well, with more flesh covering his ribs. His shoulders were getting wider, his legs more muscular, longer yet still lean. He stood surveying himself with some interest, until a noise from the corridor outside sent him fleeing back into the shower cubicle. He had barely shut himself inside before a great gaggle of his clan-mates swarmed in to get ready for the day.
On the day of the first swimming lesson Aronoke felt sick with nerves. He hadn’t felt so unhappy about anything, he realised, since he had been told to undress during that first proper medical examination. Since he had shown his back to Master Altus.
He had decided that it would be a good idea to dress in the swimsuit beforehand. To wear it all day under his other clothes to prevent any worrisome mishaps. This worked well. No one seemed to notice. He felt very exposed when it came time to get changed and actually go out of the changing rooms and down to the water.
That was the first time he had seen the pool where they were going to swim and he baulked instantly. It was immense. He had never seen so much water all in one place before. It stretched across the chamber in a huge sheet, great and shiny like the eye of some gargantuan creature.
He did not like it at all. Could not have gotten into it at that moment if he had been promised all of Coruscant to do so. Draken gave a loud whoop and ran into the water, making an immense splashing jump at the end and Aronoke’s stomach lurched sickly.
The water was not deep in this part, he saw. The little kids were running into it like it was great fun, splashing and cavorting around. The swimming instructor, an aqualish, began lining them up and showing them exercises.
You’re being really stupid, he told himself. It’s not hurting them. They like it. It won’t hurt you either.
But it made no difference.
“Come on, Aronoke!” said Draken. “Just jump in! It’ll be over in a moment and it’s less cold that way. Or I could push you in.”
Aronoke’s legs had turned to plastisteel welded to the floor. “No,” said Aronoke hurriedly. “I don’t think I can.”
He could hardly breathe. He felt heavy and sick like he was going to faint.
Don’t be stupid, repeated the sensible little voice in his head. It won’t hurt you. Just walk in.
But he couldn’t. It was as horrible an idea as throwing himself over the edge of one of Coruscant’s impossibly high buildings.
“Are you alright, Aronoke?” asked Razzak Mintula, appearing out of the water clad in a sleek black swimsuit. Her silver ponytail was draped attractively over her chest. Despite his fear, Aronoke felt even more unsettled. He could feel his face heating. Shook his head. Said nothing. Stared at the ground.
“Come on Aronoke! It’s fun!” cried Yeldra.
“You’ll like it! Look at me, I’m an aqualish!” called one of the younger clan members.
“I can push him in,” said Draken again, helpfully.
“Or I can,” said Ashquash, uncharacteristically impish, grinning from the water, carefully concealed up to her neck.
Aronoke shook his head dizzily.
“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” remonstrated Razzak Mintula. “Why don’t you go and sit over there and meditate, Aronoke, and you can join us when you feel able to.”
“Yes, Instructor,” mumbled Aronoke, and went to sit with his back to the changing rooms, as far away from the pool as possible.
He was glad that she had not pressured him to enter the pool. Was grateful to sit there and find the calm centre of his mind where everything seemed safe. He was surprised at himself. He had not expected to find the challenge of entering the water greater than that of wearing the swimsuit. It was a silly thing, he knew. The little kids were doing it. So could he. He must not let it beat him.
He got to his feet.
Each step was difficult, slow and hesitant, incongruous with the absurdly fast thumping of his heart. He felt horribly self-conscious, even though his clan-members were not paying him any attention, all being absorbed in their lesson. He hovered on the very edge for long minutes, and then waded slowly in, to stand awkwardly about waist deep. It was by sheer force of will that he held himself there, frozen in place, trying his best to keep the fear at bay. He could not bring himself to splash around. Could not have tried to do any exercises. Could not move. It took every bit of his attention just to stand there. By then the lesson was almost finished.
“Very good, Aronoke,” said Razzak Mintula when she noticed, but Aronoke felt no pleasure at her praise, only awkward and stupid, like he had failed at something that was terribly easy.
He had to overcome his fear, he told himself sternly, but when the lesson ended, he fled the water with great rapidity and hurried to put his robes back on.
Afterwards he went to talk to Razzak Mintula.
“Instructor Mintula?”
“Yes, Aronoke?”
“Can I come down to the pool in between lessons? Just to look at it? So I might get used to it?”
“I don’t see why not,” she said kindly. “I am sure you will not disturb any other groups who might be using it. It is probably a good idea.”
“Thank you, Instructor,” said Aronoke. He was not sure whether to be pleased or not. He didn’t like looking at the pool. It seemed malevolent and alien to him.
And so, in the afternoons, sometimes alone and sometimes in company, Aronoke would go down and look at the water. At first he just looked. After a while he could make himself touch it with his hands or dabble his feet in it. He kept visiting it through all the swimming lessons, in which he did not improve greatly, and kept visiting it once or twice a week after these stopped.
Aronoke began his new physical training classes with Clan Ryllak. Their instructor was a bothan named Mentor Snesgrul.
“This is Aronoke,” Mentor Snesgrul announced to the class when Aronoke first arrived. “He is a late starter, and belongs to Clan Herf, so he will be joining us for some of his physical training.”
“Hello, Aronoke,” chorused the class cheerfully.
“Hello,” said Aronoke, thinking that they looked very different from Clan Sandrek. They were bigger than he was, but not by so very much. Clan Ryllak had only recently started using practice-sabres, and most of the exercises were performed in one large group, with everyone standing in rows practicing the basic forms over and over again.
Aronoke already knew those, so it was easy, but he was glad of the repetitive training. He had never felt completely comfortable with the moves when training with Clan Sandrek, while now they were quickly becoming so ingrained that he hardly had to think about them.
Mentor Snesgrul called a brief rest break partway through the lessons, encouraging the students to stretch and drink water. The Clan Ryllak people crowded around Aronoke in between turns at the drinking fountain, smiling and asking questions.
“So you’re from Clan Herf, are you?”
“It must be tough, being bigger than everyone else in your clan.”
“I hope you like training with us, Aronoke. If there’s anything you need help with, you just have to ask!”
Aronoke nearly melted in gratitude, it was all so much easier. They did some simple sparring exercises at the very end of the lesson, and he found his human opponent, Riala, was far more nervous of injuring him than she needed to be.
“Tell me if I’m going too fast,” she said, smiling at Aronoke as they traded cautious blows. “I tend to get carried away once I get started, and I know that you’re only new.”
She was cute when she smiled, Aronoke thought. Her face dimpled in an interesting way. Cute and distracting, especially since one hank of brown hair had escaped its bindings to hang down in front of her face.
No, best not to pay too much attention to that!
“It’s fine,” said Aronoke, smiling back. “You can go a bit faster if you like.”
It was strange, but even though the lessons were so much simpler, he thought he was learning a great deal more.
Without the constant unpleasantness of sparring with Clan Sandrek, Aronoke hardly noticed the weeks passing. He worked hard at his lessons, spent time with his clanmates and diligently practiced his extra meditation lessons. Whole days went by without him thinking of Kasthir at all. Weeks trailed by in a pleasant mish-mash of predictable activity.
Then one day Master Altus arranged a meeting in one of the atria.
“This is the closest thing you can get to a forest planet here on Coruscant, or at least in the Jedi temple,” he said, when Aronoke met him and Hespenara in the large internal courtyard.
The massive trees in the garden towered high overhead and were clustered so close together that Aronoke could hardly see the ceiling for the huge, broad branches. Aronoke could scarcely believe that such big things were actually alive. There were no trees on Kasthir.
“You’re growing so fast my mind can’t keep up,” complained Hespenara. “I swear you’ve grown an inch in all directions since I saw you last.”
Aronoke smiled. He knew he was growing with impossible rapidity by human standards. His appetite was increasingly huge, and all his old robes had disappeared to be replaced with new ones Even his boots had needed to be replaced, although they were hardly worn out yet.
They sat on a bench between the trees, but even there, in that peaceful place, the mechanical hum of Coruscant pervaded. In most of the Jedi Temple it was no louder than the whisper of a breeze in the desert, so constant that Aronoke hardly noticed it anymore except when it was very quiet. Like it was here.
“I thought this would be more convivial,” said Master Altus. “LT-37 is very useful at performing the tasks he does, but it does become a little overwhelming to have him in my chambers constantly. It is perhaps more pleasant for us to have our meeting here.”
“Oh, Master!” said Hespenara exasperatedly. “It’s not like you couldn’t request the Jedi Council to set aside a room for that purpose. For the droid to work in. It is hardly like they wouldn’t agree.”
“It is a good exercise for me,” said Master Altus stubbornly. “And it should not be very much longer.”
Aronoke wondered if Master Altus did not want his research getting out of his sight. Perhaps he was worried that something unusual would happen to it too.
“There are a couple of matters I wish to inform you about today, Aronoke,” Master Altus continued, obviously wishing to avoid discussing the droid any further. “Firstly concerning Clan Sandrek. When questioned, Initiate Vark said that he did not personally decide to try to influence your training. He said he was merely following the dictates of a document left upon his datapad.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke, frowning as he remembered the document that had appeared on his own datapad. Were they from the same source?
“I find it hard to believe that an initiate who has nearly completed his training would not know such a document was wrong,” said Hespenara, shaking her head.
Aronoke nodded.
“He did admit that he knew he was doing something wrong,” said Master Altus. “He knew it was contrary to the teachings, although he claimed it was difficult for him to pinpoint precisely why it was so.”
“What will happen to him?” asked Aronoke.
“If that had been the only thing, his behavior would be corrected and he would be given another chance,” said Master Altus. “However, in this case, the Jedi Council has stepped in and decided that the whole of Clan Sandrek should be expelled. Something has gone sadly awry with that group. I am not aware of all the details.”
There was a brief silence as Aronoke digested this. He felt guilty that he had been responsible for an entire Clan being expelled. Perhaps it wasn’t his fault, but it had still happened because of him. Were they really all caught up in it? Had they all received peculiar documents on their datapads, or had Vark misled them all? Why had none of them questioned what was happening? What about Mentor Tolto and Clan Sandrek’s other instructors? Hadn’t they noticed something was amiss?
How could something like that pass unnoticed in the middle of the Jedi Temple?
“How is your training with Clan Ryllak going?” asked Master Altus, breaking into Aronoke’s internal circle of unanswerable questions. “I hope you are finding them more helpful.”
“It’s going very well,” said Aronoke. “They are very different. The lessons are much better, the other students are helpful and welcoming and I feel I am learning well.”
“Good,” said Master Altus. “Your training results have been pleasing. You are progressing quickly, which is in accordance with your physical growth. There is but one thing that I think your education is lacking, and that is you have not been outside the temple. Not since we brought you here from Kasthir. Hespenara and I are intending to make a short trip to a part of Coruscant called Prelix Sector and I think it would be a good idea if you came along.”
“Yes, Master!” said Aronoke, an unusual feeling of excitement building in him. There was the old nervousness, of the endlessly busy streets, the roiling traffic, and the tangle of monstrous buildings, but they were not as frightening as they had been. He thought it would be interesting to see more of this great city planet where he now lived. “I would like that.”
“You may tell your instructor that I will be taking you on a field trip,” said Master Altus.
One morning, Aronoke noticed that his schedule had changed. The others in Clan Herf noticed it too, because it was up there on the clan viewscreen. Instead of his usual exercise session, Aronoke was to report to a different training area because he had been seconded to Clan Sandrek for physical training.
“Se-con-ded?” said Aronoke, sounding it out, unfamiliar with the word.
“You know, like you’re joining their clan?” said Draken.
“Not for good I hope.”
“No, just for that class,” said Draken.
“Aw, Aronoke,” said Bithron, one of the younglings. “But that means you won’t be able to be with us!”
Aronoke was growing more popular amongst his younger clan mates. He liked little kids, he was finding. Liked how different they were compared to the ones he had met on Kasthir. These little kids wore their minds on their faces. Didn’t have secret agendas. Aronoke felt he could trust them.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Aronoke. “This way I can learn all the new combat skills and teach them to you when I get back.”
Emeraldine’s sparring sessions had proved popular. They usually included Ashquash now, and some of the little kids who had wanted to come along. They practiced more often too, even when Emeraldine wasn’t there. The little kids spent more time chasing each other and rolling around on the grass than practicing seriously, but Aronoke didn’t mind.
“Once you’re there you can ask them if me and Ashquash can join in too,” said Draken. “Since we’re nearly as big as you are.”
“Maybe,” said Aronoke. “I’ll try.”
“You’ve got to, Aronoke! Promise?”
But Aronoke wouldn’t promise. Didn’t want to have the responsibility of doing something he might not want to do. He felt uncertain about this change – hadn’t Master Insa-tolsa said that he should continue learning slowly? And now this sudden reassignment?
“I’ll see what it’s like first,” he said. “It might be a mistake, or really boring.”
“Okay,” said Draken. “But once you see it’s okay, you’ll ask, right?”
“Maybe,” said Aronoke again.
When he arrived at Clan Sandrek’s training session he was glad he had made no promises. He felt a bit stupid being there himself. Clan Sandrek was one of the older clans of initiates, almost ready to do their tests to become padawans. Aronoke felt confused. Why had Master Insa-tolsa changed his mind so radically? Aronoke had hoped to be trained with some people closer to his own size, but these initiates looked as big as fully-grown adults.
Oh well, best to just go along with things and not reveal his confusion. It was important not to show weakness. Besides, the Jedi Masters surely knew what they were doing – it was flattering to think that they thought he was capable of learning alongside these students, even if Aronoke felt like a kid next to them. He was used to being set up against adults – had been forced to deal with that every day when he was a skimmer. In two or three years time, he reminded himself, he would be just as big as these trainees. Maybe that was why he had been sent here.
This knowledge didn’t help him now though. Feeling awkward, Aronoke walked up to the instructor who was running the class.
“Yes?” said the instructor, looking at Aronoke dubiously.
“I was told to report here,” said Aronoke.
“Oh,” said the Instructor, his expression becoming surprised. “Are you Aronoke?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a bit young to be training with this group,” said the Instructor. “I wonder if there’s been some sort of mistake? Oh well, never mind. You might as well join in for today, at least. I am Mentor Tolto, the instructor for this group. You can put your things over there and join the group.”
His surprise was not very flattering at all, Aronoke thought drily, even if it was more realistic.
Aronoke could see the members of Clan Sandrek watching him curiously. They did not seem very happy to have him join them for their lesson. He could understand that. They were almost all fully trained and he would just get in the way. Still, it was not his fault. He determined to simply do the best he could. He had been a skimmer, he thought fiercely. These were just a bunch of kids, not as old as Kresmindle, even if they were bigger than Aronoke. He schooled his face in impassivity as he walked over to join the other students.
“What are you doing here?” asked one of Clan Sandrek, a tall sandy-haired human boy.
“I was told to report here to join this class,” said Aronoke.
“What’s your name? What clan are you from?”
“Aronoke. Clan Herf.”
“Isn’t that one of the really new clans?” asked one of the girls sceptically. “A bunch of younglings?”
Aronoke shrugged.
“You must be special if they sent you here,” said the sandy-haired boy. “Either that, or it’s a mistake.”
“I don’t think I’m special,” said Aronoke.
“Then it must be a mistake. Why else would they send a kid like you to train with us?” said the sandy-haired boy. He said “kid” like it was a dirty word.
Aronoke shrugged. “I was told to report here,” he said. “I don’t know why.” Damned if he was going to explain about being chiss and being older than the rest of his clan to this lot. He kept his face passive and neutral. He reminded himself that he was a trained skimmer and these were just a bunch of kids who wouldn’t last a moment on Kasthir. Resisted the urge to pull his hood further down over his face.
“I expect it will get sorted out,” said the girl who had spoken earlier. “I am Kai-lula, that is Vark, and that’s Zujana, Rancolos, Isti-bar…”
Mentor Tolto came over to the clan then, and Kai-lula fell silent. “Very well, you can gather your practice blades and start warming up,” he told Clan Sandrek. “Aronoke, you can use this one.” He passed a practice blade to Aronoke, who weighted it in one hand, unsure of how to hold it.
“Vark, you pair off with Aronoke and show him the ropes,” said Mentor Tolto, obviously noticing how awkwardly Aronoke held the blade.
Vark was a green duros, dark-skinned for one of his race. He did not look unfriendly. “Yes, Mentor,” he said. He led Aronoke over to a space a little distance from the others, who were already going through a series of rapid warm-up exercises.
“Have you used a practice blade before?” asked Vark.
“No,” said Aronoke.
Vark sighed. “Maybe it’s your Force powers that are advanced then,” he said tolerantly. “Maybe they expect you to compensate with them. Perhaps you are some kind of Force prodigy.”
Aronoke shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He didn’t know what that word meant – prodigy – but he was fairly sure he was not one.
“Well, there must be some reason,” said Vark. “Unless it is a mistake. We might as well get started. This is position one…”
Vark went through the basic positions one at a time and Aronoke did his best to copy him. The practice blade was heavy and swung differently from the practice sticks he was used to. Vark was quick and efficient at running through the moves.
“Alright then, let’s go at it,” said Vark, dropping easily into the starting position, which Aronoke fumbled to imitate. He wanted to duel already? Aronoke would have preferred to go through the forms a few more times first.
Aronoke had never been a good fighter. His skill at knife-fighting was tolerable, stemming back to his time in the Grinder, where he had lost more often than he won. Once he had moved to Bunkertown he lost all his fights, except the one against the mouthy Duros kid, because everyone was so much bigger and more experienced than him. Scuffling and duels were common there, and although Aronoke was ultimately the loser in matches, he had earned a certain respect from the other Fumers through his sheer tenacity.
“He’s a gutsy little bleeder,” Mill had once remarked of Aronoke, watching a new recruit grinding Aronoke’s face into the floor, while Aronoke tried to hold off admitting defeat as long as possible.
Aronoke had felt pleased, despite his numerous bruises and swollen lip. From Mill, this was high praise.
He had learned to avoid fights whenever possible without appearing to avoid them. Showing fear would have been social death in Bunkertown, and could have led to actual death as well.
“Just try keep to the forms as much as you can,” Vark said now, and Aronoke nodded. Whatever happened, it couldn’t be as bad as Bunkertown. Losing was nothing to him.
The practice blade was clumsy and slow in Aronoke’s hands. He struggled to bring it into the correct positions, but he could barely remember them, let alone which of them to use when. They had exchanged no more than a few blows before Vark’s blade came down on Aronoke’s knuckles, making him drop his weapon. Aronoke automatically dropped into a scuffling position, ignoring the pain in his hands, as he would have if disarmed in a knife-fight, but Vark gestured impatiently that he should pick up the blade and try again.
The next time went better. Aronoke started to get the feel of it. It was slow and heavy work compared to knife-fighting, but the sense of dropping back into a guard position and watching your opponent’s feet to anticipate his next move was not so different.
“That was better,” said Vark approvingly, although he was doubtlessly finding Aronoke’s lack of skill frustrating. Aronoke was well aware that Vark had been holding back considerably. “Not bad, for a beginner. Now why don’t you try sparring someone else? Zujana?”
He gestured to one of the girls, a lithe, humanoid alien with strange eyes and a cat-like face. Aronoke had seen a few of them around the Jedi temple. A cathar, he remembered after a minute.
The fight with Zujana was completely unlike the fight with Vark, because Zujana, rather like Aronoke himself, was not inclined to hold back. Aronoke tried his best but was obviously outclassed. He managed a few clumsy deflects, was forced onto the back foot, missed a parry and then Zujana’s practice blade cracked blindingly hard against the side of his head.
No, she hadn’t held back at all. Aronoke must have lost a moment of time, because he found himself suddenly lying on the grass. Everything was strangely yellow and his ears were ringing, but he told himself it was nothing, he must not give up, and climbed doggedly back to his feet.
“Are you okay, Aronoke?” asked Mentor Tolto, coming over the practice arena towards him. He looked surprised that Aronoke had gotten up so quickly, Aronoke thought.
“Yes, I’m fine,” said Aronoke, even though the world was still unsteady around him. Had to concentrate not to sway. Felt nauseous.
Somewhere, someone laughed.
Master Tolto looked at him uncertainly.
“I’m not so sure,” he said. “Go and sit over there for a while. You can join in again later.”
Aronoke went and sat on the ground as directed, feeling relieved in spite of his determination. He felt like lying down and shutting his eyes to see if the world would stop spinning, but he made himself sit calmly and watch the others. He fought down the queasiness in his stomach by taking deep, slow breaths and going through some of his meditation exercises. He was determined that Clan Sandrek would not see his weakness.
It was nearly the end of the lesson, before Aronoke was summoned to try sparring against Zujana again. His head still ached from the staff blow, but the world was swinging less violently. The familiar fear of being hurt again bit into him as he moved to stand opposite Zujana, but he forced it aside.
This time I’m not going to let that happen, thought Aronoke with fierce determination. I’ve got to be faster. Smarter.
A little whack to the head was nothing. Let it be a reminder that he should make sure to get out of the way.
The fight started and after a very few moments any thought of keeping to the recommended forms fled from Aronoke’s mind. It was a wild, crazy battle with lots of moving and ducking, and even jumping in the air. Aronoke had to concentrate very hard to stay ahead of Zujana, but he was still aware that the other students had stopped sparring to watch them. That Mentor Tolto was watching too. Aronoke kept expecting Mentor Tolto to stop the fight, to step in and offer criticism or instruction, but he did not.
In the end Aronoke simply ran out of energy, couldn’t move fast enough any more. A clever twist from Zujana’s blade and there was his blade flying through the air to land on the grass.
Zujana snorted contemptuously.
“Hm, well,” said Mentor Tolto, sounding unimpressed. “I have instructed you before, Zujana, that you must follow the standard forms. Only when they are completely ingrained in your muscles, when you no longer have to think about them, are you free to improvise. That time has not yet come.”
He didn’t say anything to Aronoke. Aronoke was disappointed that he didn’t offer any suggestions for improvement. Obviously Aronoke’s performance was so inept as to not even warrant criticism.
It doesn’t matter, thought Aronoke stubbornly. I did better that time, and I will continue to do better. I just have to try harder. It will only get easier as I get bigger.
Suddenly the few uncertain years that lay between him and physical maturity seemed like a long time.
“We are done for today,” Mentor Tolto continued. “Aronoke, it seems that you are intended to join us again, so you should come and pick out a practice blade for yourself. The rest of you are dismissed.”
Aronoke followed Mentor Tolto over to the equipment locker with mixed feelings. No mistake? hadn’t he proven he couldn’t keep up with the older trainees? How had Mentor Tolto found out that his placement was intentional? He didn’t say anything, thought to himself a little grimly that Draken and Ashquash would be beaten to a paste if they came here.
But he wouldn’t give up. A rap on the head with a practice blade was nothing compared to a knife fight with real knives. Nothing compared to a blood-sucking worm’s spit. Dealing with Clan Sandrek’s sullen attitude was nothing compared to having to threaten angry miners with a blaster pistol, to convince them to hand their skim over. He could take it.
Mentor Tolto helped Aronoke pick out a suitably weighted blade. It was considerably lighter than the one he had been using that day.
“This weapon is your responsibility and you should bring it with you to class,” said Mentor Tolto, as he wrote Aronoke’s name in the appropriate assignment list. He seemed uncertain of Aronoke’s competence in even this minor matter, but Aronoke didn’t pay him any heed. It was something, Aronoke thought, to be assigned his own weapon, even if it was only a practice blade.
“You will also need to read the appropriate text,” said Mentor Tolto. “Do you have your datapad? Ah, good. I will put it on here, and you should study it carefully in your spare time.”
“Okay,” said Aronoke.
He supposed it was a good thing that he had been promoted in this way, that he would only learn quicker if his challenges were greater. Nevertheless, he felt very tired as he walked back to Clan Herf’s rooms. It felt like returning home after a raid, he thought to himself, surprised to feel so relieved to be going back there. He was unprepared for the enthusiastic greeting of his clan mates on his arrival.
“Aronoke! How was it? Did you do well?”
“He looks like he got hit in the face!”
“Are you going to teach us some moves now?”
Aronoke would have rather laid down for a rest, his head was pounding so fiercely.
“I don’t know about now,” he said. “That was hard. I’m really tired.”
“Awww, but Emeraldine will be there too!”
Their enthusiasm was difficult to deny. Aronoke found he did not like to disappoint them or Emeraldine.
“Well, okay,” said Aronoke. “I’ll try, but I don’t know how good I will be.”
Out in the practice field he was not very good, but that was okay. He showed the straggle of younglings several of the basic positions and after that they soon got bored and started playing amongst themselves.
Emeraldine was pleasantly sympathetic about the lump on the side of his head.
“I’m surprised that they would hit you as hard as that,” she said, frowning, as they sat on a section of padded mat watching Draken and Ashquash staging a mock battle against the younglings. “They should be taking more care, because you’re so much smaller and have had less training than they have.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Aronoke. He was determined that he could take it, like he had taken everything else that life had thrown at him so far. To give up would be failing –failing to become a Jedi, failing Master Altus. If they threw him out, would they send him back to Kasthir?
“It does really,” said Emeraldine mildly. “You wouldn’t hit Lubris or Yeldra as hard as you could, would you? They’re as much smaller than you as you are compared to Clan Sandrek. They should be taking care of you and teaching you, not beating you up.”
Aronoke hadn’t thought about it like that. Couldn’t help feeling that Emeraldine was probably right.
“It’s not the same. I’m more used to it than the younglings are,” he said stubbornly, looking across at them thoughtfully. But he wouldn’t hit at them as hard as he would Draken or Emeraldine, he thought, a little surprised. He hadn’t been like that on Kasthir – wouldn’t have thought twice about it. When had he changed?
“Well, it’s your head,” said Emeraldine, “but I don’t think much of these Clan Sandrek people for treating you so harshly.”
Harshly. A stick-blow to the head was not so harsh, Aronoke thought to himself. He often wondered what Hespenara had originally told Emeraldine about him when she had first asked her to look out for Aronoke.
“So did you ask about me and Ashquash?” Draken asked when they had finished. Emeraldine had left for her own clan quarters, and Aronoke, Draken and Ashquash were walking back, the younglings having streamed off ahead of them.
“No,” said Aronoke flatly, feeling Ashquash’s eyes on him. “I didn’t.”
“Aw, that’s not fair,” said Draken. “Why should you get to go and train in new things, when we don’t?”
Aronoke sighed. “You don’t understand. Those Clan Sandrek people were really big, almost ready to go off and be Padawans. They were much better than me. I couldn’t keep up. I got hurt.”
“So you think it was some sort of mistake?” said Draken.
“I don’t know,” said Aronoke. “Their mentor said it wasn’t, that I should keep coming back, but I’m not so sure.” Seeing Draken’s face still stony with disappointment he tried to explain a bit better. “You read about the chiss, right?”
Draken nodded.
“Well, Master Insa-tolsa told me this. Chiss don’t grow up like humans do. They grow up faster. I’m eleven years old, only a year older than you, but because I’m a chiss, I’m really like I’m a few years older. After about three more years, I’m going to be finished growing. All grown up. As grown up as those people in Clan Sandrek will be.”
“That’s slimed,” said Draken, looking depressed.
“Yes, it is. I don’t like the idea much myself,” said Aronoke awkwardly. “I didn’t know about it until Master Insa-tolsa told me.”
Ashquash didn’t seem pleased either, Aronoke noticed. She was listening and not saying anything, like she often did. Scowling crossly at them both.
“But I think that could be a reason why they put me in a group like that,” he continued. “Because in three years I’m expected to be as grown up as they are.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” said Draken grudgingly.
“I didn’t want to ask about you and Ashquash,” Aronoke explained, “because they weren’t very friendly. Looked at me like I was some kind of freak, like they weren’t happy I was there. It wasn’t fun. I don’t think you’d like it.”
Didn’t really like it himself, thought Aronoke, but he was too stubborn to say so.
The text on his datapad was called “Tier I – the Way of the Lightsaber” and proved to be interesting but very hard to understand, by Aronoke’s standards. There were lots of words in it that he didn’t know, so next time he went for his lesson with Master Zolo he took the document to show to the Twi’lek master.
“I’m supposed to read this,” he said. “But it’s hard and got lots of words in it I don’t know. I thought maybe we could do some lessons with these words in them?”
Master Zolo looked pleased that Aronoke was taking an interest. Looked at the document on the datapad.
“So they’re got you on lightsaber training already, eh?” he said to Aronoke.
“Yes,” said Aronoke.
“I would have thought it would be a bit early for that,” said Master Zolo mildly, skipping through the text. “Yes, I don’t see why we can’t use this as study material.”
Aronoke was pleased. It was a way to combine lessons that made good sense.
The lessons continued. Aronoke was not sent to train with Clan Sandrek every exercise session. Was grateful that was so. He found it hard to keep up with them, but refused to do anything but try his hardest. He took up running in the early mornings before his shower, trying to improve his endurance, but he knew not much would change until he grew more. He never complained about being hurt or knocked down, which happened often. The bruises didn’t bother him as much as the jibes. The little signs of discontent. Aronoke soon noticed that some of the Clan Sandrek people worked together to make him look stupid, maybe to get him kicked out of the group.
Vark was ostensibly friendly, patient and diligent, acting as a mentor to Aronoke. Took him aside to show him the moves again and again.
“You should try to use your Force powers to help you fight,” Vark said one day when they were alone, training in that way.
“What do you mean?” asked Aronoke, confused. He hadn’t learned how to use the Force in fighting – Clan Herf hadn’t started that kind of lesson yet.
“All the most powerful Jedi use the Force in battle,” Vark elaborated. “That’s how they do so many things that seem impossible and are more formidable than any non-Force-using oppponent. How they react so quickly, move so agilely, and strike so forcefully. They could never do those things without the Force. You don’t do that at all, which is why you are still so slow and weak.”
“I suppose so,” said Aronoke uncertainly, “but I don’t know how to do that yet.”
“It’s not difficult,” said Vark. “You must feel the power within you and let it flow freely. You have to want to win. Use your need to get the better of your opponent to help fuel your blows. I think it would help you a lot.”
Aronoke felt hesitant. He was always on his guard now with Clan Sandrek, and he didn’t trust Vark, even though the duros had always been nice to him. He thought carefully through what Vark had suggested.
It made a certain amount of sense – Jedi obviously used the Force in combat. Fighting Master Altus and Hespenara in the canyon had given him personal evidence of that. But Master Insa-tolsa had told Aronoke that opening himself to the Force without proper control was dangerous. Also Aronoke had read in the lightsaber training manual and knew from the basic Force lessons Clan Herf was doing, that what Vark said was wrong. You were never supposed to use your emotions to fuel your power. It was the easy way. The Dark side.
But why would Vark encourage him to do that? Surely Vark knew it was wrong even better than Aronoke did.
Oh, now he got it – this was another of Clan Sandrek’s little tests. Aronoke was supposed to try this thing and then get in trouble for doing it. He scowled and did not say anything to Vark, but he thought less of Vark for trying to manipulate him. He steeled himself to endure and resist their taunts, and kept doing his training the same way he had before.
“I won’t be able to come and spar with you anymore,” said Emeraldine reluctantly one afternoon, after the conclusion of their weekly sparring session. “I have to prepare for my tests to become a Padawan, and after that, if I pass, hopefully I will be chosen by a Master for further training.”
“Aw, Emeraldine, we’ll miss you,” said Draken, and several of the little kids added their voices to his.
“Good luck on your tests, Emeraldine,” said Aronoke.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do well,” said Draken.
“I’ll try my best,” said Emeraldine, but she did seem nervous, Aronoke thought.
“Good luck, Emeraldine,” added Ashquash awkwardly, and then scowled as if to make up for it.
Really Ashquash was close to becoming one of the group, Aronoke thought. He felt a glowing pleasure in her achievement and then wondered why. He hadn’t felt that way about someone else’s success since Bunkertown, when Ebraz had managed to steal some ration bars from the larder right under Geb’s non-existant nose.
Friends. It was because they were friends. How strangely different Aronoke’s life had become, that he could be friends with someone like Ashquash.
Maybe I really am starting to belong here, Aronoke thought to himself.
Despite Emeraldine’s absence, Draken, Ashquash and Aronoke continued the extra sparring sessions. It was something active to do and a good use of spare time. The sparring was not as serious as physical training classes and it was good practice for them to test their skills against each other. Aronoke was learning many new things from his sessions with Clan Sandrek, despite his difficulties, although he still felt very much the underdog there. He shared his new skills with his friends so they all benefitted.
As the weeks passed, Aronoke’s endurance and muscle tone continued to improve, while his appetite increased accordingly. Gone were the days when he couldn’t finish the food on his plate. He often found himself going back for seconds.
It was after one of his early morning running sessions that Aronoke noticed the droid in the showers. It was in there when he went to get cleaned up. Made Aronoke feel suspicious and uncomfortable. It seemed to be doing some sort of maintenance to the walls.
“What are you doing here?” Aronoke asked the droid.
“I am servicing the hypercapacitors,” said the droid, and went on to give further details. Aronoke wasn’t up on technological speech. Hadn’t thought showers needed hypercapacitors. He frowned and decided to skip his shower, to come back the next day. Razzak Mintula wouldn’t notice, just this once.
But the next day he had not been in the shower very long when the same droid came in again. Aronoke could see it over the top of his cubicle, floating up by the ceiling, doing something else, high up in the walls.
It was stupid to feel paranoid about a maintenance droid in the showers, Aronoke told himself. They had to do maintenance in there sometimes. But he couldn’t see why it should be doing things up near the ceiling while he was trying to wash. He turned around, keeping his back against the wall, and finished very quickly, keeping his back turned away from the droid as much as was physically possible.
“How long are you going to be doing maintenance here in the mornings?” asked Aronoke irritably when he was fully dressed.
“This should be the last time today,” said the droid. “I should not have to come back, unless of course, I receive further orders to do so.”
Nevertheless, Aronoke was suspicious. He had Draken come and look at the walls. There were tiny holes drilled in all of them.
“Can you tell if there are cameras or something in there?” asked Aronoke.
“I don’t know,” said Draken. “It’s impossible to tell, not without taking the whole wall out.” They both peered at the wall intently. Ashquash came in and stared at them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, and stared at the wall too.
Aronoke knew that Ashquash was paranoid enough about the Jedi temple already. Didn’t want to unsettle her.
“Oh, nothing,” he said awkwardly.
“We’re just looking at the wall together,” said Draken brightly. “It’s a meditative group bonding exercise.”
Aronoke had no idea what he meant, but Ashquash recoiled slightly.
“I’ll come back later,” she said nervously and fled.
Once Ashquash was gone, Aronoke and Draken blocked all the holes with cleaning products, but after that Aronoke felt even less comfortable in the shower. He tried to keep his back to the wall all the time he was in there, in case there were cameras that could see him.
The history and lore lessons in the morning slowly grew more challenging. Generally Aronoke thought he understood them, although the people in the stories still mystified him with some of the choices they made. The younglings didn’t seem to have problems accepting these moral tales, but when it came to things like why the Jedi spared a diabolical Sith’s life after an immense struggle which the Jedi only won at great expense, Aronoke felt mystified. Why would you spare a hated enemy, who had hurt you and your friends, and would only go on to do more evil?
The stories thought stealing things was wrong too, whereas in Aronoke’s experience stealing was second-nature. He had often stolen things himself. Knew how to pick pockets and run a good distraction. Might have starved to death if he had never stolen anything. Leaving things unguarded and then complaining when they were stolen seemed inexplicable to Aronoke. What else would you expect?
Despite the odd ideas the stories taught, Aronoke could read and write almost all the words in Clan Herf’s lessons now, although he was still not quick at it. Meditation exercises came easily to him, and he practiced them diligently, both to keep peculiar attractions stimulated by womens’ hair, and his scary sense of the Jedi temple at bay. The basic Force exercises Clan Herf practiced were interesting, even though they had not learnt to lift pebbles yet.
If it were not for the lessons with Clan Sandrek, Aronoke would have felt completely satisfied with his progress. Rather than growing more tolerant towards him, the older initiates seemed more contemptuous of his presence than they had at the beginning, well aware by now, Aronoke thought gloomily, that he was no prodigy. It was hard not to get angry over some of the things that they did to show their displeasure.
Perhaps most notable was a day when Clan Sandrek and Aronoke had been told to rigidly practice the basic forms of lightsaber combat in a set pattern, one blow after another. Vark was almost always Aronoke’s partner. Even when he was not, he was usually somewhere nearby, keeping an eye on Aronoke’s progress. Today he had gone over to ask Mentor Tolto something while Rancolos, the sandy-haired boy, was facing off against Aronoke, one-two, three-four, five, and back to the beginning, one blow after another in a predictable pattern.
Mentor Tolto had turned away, deep in conversation with Vark, when Rancolos slipped in an extra blow, a low cunning sweep that cracked painfully into Aronoke’s shins.
“Hey!” said Aronoke indignantly, and Master Tolto glanced over momentarily, but then Vark said something else and he turned away almost at once.
“You’re too slow,” said Rancolos calmly. “Keep up, can’t you?”
Aronoke’s eyes narrowed. He tried to calm his rising anger and concentrated on the exercise.
One clean pass and then on to a second. Then a third. Aronoke began to relax again. One-two, three, and then Rancolos struck another quick blow, this time glancing off Aronoke’s hip. Aronoke glanced grimly across at Mentor Tolto, saw that he was still distracted by whatever Vark was asking him.
Rancolos saw the glance and smirked more broadly.
Aronoke lost it then, like he seldom did. Losing your temper on Kasthir when you were the smallest and weakest was akin to suicide. He swung his practice blade to strike directly at Rancolos, but the older boy parried him easily. Aronoke tried to strike again and again, but Rancolos easily evaded him, smirking all the time. Rapped Aronoke’s knuckles hard so he dropped his practice blade. Well, these sticks were stupid weapons anyway. Aronoke was much better at scuffling. Angrily, Aronoke leapt at Rancolos with his bare fists.
Then Mentor Tolto was suddenly there. Aronoke wondered later if he had noticed the fight on his own, or if someone else had alerted him.
“Aronoke, what are you doing?” asked Mentor Tolto coldly. “If you want to be in the class you can not behave like a youngling.”
A youngling? Aronoke was furious but stopped still and said nothing. He stared at the ground, barely restraining himself.
“We will pair off for duelling now,” Mentor Tolto addressed the class, ignoring Aronoke’s sullen scowl.
Aronoke went to pair off with Vark as usual, but Vark was not there. He was sitting down doing something with his shoe. Instead there was Zujana, staring at him in her intent cat-like way.
Zujana was dangerously unpredictable. And Vark’s absence, first talking to Mentor Tolto and now fiddling with his shoe, was too much of a coincidence. It was another one of their plots, Aronoke suddenly realised. He found his temper cooling abruptly to be replaced by an icy calm. He could not afford to be angry in a fight with Zujana. She would not hold back. He had to think or he could be badly hurt. The old lessons from the knife fights back in Tarbsosk and the more serious battles in Bunkertown came abruptly back to him. Being angry was no good. Being angry stopped you thinking. Got you killed. Aronoke was abruptly sober and calm.
It was a good fight. Like the time he had fought Zujana wildly on that first day, everyone stopped to watch. It was different than that fight – it kept to the standard forms, although only barely. Somehow Aronoke was at the centre of his being, able to respond and strike, parry and dodge in a calculated way. They were very evenly matched now, he realised, although Zujana was still older, still bigger, still had more endurance. The match seemed to go on forever and Aronoke grew more and more tired, the muscles burning in his arms, the sweat stinging his eyes.
As he slowed, he failed to parry a blow by a laser’s breadth, and was disarmed.
Unlike last time, Zujana looked tired too.
“Good fight,” she said, respect creeping into her strange voice.
“Thanks,” said Aronoke awkwardly.
It was some sort of victory, he thought, even though he had still lost.
Shortly after the day he lost his temper, another document about physical training appeared on Aronoke’s datapad. It was called “Alien Martial Arts of the Outer Rim,” and, like the article on lightsaber training, it contained a large number of words that Aronoke could not understand. There were pictures in it too, which mainly seemed to depict underclad aliens in various fighting positions. Aronoke did not like to look at the pictures too closely. They made him feel uncomfortable. The aliens had dangly parts in all the wrong places.
Alien Martial Arts? Did Jedi learn about that sort of thing? Maybe it was to help them learn to fight against alien enemies. Aronoke decided it must be a lesson he was expected to read, and took it to Master Zolo for he next reading lesson.
“I am supposed to read this as well,” he said to Master Zolo, showing him the document.
Master Zolo looked at it and frowned. “Who told you to read this?” he asked sharply.
Aronoke caught his tone at once, realised that there must something wrong with it.
Someone had been playing him for a fool. Maybe someone like Rancolos. Suddenly the document seemed like a scathing jibe regarding his temper outburst the other day, when he had gone for Rancolos with his fists. Aronoke felt the heat rising in his cheeks and schooled himself to calmness. If someone had played a stupid joke on him, it was their fault, not his.
“No one actually told me to,” admitted Aronoke. “It appeared on my datapad, so I thought I was supposed to read it. I haven’t read it yet. It looked too hard.”
“Oh,” said Master Zolo. “Well I don’t think you should. Some of the things in it look entirely inappropriate.”
“Then I will delete it,” said Aronoke. “It is probably someone’s stupid idea of a joke.”
“That is a good idea,” said Master Zolo, so Aronoke deleted it immediately.
One afternoon Clan Herf had just come back from physical training, and there was Emeraldine, waiting for them in their clan common room.
“Emeraldine!” cried Bithron, who saw her first, and then all the younglings ran up to cluster around her. “Emeraldine’s back! Oh, she’s got a lightsaber!”
“Emaraldine!” said Draken. “You passed your tests?”
Emeraldine was nodding and smiling, the centre of a deluge of questions from the younglings.
“Congratulations!” said Aronoke.
“Give Emeraldine some space,” said Razzak Mintula sternly to the younglings. “Remember your manners. Jedi do not behave like a flock of young skelp. Remember you must be able to remain calm at all times. Look at Ashquash, she is not leaping about like a pop-louse.”
“Yes, Instructor Mintula.”
“Sorry Emeraldine,” said Yeldra, “But can we see your lightsaber, please?”
Emeraldine looked across at Razzak Mintula. “May I show them, Instructor?” she asked.
“Yes, I don’t see why not,” said Razzak Mintula. “Clan Herf, come and stand and give Emeraldine some space. A lightsaber is a dangerous weapon, much more so than a practice blade. It should never be wielded without due care or purpose.”
“We know that, Instuctor,” said Lubris, sighing over-dramatically. Razzak Mintula gave him a warning look, and he quickly subsided.
Emeraldine unclipped the lightsaber from her belt and activated it. The blade was a strong bright yellow. She effortlessly moved through the first three forms before deactivating it again. The buzzing sound the blade made brought Aronoke back to that first shocking moment when he had seen a lightsaber. How different things had been then.
“Congratulations on passing your initiate trials and receiving your lightsaber, Emeraldine,” said Razzak Mintula.
“Congratulations,” echoed Ashquash awkwardly.
“Thank you,” said Emeraldine, smiling broadly. “I wanted to come and see you all while I have some time. I have finished all my tests, and now all I have to do is wait to see if I am chosen by a Master.”
“I’m sure you will be,” said Aronoke confidently. “Who wouldn’t want a padawan like you?”
“I know I shouldn’t worry about it,” said Emeraldine, “and I expect that you are right, that I will be chosen, but it’s hard to feel properly settled without knowing what’s going to happen.”
“You’ll be off having adventures across the galaxy any day now,” said Draken jealously. “Nothing could be more certain.”
Emeraldine laughed kindly. “And so will you one day,” she said. “Don’t wish all your life and training away too quickly. You know the years you spend in the Jedi temple are likely the most peaceful and pleasant that you’ll ever have.”
“Peaceful?” cried Draken. “With all these lessons and rules?”
Everyone laughed.
“I had best get back to my own clan,” said Emeraldine. “I just wanted you to know that I had passed the trials. I don’t know if I will be able to come back and see you again, but I will send a message to let you know if I get chosen.”
“When you get chosen,” said Aronoke.
“When, then,” said Emeraldine, smiling. “Goodbye!”
“Good luck, Emeraldine!” said Draken. “We’ll miss you.
Word came perhaps a week later that Emeraldine had been selected as a padawan by Master Ormenel, and was leaving the Jedi temple. She had no idea when she would be back, if at all. Aronoke was pleased that she had been selected so quickly. Sent back a message of congratulations and farewell. He had not liked to think of cheerful, good-natured Emeraldine waiting a long time to be chosen, worrying more and more that she would be passed over despite all her hard work.
Would anyone want him, a weird abandoned chiss from Kasthir, when the time came? Aronoke pushed the faint fear aside almost immediately. There was no point worrying about things that lay so far in the future.
Then, one afternoon, Aronoke was summoned by Yeldra to answer a message on the message viewer. When he went to look, Hespenara herself was on the screen. She looked a little older, a little more confident and relaxed, he thought. More comfortable in her own skin.
“Aronoke!” said Hespenara. “It’s good to see you again! You’re looking quite different. I see you’ve had your hair cut.”
All of Clan Herf had their hair cut, except Ashquash, who had no hair, and Kergridosk, who was a rodian. It had been an interesting experience and nothing like Draken’s unappetizing stories about second-rate barber droids in the lower levels. They were allowed to choose their hair-cuts from a number of standard Jedi selections. Aronoke had chosen one of the longer styles, and the droid had cut his hair off in a straight line at the height of his jaw. He liked his new hair, liked how it looked so crisp and straight in the mirror and less like he had suffered an unfortunate accident in a vibroblade factory. He felt it made him look older, better suited how he felt about himself since he had been growing so fast.
“Yes,” said Aronoke. “It’s good to see you too, Hespenara.”
“We had a good trip,” said Hespenara. “Master Altus is eager to see you again too, so if you’re free I thought I could come and pick you up and bring you over for dinner tonight.”
Master Altus! Aronoke had experienced a hopeful flush of warmth and well-being upon seeing Hespenara on the viewscreen, just because he had guessed that Master Altus must be back too. The feeling was linked very strongly in his mind to the moment when Master Altus had held him at lightsaber-point back on Kasthir. The smell of sweat and fumes, the heat, the buzzing of the lightsaber – at the thought of seeing Master Altus, they all came back to him instantly, filling an integral place in his world. Although it was not at all a physical attraction, it was still not a Jedi-appropriate impulse, he realised guiltily. He pushed his misgivings aside, refusing to question his feelings more deeply. It was too private.
“Okay,” Aronoke said aloud. “I will have to ask Instructor Mintula to make sure it is alright first.”
“That’s fine,” said Hespenara, smiling. “Generally in my experience, if an Intiate is asked to do anything by a Jedi Master they will always be allowed to do it, unless of course they were currently being punished for a very serious misdemeanour indeed.”
“Well, it should be alright since I escaped from my cell already,” Aronoke joked, keeping his face absolutely straight.
Hespenara looked at him uncertainly for a moment and then laughed. “You’re going to make a very interesting Jedi, Aronoke,” she said. “I will see you tonight.”
When she arrived on her little bubble speeder late that afternoon, Aronoke looked at her and thought for a moment that she had changed. She was more assured, as he had noted on the holoscreen. Whereas before she had looked to him like a green girl, secondary to Master Altus and to an extent discountable, now she looked like a proper padawan. She had grown into the role during the expedition. Also, he realised a moment later, he had changed. He knew better what being a padawan meant, could respect her more in her own right.
She also looked like a woman, attractively fit and well muscled. With some dismay he felt his body respond to that thought.
“Aronoke! You’ve grown so much!” said Hespenara, standing at arm’s length to look at him, too close for comfort. “You’re filling out,” she added, her eyes travelling over the length of him. “And you’re cleaner.”
Aronoke smiled.
“Did your expedition go well?” he asked.
“Oh, it was a lot like hard work sometimes, more for Master Altus than for me,” she said. “I’m a bit tired now, but nothing I won’t get over soon. It was nice to be on a forested planet again, after being here and on your Kasthir. Things did not go as smoothly as we would have liked, but we got them sorted out and we are back now. How is your training going?”
As she spoke, Aronoke had taken several slow steps backwards, running through a couple of meditative tricks to maintain his composure. Hespenara smiled a little more wickedly, perhaps realising the effect she was having on him, but said nothing. Did not seem to take offense.
“It’s going well,” said Aronoke. “It’s all quite easy.”
“I expect it would be after everything you went through on Kasthir,” said Hespenara sympathetically. “Here, I have a gift for you – you might as well have it now, so you don’t have to carry it about with you.”
A gift. Aronoke couldn’t remember ever being given a gift, unless you counted the blaster Fronzak gave him when he first became a skimmer. Certainly he had never been given anything like this. A pretty thing. It was an intricate wooden box, carved from a dark dense timber. The pieces slid and moved about in a complex way.
“It’s a puzzle box,” said Hespenara. “From the planet we were visiting.”
“How does it open?” asked Aronoke, pleased. He had nothing in his room that did not come from the Jedi temple.
“Well, that’s the point,” said Hespenara.
“Ah, that’s the puzzle,” said Aronoke. “Thank you, it is very pleasing.”
He put the puzzle box in his room, on the shelf next to his bed, and came back out to join Hespenara.
“Shall we go?” said Hespenara.
“Yes,” said Aronoke and climbed on the back of the speeder. It was uncomfortable to sit perched on the back very close to Hespenara, while trying hard not think of her being a girl. Much less comfortable than it had been last time, not so many months before. I really am growing older quickly, Aronoke thought, sitting as far back on the speeder as possible and thinking meditative thoughts while also concentrating on not falling off. It was not easy.
He was grateful it was easier to not think of Ashquash as a girl, because that would make it difficult to share a room with her. He knew this suited Ashquash too, that she had been eager to maintain the illusion that she was a boy. Remembered how angry she had been when Draken had found out the truth and told everyone.
“Why do you mind if people know that you are a girl?” Aronoke had asked later while they were out sparring.
Ashquash shrugged. “Being a slave and being a girl is difficult. People treat you differently and want to do horrible things to you.”
“Yes, that’s rough,” said Aronoke sympathetically, “but I don’t think it’s as different as you think. People can do horrible things to you no matter what sort of person you are.”
“My species is such that I can pass for a human boy in most places,” said Ashquash, “so there is no reason to be thought of as a girl if people think I am a boy. It’s safer like that.”
“Well, I promise not to think of you as a girl, or to treat you differently,” said Aronoke, and he bopped her over the head with his sparring stick to prove it.
Master Altus looked very tired, Aronoke thought, when they arrived at his rooms. Looked like he could use a long rest. It must have been a terribly troublesome planet if it could weary someone like Master Altus. Why, he had come off Kasthir looking fresh and unruffled. Still, Aronoke supposed, more populated planets must have more numerous unpleasant people to fight, even if they had fewer nasty creatures and more hospitable environments.
“Ah, Aronoke,” said Master Altus. “You are looking well! You have put on a substantial amount of weight and height since last time, much more like you should be.”
“Yes Master,” said Aronoke, smiling back at him. “It’s good to see you again.”
“Let us talk of inconsequential things and eat first. We will get down to more serious business later.”
“As you wish, Master,” said Aronoke, wondering what sort of business Master Altus had in mind, thinking that the green man looked too worn to be bothering with Aronoke just now. He found himself oddly torn between concern and being glad to see Master Altus – surely Aronoke had no serious problems that could not wait until later. Still, Master Altus was capable of looking after himself, while Aronoke was only an intiate and should do as Master Altus willed.
Hespenara went to fetch the dinner things while Aronoke and Master Altus sat down.
“You are looking rather tired, Master,” said Aronoke a little apologetically, and the green man sighed wearily.
“Yes, it was a difficult trip in many ways. Not so much for Hespenara, which is why she is off fetching dinner while I sit here.”
“That’s her job, Master,” Aronoke noted.
“Yes, that’s true,” said Master Altus. “Although I try to avoid burdening my padawan with too many menial tasks that I could just as easily perform myself or request from a droid. Some Masters consider that a long induction of carrying and cleaning should be the padawan’s lot in early years, ostensibly to train patience and obedience, but I feel it is just as much my duty to provide my padawan with appropriate training as it is for her to serve me.”
Aronoke hoped that when he became a padawan that his master would be someone like Master Altus. Of course, it would be best of all would be if Master Altus was his Master, but there were a lot of reasons why that might not be so. A Master only had one padawan at a time. Hespenara might not be finished before Aronoke was ready. And then, Master Altus might have reasons of his own for not wanting Aronoke as a padawan.
Like the undeniable bond Aronoke felt existed between them.
“It was a long journey back here and I am grateful it is over,” continued Master Altus. “Now that I am here, I hope to stay in residence for some time, which will allow me to oversee your studies a little more closely. I have plenty of work to keep me busy here for some time.”
Aronoke was pleased at the idea of Master Altus being at the Temple for a time, although he wondered why he took such an interest in Aronoke’s education when it was not typical for a Master to do so.
“Ah, here is Hespenara with the food,” said Master Altus, when the green girl arrived back. “Let us eat.”
The portions were not as huge as the ones Aronoke had grown accustomed to being served in the refectory and the food was of a different kind than he would have chosen, simple but spicy. He had learned to eat more gracefully, he hoped, during his time on Coruscant. After he had been teased a few times about his poor table manners by Draken, he had been more receptive to Razzak Mantula’s instructions on how to use his eating implements properly. He was glad of those things now, eating with Master Altus, even though the meal was a simple one and the occasion informal.
After dinner they sat talking for a while, the three of them, and Aronoke was pleased that he no longer failed to recognise all the names in the mysterious conversations Hespenara and Master Altus had. Now he understood a name here and a concept there. The things they said were still a peculiar dance of words that were hard to follow, but he had made some progress. He could even make a relevant comment, or ask a relevant question occaisonally.
After a while, Master Altus told Hespenara she could take the rest of the evening off.
“I expect Aronoke will be able to find his own way back to his quarters by now,” he told her, “So take some time to yourself, Padawan.”
“Yes, Master, thank you,” she said, and bidding Aronoke good night, disappeared out the door.
Master Altus sighed and stretched a little, leaned back in his chair, meshed his fingers and tapped his thumbs together.
“I have been looking at your training results Aronoke,” he said. “How have you been finding things? Are they going well?”
“Mostly well, Master,” said Aronoke.
“Why don’t you tell me about them?”
Aronoke was accustomed to this sort of question by now and knew that Master Altus was asking him to describe how his training was going, rather than asking for a reason why he did not.
“Everything is going relatively smoothly,” said Aronoke. “The lessons we have in the morning, the philosophy, history and meditation are very simple. It is a little harder for me to keep up because I am still learning to read, but that is going well too. I find it hard to understand the reasoning behind some of the moral stories. They don’t make much sense to me, because the way people behave is nothing like the way they would on Kasthir, but I expect I will learn to understand in time. The Force lessons are easy enough too. I am learning Huttese, but I don’t seem to have much of an ear for it. I expect it will get easier when my reading improves. I am doing some extra meditation lessons that Master Insa-tolsa told me I should learn, because I am supposed to be growing up quicker than if I was a human. Those are more difficult, but I am getting better at them. For Physical Training I spend several sessions a week training with one of the older clans, Clan Sandrek, which is quite hard.”
“Hard?” asked Master Altus. “In what way?”
“Well, firstly because I am a lot smaller than they are,” said Aronoke. “I can’t reach as far and I am not as strong so it is physically difficult. I get tired quicker than they do. I started doing extra running so I might be able to keep up better, and I think that has helped. Still, nothing will really change until I grow more. Quite often I get hurt because I am not as adept. I get beaten a lot, although I expect losing is just as good practice, and I am used to that from Kasthir, but there are other things…” He hesitated, uncertain whether he should tell Master Altus about the attitude of the Sandrek clan.
“Yes?”
“Well, the members of Sandrek clan don’t seem to like me being there,” said Aronoke apologetically. “They sometimes do things purposefully to make me angry. One will trip me up while someone else distracts the instructor. That sort of thing. It is hard not to get angry, even though I know I am not supposed to. They don’t like it that I am there because I am smaller and slower and haven’t been trained as much as they have.”
“That shouldn’t matter,” said Master Altus calmly. “They should be more patient.”
“That’s true, Master, and yet I can understand why they feel that way. They are not like that all the time. Most of them try to be patient.”
“They should try harder,” said Master Altus inflexibly. “They should be trying to be good examples to you, since they are nearly finished their training as Initiates.”
He sat back looking thoughtful for a long moment, and Aronoke wondered what was concerning him so deeply.
“I am not certain, Aronoke, why you have been seconded to Clan Sandrek at all. It is very unusual, and not at all the way things should be done. I can not find out who has sent the directive that you should be allocated there. It comes from the Jedi Council, that much is obvious, but exactly from where I am not certain. I would have preferred, you realise, if your training had not been so quickly advanced in this way.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke. “It just appeared on my schedule. I did not know it was unusual so I just did it.”
“Yes,” said Master Altus. “I understand that. You don’t know how things are done here, so it is difficult for you to tell if anything is out of the ordinary. Nevertheless, it would be wise if you report any suspicious things that happen to someone you trust. I don’t want you to feel insecure here within the Jedi temple, because you are safe, especially by the standards of a world like Kasthir, but I am convinced that someone is seeking to influence your training.”
“Influence my training?” queried Aronoke. “Why would they do that?”
“There could be many reasons,” said Master Altus. “By influencing your lessons and the things you encounter within them, someone could be hoping to reach a particular outcome, to steer your training in a particular direction.”
“But why would they do that to me?” asked Aronoke.
“Because you are different,” said Master Altus. “Because you are strong in the Force. Perhaps because of other unique traits that you possess – you are a chiss, you were raised in an unusual way and then there is that other aspect that you showed me.”
Because of the strange thing on my back, interpreted Aronoke, while part of him quailed at the thought of being considered different, even here in this place where so various a collection of sentient species resided with a common goal. All he wanted was to be able to blend in.
“Do you wish to continue training with Clan Sandrek, Aronoke?” said Master Altus. “I can possibly have you moved back to training with your own clan, or perhaps with another that is not quite as advanced with their training.”
Aronoke was quiet for a while. He wanted to be strong and prove himself to Clan Sandrek. He also wanted to be obedient to Master Altus, who didn’t want him doing such advanced training.
“I don’t like to give up at things, Master. I would like to keep trying.”
“By all accounts they will be sitting for their final tests soon, which will mean that you have to be reassigned anyway,” said Master Altus. “So I expect it is not so important, as long as you are happy with the situation. Are there any other unusual things in your training that you have noticed?”
“I’m not sure,” said Aronoke, but then immediately thought of something. “There was one odd thing – a document which appeared on my datapad. When I started training with the Sandrek people, Mentor Tolto gave me a document to read, about the way of the lightsaber, but it had lots of hard words in it. I couldn’t read it very well. So I took it to Master Zolo, my reading instructor, and he helped me with it. Made it part of my lessons, which was helpful. Then, a few weeks later, another document appeared on my datapad, so I thought it was something I was supposed to learn too. It was something about Alien Martial Arts from the Outer Rim. It also had hard words, so I took that to Master Zolo too, but he didn’t like it. He said it was not very appropriate. I thought someone was playing a stupid joke on me, so I deleted it.”
“Hm,” said Master Altus. “Master Zolo you say? Perhaps he would remember the exact title of the document. I shall get in contact with him.”
“Yes Master,” said Aronoke.
“You should come and see me again if anything else happens, Aronoke,” said Master Altus. “As I said, I expect to be around for a while this time. Or, of course, you can come and see me if you just wish to talk, as well.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“It is after all my responsibility that you are here,” said Master Altus. “Since I brought you.”
It would have been a much worse thing, Aronoke thought, if he had not. Master Altus need feel no guilt over that.
Aronoke was thoughtful while walking back to his clan nest through the passages. A conspiracy then. He did not like the idea that the Jedi Temple was not as safe a haven as originally presented, but it was still very much safer than Kasthir. Wherever there were people, they would have different aims, different goals. Would seek to manipulate others to achieve those things. That was just the way of the galaxy.
A few days later, when they had just come back from exercise class, Draken said to Aronoke: “Coming to have a shower?”
Aronoke fidgeted and stared at the floor.
“I had one not long ago,” he said defensively.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have one,” said Draken accusingly.
Everyone was obsessed with showers here, Aronoke thought. Even the little kids went into the ablutions block at least once a day just to wash themselves. Once every day! The ones who were reluctant were herded in by Razzak Mintula. Aronoke had always made himself absent when she went around rounding them up.
“I mean,” Draken continued, “it’s all very well not showering back on your primitive desert planet, where there’s no one but a bunch of stinky miners and criminals, but now you’re training to be a Jedi, you have to think about appearances. You can’t just go around looking shabby. I don’t care personally if you smell like sentient slime that evolved in the sewerage treatment system, but you’ve got to remember you are representing all the Jedi order now, not just yourself anymore.”
Sentient sewerage? Aronoke sniffed himself. Perhaps he smelt a bit stale, but that was all. Guiltily he remembered Master Altus had insisted that he wash. That Hespenara had noticed immediately when he hadn’t for a few days. Maybe it was part of being a Jedi to be so unreasonably fastidious about washing. Just like wearing robes was.
But the shower on the ship had been dry…the one here used water. Aronoke had seen how it worked and was horrified. Obviously people here used water for all sorts of things that Aronoke would never have considered.
In some ways it had been easier being a skimmer. No one expected you to wash. Ever.
“I washed on the ship,” said Aronoke stubbornly. “That wasn’t long ago.”
“Suit yourself,” said Draken and he went off to the showers. Aronoke saw him come back later, clean and slightly moist looking. Urgh. He couldn’t get used to the idea of getting wet all over. The smell of the water, doubtlessly full of strange dissolved substances from the air. The way it would feel against his skin.
Razzak Mintula must have also noticed that Aronoke was not washing because a few days later she came to talk to him about it.
“Aronoke, you have to go and have a shower,” said Razzak Mintula, in a voice that broached no argument. “It is important that you maintain a basic level of hygiene. I know you come from a desert planet, but there’s plenty of water here on Coruscant. It is not going to run out.”
Aronoke shuffled his feet, feeling uncomfortable.
“I had a shower on the ship”, he protested. “It wasn’t that long ago.”
“You should shower every day,” said Razzak Mintula fixing him with her most stern expression. “Directly after you exercise. Showering every second day is acceptable, but that is the bare minimum.”
Aronoke did not know what to say. He stared stubbornly at the ground, wishing he could avoid the issue. It was not just washing. He had seen how the little kids behaved. Even Draken. Running around wildly all over the place, not respecting each other’s privacy. He was worried that someone would look in. He didn’t care about them seeing him naked. It was his back, and despite Master Altus’s reassurance, he didn’t want anyone asking questions about it. But he couldn’t tell Razzak Mintula that.
“Do you understand, Aronoke?” Razzak Mintula asked.
“Yes, Instructor Mintula,” said Aronoke, “but it’s wet!”
“The water will not hurt you,” she said severely. “You are old enough to shower yourself and when you have tried it, I am sure you will find you quickly get used to it.”
Aronoke was silent. Could feel himself start to sweat.
Razzak Mintula continued to stare at him sternly, pinning him with her eyes as thoroughly as Fronzak might have stabbed a rock-tick with his vibroblade.
“Do I have to come in there and make you?” she threatened.
Aronoke immediately envisioned Razzak Mintula dragging him into the showers by one ear, shoving him in a cubicle, watching as he got undressed. The look on her face when she saw all the scars and the thing on his back. Shock and pity, and maybe something worse. Revulsion.
“No,” said Aronoke quickly.
“Very well then,” said Razzak Mintula. “Go and have a shower now.”
It was with considerable trepidation that he collected some clean clothes and went off to wash himself. It took a long time. He did not like to get entirely under the water at once. It felt very strange, the way the dribbly trickles of water trailed across his skin like an impossible deluge of warm sweat, insidiously coursing down to wet every part of him. Aronoke started with his hands and feet, tried to put just one part of him underneath at a time. It was worst with his head.
He did not feel properly dry for several hours afterwards.
He would have to get quicker at it, Aronoke thought afterwards. It struck him that if he got up very early in the morning when everyone was still asleep the shower room would be empty, and it would be safer.
From then on the whole experience was more bearable. When no one else was around, he didn’t get the creepy feeling that someone was going to come in and surprise him.
Aronoke had been in the primary training centre for a week when Emeraldine came to visit. She came after afternoon lessons.
“I thought we might go out and do something,” said Emeraldine. “Perhaps you would like to spar.”
“Okay,” said Aronoke. So he and Draken and Emeraldine went down to the exercise facilities. Emeraldine led them over to a rack which contained a number of practice sticks for practicing sparring.
“First you learn with practice sticks, then practice blades and finally lightsabers,” said Emeraldine. “Here, take a stick.”
The stick felt hard and slightly awkward within Aronoke’s hands. Too long to be a knife. Not balanced like a vibroblade. Wasn’t sure how to hold it for a few minutes, and slid his hands up and down its length, considering.
“Well?” said Emeraldine, holding her stick naturally in two hands, relaxed and ready.
Aronoke needed no further encouragement. Deciding to wield the stick like a vibroblade, he swung and slashed at Emeraldine.
“You don’t hold anything back do you?” said Emeraldine, parrying his blows with some effort.
“Sorry,” said Aronoke. Fights were always serious on Kasthir, even the ones you fought for fun. Aronoke had seldom won any of them. Skimming had hardly ever required fighting, only when the miners were new, and then there were usually lots of Fumers to take care of things. Occasionally a miner got it into his head that he wasn’t going to hand over his skim, but that could usually be solved with a bit of brash bravado on the skimmer’s part, accompanied by some reckless blaster-waving.
“No, it’s good,” said Emeraldine, puffing a bit. “So many people hold back.”
Emeraldine won. Nevertheless Aronoke was not displeased with his efforts. Emeraldine looked like she had to work to keep up with him.
After Aronoke’s turn, Draken had a go against Emeraldine and then they sparred each other.
“That was good,” Aronoke said to Draken afterwards, feeling a sense of satisfied achievement. “We should do that more often.”
“Yeah,” said Draken, grudgingly. “It wasn’t bad.” He had lost both his sessions, although, as Emeraldine said, it wasn’t supposed to be about winning. It hadn’t been too difficult to beat Draken. Aronoke had knocked his stick decisively out of his hands. Draken had obviously never been involved in any serious fighting.
“If we have to learn to use those things anyway,” said Aronoke, “then we might as well start learning them now. That way we’ll be better at using our lightsabers quicker.”
“That’s true. We’re already behind the others because we’re older,” said Draken.
Aronoke shrugged. “We’re ahead of the others in some things, because they’re smaller than us.”
“They’ll be younger than us when they finish,” said Draken.
“Not by so much,” said Aronoke. “And why should it matter anyway? We should practice as much as we can. That way we might catch up.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” said Draken.
Aronoke found that he liked the routine of doing the same things every day in the same order. It lent a predictability to his life that he found reassuring. Knew where he stood. The things that they learned were simple compared to learning skimming. Much less dangerous. There was no chance of getting killed at all. No need to worry constantly about who was behind you.
Aronoke thought that Draken felt more constrained by their lifestyle than he did. Draken was used to going where he liked, felt that it was okay to break the rules, as long as you didn’t get caught. He had told Aronoke that on Coruscant, rules were often no more than meaningless bureaucratic sludge, brought into place because the bureaucrats needed something to do. They weren’t always there because they were necessary, but because someone who sat in a distant office thought that was how things should be done. If you broke the rules, mostly you wouldn’t die from it, unless you carelessly fell off a railing or crashed your speeder. As Draken said, if you were that stupid a bunch of rules probably wouldn’t save you anyway.
In the desert rules were different. Weren’t written down anywhere. Rules on Kasthir were practical things that stopped you from getting killed. Things like don’t go outside without your ventilator. Don’t stay out overnight. Stay out of the shade. Don’t mess with the higher-ups. People who ignored those things did not survive.
Here the rules were less important, but it was still easier to go along with them than to break them. Aronoke did not see the point of that, not when they were already given everything they needed. More than enough food. Clothing. Lessons. Enough things to do to keep busy all the time, if you wanted.
Draken argued with Razzak Mintula and the other instructors a good deal more than Aronoke did. Ashquash often didn’t do the lessons at all. Just sat there or did angry pointless things. But that was the riksht talking. He would soon get bored doing that as the addiction lost its hold on him.
Slowly, a little more with each passing day, Ashquash did seem to grow more sociable. Slowly began to participate.
One day, when Aronoke was sitting in the common room doing his reading homework, Ashquash came over with his own datapad.
“Do you mind if I sit here?” said Ashquash.
Aronoke was surprised to be asked. The common room belonged to everyone.
“No,” he said. Ashquash sat down on the other side of the table. Began doing his own reading lesson. They sat there in silence, each doing their own work, but somehow it was more companionable than working alone.
It was the first sign that Ashquash was getting better, Aronoke thought.
After that the pale kid would often come and sit with Aronoke. Together they studied in silence, until after a while, Ashquash started asking Aronoke questions. Would ask about the meaning of a word or how to write a sentence. Aronoke was further ahead, since Ashquash had spent a lot of time being angry and avoiding lessons, so he often knew the answers.
After a while, he started asking Ashquash questions back.
“So do you like it better here now?” asked Aronoke, during one of these sessions.
“I don’t miss the riksht as much,” said Ashquash.
“Do you still think they’re lying?”
“I don’t know,” said Ashquash uncertainly. “They do teach us a lot of things.”
“That’s true,” said Aronoke.
He did not want to say too much. Knew that the spice messed your brain up. Thought that Ashquash had to decide for himself.
It was during one of the sparring sessions with Emeraldine that Aronoke found out something interesting about Ashquash.
“So how is Ashquash doing?” asked the green girl as they went to return their practice sticks to the rack. Draken, full of energy as always, had already put his stick back and run off ahead.
Aronoke had long since learned that Emeraldine, Hespenara and Master Altus were all mirialans. Mirialans had funny cultural ideas about tatooing a record of their personal achievements on their faces. It explained why Master Altus had so very many tattoos, Aronoke thought privately.
“I think he’s getting better,” said Aronoke. “Does more things.”
“She’s had a difficult time,” said Emeraldine. “Hopefully she’s getting over her addiction now.”
Aronoke stared at Emeraldine. “She?” he asked incredulously.
“Yes,” said Emeraldine, smiling at him. “A lot of races look different from standard humans you know. You should know that as well as I do. Ashquash is a narakite, and her people do not have obvious female characteristics like humans do. They’re more androgynous looking.”
Androgynous. Aronoke turned this peculiar word over in his mind and decided to look it up on his datapad later.
“I thought she was human,” he said aloud. “Just rather skinny and pale.” He thought to himself that it was strange to be sharing a room with a girl. He had never noticed before, so should he let it bother him now? Did it really make any difference?
“Are you sure?” he asked Emeraldine.
“Yes,” said Emeradine, amused.
“Are they all bald?” asked Aronoke, but Emeraldine did not know.
Next time Aronoke saw Ashquash he couldn’t help but try to see if he could tell. Couldn’t, really. She was flat-chested and straight-hipped as any of the male people he knew.
Exactly one month after his last medical examination, Aronoke had to go for the follow-up one. He was careful to see the same droid that he had seen before. He thought that way there was less chance of something going wrong about his back.
He still felt uncomfortable, although nowhere near as scared. This time it was merely an inconvenience.
“You are free of parasites,” said the droid, when he stood naked against the scanner.
“Good,” said Aronoke, but it didn’t seem to please the droid so much. Aronoke thought it probably wanted more parasites for its collection.
“I will have to examine the sites where the parasites were attached,” said the droid, “to ensure that there is no scarring.”
Aronoke stared at the droid like it was stupid. Made an amused noise.
“Scarring?” he said incredulously. “Why would that matter? Bug-bite scars would be tiny.”
“The parasites were attached in delicate biological tissues,” said the droid. “It is important to check for scarring to ensure that you do not suffer any discomfort or dysfunction later.”
Aronoke rolled his eyes.
“I do admit,” said the droid, after a long pause, “that you do suffer from a large amount of accumulated scar tissue and that further scarring may seem insignificant by comparison. Nevertheless, while your health falls under the responsibility of this facility, it is my duty to ensure that all further scarring is minimalised.”
“Okay, okay, just look,” said Aronoke, wishing it would hurry up so he could get dressed again. It seemed to take forever checking all the places he had been bitten.
The droid was finally satisfied that everything was healing well. Then it fussed about for an eternity taking various measurements.
“You have grown substantially in height and mass,” said the droid. “And you have also gained considerable physical condition. You are rapidly approaching a size and mass that falls within acceptable parameteres for your age and species.”
“Good,” said Aronoke.
“It is an honor to continue participating in your medical care,” said the droid. “It is very interesting to be able to collect data regarding a near-human species outside of my previous experience.”
When he left, Aronoke was glad to hear that he wasn’t required to return for another six months.
“It’s not fair,” said Draken the next day during free time. “Do you know that Jedi don’t get any holidays? At school you get holidays. If you have a job you get holidays. But here in the Jedi temple we don’t get holidays at all. We work all year round doing the same things, except if there’s a special ceremony or something.”
Aronoke shrugged. This was one of those concepts that escaped him.
“I mean, it’s the law that people get holidays. As Jedi we are supposed to obey the law, and yet we don’t get any holidays. That doesn’t make sense.”
“What are they?” asked Aronoke.
Draken looked at him like he was stupid. Ashquash, who was sitting nearby and listening in, made an amused noise.
“You don’t know what a holiday is?” Draken asked, incredulously.
Aronoke shrugged again, feeling stupid.
“It’s when you don’t have to do any work or any lessons. When you have a day free to do whatever you want.”
Like a whole day of free time, thought Aronoke. It sounded boring. He liked the lessons. Felt like each one was making him better and stronger, less like a victim. Draken acted like the lessons were a torture that adults and bureaucrats had invented to inflict upon the young and keep them in their place.
“So it’s when you don’t have anything you have to do,” he said aloud.
“Yes!”
“But if you don’t do anything in your job, then you wouldn’t get paid,” said Aronoke. “That could be bad.”
“That’s not how it works,” said Draken. “They have an agreement, see. You don’t have to do anything for the day, but you still get paid for it. For doing nothing. That’s the way it works. It’s fun – you get to sit around and play simulation games, or go exploring or swimming. Maybe go on an excursion to a different sector. Sometimes you have special food, or a bit of money to spend on fun things.”
“It doesn’t seem so important,” said Aronoke frowning.
“Slaves never have holidays and never get paid,” Ashquash put in.
“Doesn’t seem important?!” said Draken. “You know what I think? I think you’ve never had any fun in your whole life. Neither of you. You don’t know what fun is! So when someone tells you about something that is fun, you don’t know what it is and so you don’t want to do it!”
Perhaps, Aronoke thought, that was more than a little true.
A few days after the medical evaluation Master Insa-tolsa came to see Aronoke, took him aside into a little private room where they could talk quietly.
“How are you finding your training, Aronoke?” asked the big ithorian. His great strangely shaped head swung gently from side to side as he spoke, the interpretation device making his booming voice small and tinny.
“It’s okay,” said Aronoke. “The lessons are very easy.”
“They will grow more difficult with time,” said Master Insa-tolsa patiently.
“I don’t mind,” said Aronoke.
“Is there anything which you feel is lacking?” he asked.
“Lacking, Master?” said Aronoke, not sure what he meant.
“Missing or incomplete,” elucidated the Master. “Anything that you feel you should be being educated in that you are not.”
“I don’t think I’m the one to ask, Master,” said Aronoke. “I don’t think I know enough to be able to tell.”
Master Insa-tolsa liked this answer. “That is most likely absolutely correct,” he said approvingly. “However, if there is any part of your education which you would like to expand upon, you may let me know.”
Aronoke had thought of one thing.
“The physical training classes we have are not very challenging, Master,” said Aronoke. “Because most of my clan is so small. A few of us are much larger than the others – couldn’t we learn things that were a bit more advanced?”
Master Insa-tolsa made a deep thoughtful booming sound that the translation device interpreted as “Hmm…”
“Some of us have been practicing sparring in our spare time,” Aronoke continued. “Maybe we could learn some basic weapon training?”
“Master Altus felt that it was important that your education proceed slowly and steadily, Aronoke,” the ithorian said after a few moments. “He felt a time of calmness and an orderly routine was what would benefit you most greatly and that your education should not be hurried despite your late start here. However, it is true that most of your clan-mates are physically much smaller than you, and that your physical training classes may not be sufficiently challenging. I will see what your instructor recommends.”
“Yes, Master,” said Aronoke, impressed that Master Altus had bothered himself with specifics about his education.
“There is another matter which I wish to talk to you about,” Master Insa-tolsa continued.
“Yes, Master?”
“It is about you being a chiss. Do you know much about the chiss yet?”
“No,” said Aronoke. He felt awkward even thinking about them – a race of strangers who looked like him. Who had somehow carelessly misplaced him. Sometimes when he had been small, especially after Uncle Remo had died, he had imagined a story in his head in which he belonged to a family of people who looked just like him. Who had been horribly distraught when he had been kidnapped and taken away, and who were still out there somewhere looking for him. But that’s all it was – a story. It had nothing to do with the real chiss, who were allied with the Empire and thus adversaries of the Republic, as Draken had pointed out to him.
“Well, you may not know this, but being a chiss is biologically very like being a human, except in a few important aspects,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “One of the primary differences, the one that is going to begin affecting you very soon now, is that chiss reach maturity much earlier than humans do.”
“Oh,” said Aronoke, not liking where this was going.
“We estimate from your medical results and from what is known of chiss biology that you are somewhere between eleven and twelve standard galactic years old,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “In chiss, this age marks the point when a child begins to rapidly grow into an adult. You can expect that you will grow a great deal over the next few years and that by the end of them you will be fully grown.”
Aronoke felt acutely uncomfortable. Had expected to have years before he was grown-up yet.
“This is something that would not happen to humans until several years later and which would take longer to complete,” said Master Insa-tolsa.
“So I’ll grow even bigger than everyone else in my clan?” Aronoke asked, dismayed.
“For now, yes,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “Of course, they will eventually catch up with you, but that will take quite a few years.”
Aronoke’s heart sank. He didn’t want to be the big one, didn’t feel secure in that role at all. At least, he consoled himself, he would be better able to kick everyone else’s butt.
“Your emotional and mental maturity will proceed apace with your physical growth,” said Master Insa-tolsa, “so you will be better equipped to deal with your growth than you feel you are now.”
Aronoke nodded, but he could not imagine it.
“This also means that you are going to have to proceed more quickly through certain of your lessons than the rest of your clan,” continued Master Insa-tolsa. “It is important to your training as a Jedi that you learn the composure necessary to deal with the hormones produced by your changing body. In order to successfully do that, you must learn new meditation techniques to help you come to terms with the onset of sexual maturity, since this will bring with it new challenges.”
It was embarrassing, despite the calm way Master Insa-tolsa put it. Just my luck, that I have to have my biology explained to me by an ithorian, thought Aronoke, although being told by someone of a similar species might have been even more embarassing. The worst part was that it was another way in which he could be singled out from all those around him. Aronoke felt deeply disturbed. Grow into a fully grown man in a few years, when he had thought he had years and years to do that in?
It was hard to accept.
“How do you feel about this?” asked Master Insa-tolsa.
“I wish it wasn’t like that,” said Aronoke resentfully. “I wish I didn’t have to change so quickly. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I don’t like being different from everyone else.”
He had given up being a kid on Kasthir. Coming here had been like being a kid all over again, in nicer ways.
“There are many places in the galaxy where chiss are quite numerous,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “Your species is not so uncommon. They all grow up in this way. It is quite normal”
“There aren’t any here.”
“That is true, but I am certain you are not the first chiss to be trained to be a Jedi. I am sure if I look in the records I can find examples of other chiss who have done so.”
“But they aren’t here now,” said Aronoke.
“That is true.”
“And even if they were, it would be strange, because I have never seen one before. It’s not like I feel like I am one of them.”
“So you would rather you were simply a strange-looking sort of Coruscanti?” asked the ithorian.
“Yes,” said Aronoke, although he would have preffered to be a normal-looking Coruscanti, someone that people would not notice.
“Unfortunately it is not so,” said the Master. “I am sorry.”
“It’s just the way it is,” said Aronoke. “I know I can’t change it. It just seems difficult.”
“Your clan-mates and your teachers will help you overcome these difficulties,” said Master Insa-tolsa calmly. “You do not have to face them alone. You can come and talk to me if you feel concerned about them.”
“Yes, Master. Thank you.”
“The new meditation exercises will be added to your schedule,” said Master Insa-tolsa. “It is important that you practice them diligently. Usually you would not encounter such procedures until much later in your training, but your late arrival combined with the biology of your species means you will have less time to learn them than other students.”
“I will do my best,” said Aronoke, making a small bow of respect.
Growing up in Tarbsosk and running around the Grinder had given Aronoke a crude knowledge of the facts of life, but now he felt hopelessly uneducated about them. Hadn’t expected to have to deal with such things already. Had never thought he might grow up differently from humans. He hadn’t wanted to know more about the chiss, but it seemed that hiding in a bunker was no longer the best strategy. Now that he could read at least a little bit, he would have to find out what was going to happen to him over the next few years.
And how it all fit in with being a Jedi… well, even the lessons they had learned thus far made it clear that Jedi did not form attachments. Were not allowed to fall in love, or take a partner. Aronoke wondered if the meditation made you immune to these temptations and how difficult they would be to avoid.
The new meditation exercises were difficult. Although Aronoke tried his best to practice them over the next few weeks, he felt he wasn’t making much of an improvement. They were hard to concentrate on, especially since whenever he tried to perform them, he found strange images coagulating in his mind. It took him some times to realise that the images were a map of the Jedi Temple. A Force-map, dominated by locuses of power – whether relics, people or places, he was not sure – marking where things strong in the Force were located. He could sense large areas of blankness, places where the Force was subdued artificially. He thought that those places were where the really impressive Jedi artifacts were kept, screened so as not to overwhelm the people who lived in the temple.
Aronoke sometimes felt that if he only looked hard enough, the fuzzy blanketing screen would fall aside and he would be able to see the artifacts clearly. He thought they were probably great blazing sources of Force power that might sweep him away enitrely.
Most of the time he could tune these things out, but if he thought about them too much, it was like he flipped a switch in his brain and they were there instantly.
So far, he had always been able to turn the switch off again. The meditation exercises seemed to help with that too. But sometimes he worried that he might not be able to turn it off. That he might panic and be swallowed up by that unseen world. Worried that all that background information would stop being interesting and start being something else entirely. Something frightening. Something that, if it proceeded uncontrolled, could rise up and drive him crazy.
He asked Draken about this, if Draken ever felt that way, but Draken said he did not. Aronoke thought that Draken’s talents with the Force were probably rather different from his own. He did not ask Ashquash, because Ashquash was too paranoid already.
So when Draken asked him if he wanted to come exploring, to see if they could find a way into the Jedi archives to sneak a look at the secrets stored within, Aronoke was not very eager.
But he didn’t want to tell Draken why. He would sound like a scared kid.
“It doesn’t sound very interesting to me,” he said diffidently.
“What? Oh come on! Don’t you want to get a taste of what true Jedi power is like?”
Aronoke shrugged. He didn’t want to at all, but he didn’t like to let Draken down. They were friends now, he thought. Clan-mates. You were supposed to help your clan-mates. He wasn’t sure what a Jedi would be expected to do in this situation. None of the moral stories they had been taught in class seemed to apply. Talk Draken out of the idea? Report him to Razzak Mintula? Neither seemed an attractive option.
And it was after all, only kid stuff. Exciting and possibly dangerous, but little more than a game. A small, rebellious voice somewhere inside him suggested that if he was going to grow up so quickly, then he’d better do as much kid stuff as he could right now. Soon it would be too late.
“Oh, alright,” he said to Draken.
“Yes!” said Draken, excitedly, whirling about. “Let’s go tomorrow after class. I’ll tell the others.”
He rushed off.
It was breaking the rules, Aronoke thought, suddenly uncertain again. But such powerful relics were unlikely to be unguarded. Surely in all the thousands of years that the temple had stood on Coruscant there must be many initiates who had been tempted to go and look at them. Such priceless relics would be very carefully locked away where not even Draken could reach them.
At least he hoped not. If any initiate could sneak successfully into a place like that, it would probably be Draken.
Draken’s little expedition included three other initiates, other than himself and Aronoke. All of these were humans who had grown up in the undercity. Aronoke didn’t know them very well; they were members of another clan, about the same age as him and Draken.
“Right,” said Draken. “According to these old schematics I found, there’s an empty area here behind the Archives and if they’re accurate, we should be able to get through right here.”
His finger stabbed a place on his datapad.
Aronoke looked at the place doubtfully. It seemed likely to be an omission in the plan for security reasons, but Draken was much better at these things than he was himself. The other three initiates were all nodding and making suggestions for how to get to the empty area.
“I’ve got it all worked out,” said Draken airily. He detailed a long, confusing plan that Aronoke found difficult to remember.
The first part involved sneaking out of the Primary Testing Unit without being seen, a skill Draken had perfected during his many exploratory expeditions through the temple. After that, as they started moving into territory Draken had not explored in as much detail, it grew more difficult.
Aronoke had been with Draken to the corridors where the droids took their oilbaths, and reaching that point was relatively easy. Beyond, the passages were busier, with few hiding places and more droids coming and going.
Aronoke had considered that getting caught was one way to avoid having to break into the archives, but after a few minutes it was difficult to want to. It was easy to get caught up in the game, and Aronoke felt his heart beating fast in his chest as they moved from room to room.
But despite this change of heart, Aronoke was not used to this sort of sneaking. Bunkertown and the Grinder had lots more hiding places. He was the one the security droid spotted first.
“You,” said the security droid. “You are an intitiate. You are not supposed to be here!” It looked about more carefully and spotted the others. You, you, you and you! You are also not supposed to be here! State your identity and authorisation!”
“We’re here under the authorisation of Master Hrmmrphahrmbm,” said Draken, making the name something between a mumble and clearing his throat.
Aronoke found it hard not to laugh, but the droid was not fooled.
“Please clarify,” said the droid. “I do not recognise the name of that master.”
“Master Hrmmrphahrmbm,” said Draken, a little more loudly, but no more clearly. “He’s one of the more alien masters.”
“Please repeat the name of the master with greater clarity,” said the droid severely.
“Oh, it’s no good,” said Draken to his colleagues. “Run for it!”
And so they ran. It is hard not to run when others do and for a few fast minutes it was something like a wild game of hide and seek. The droid must have called for back-up, however, because then there were suddenly droids everywhere, down every turning, no matter which way they went. Very soon they were completely surrounded and forced to surrender. Dragged back to their clan-rooms in disgrace to be admonished.
Draken was taken in to be scolded first. He came out looking suitably chastened. Aronoke had not been punished here before. Knew the way things worked well enough to be almost certain that the punishment could be nothing terrible. Nevertheless, he still felt nervous – he remembered too clearly what punishment Careful Kras would have inflicted. He went in the room when Razzak Mintula called him in.
“Aronoke,” said Razzak Mintula sternly. “What were you doing in the maintenance corridors? I am sure you are well aware that area is off-limits to acolytes.”
For a long moment Aronoke said nothing. He did not want to blame Draken. He had made up his own mind to go along, even if the whole thing had been Draken’s idea.
The silence stretched on too long.
“Well?” Razzak Mintula snapped, making Aronoke jump.
“We were just fooling around,” Aronoke said defensively.
“I am disappointed with you, Aronoke,” said Razzak Mintula. “Very disappointed. As one of the older members of Clan Herf you are expected to act responsibly to be a good example to the smaller ones. Instead you go gallivanting about in an off-limit area causing trouble for the security staff and wasting everyone’s time.”
Something snapped in Aronoke then. Found himself suddenly angry.
“But that isn’t fair,” he said petulantly.
“Fair?” asked Razzak Mintula crossly. “What isn’t fair?”
“That I am expected to be responsible. When the younger ones are my age, they won’t be expected to be a good example for anyone. Because there won’t be anyone smaller.”
That wasn’t really what Aronoke wanted to say.
What he wanted to say was when he had been the same age as the younglings, he had been knife-fighting on the streets of Tarbsosk trying to get enough food to stay alive. Had been taken away by Careful Kras and given a job as a menial when he was one year old. About six galactic standard years, he reminded himself. Then when he was eight he had been learning to be a skimmer, and at ten he was a full skimmer sent out to go and collect skim from the miners. An adult’s work with an adult’s responsibilities.
He hadn’t had a chance to be a kid. Not really. And now he was going to finish growing up practically overnight.
He couldn’t tell Razzak Mintula all that. It was too personal. He stared at the floor and simmered.
“Alright,” admitted Razzak Mintula, perhaps sensing a mine-field that she didn’t want to wander into. “It’s not fair. But that doesn’t change anything, it’s just the way things are. I expect you to act your age.”
Whatever age that was, thought Aronoke bitterly. A kid by Coruscant standards, an adolescent in terms of chiss biology, an adult in terms of being a skimmer. Argh.
Still, what Razzak Mintula said struck a note with him. Life wasn’t fair anywhere, even here in this place with all its rules and peculiar ways. It was just the way things were.
“Do you understand, Aronoke?” asked Razzak Mintula.
“Yes,” said Aronoke.
“You are confined to the clan room for a week, outside of lessons,” said Razzak Mintula. “That will be all.”
Confined to the clan room? Apart from missing out on practicing sparring with Emeraldine, that was hardly a punishment. Looking up at Razzak Mintula’s severe face he was suddenly struck by an odd feeling, a disturbing impulse that her long silvery ponytail was really very attractive. That it would feel nice to stroke it with his hands. No! He couldn’t feel that way about Razzak Mintula! He was horrified with himself, acutely embarrassed, felt himself turning an interesting colour.
“Yes, Instructor Mintula,” he said hurriedly and fled.
He didn’t want to grow up. To change. Not yet. But it was happening already.
For a few days after that, Draken was quiet and repentant, but his ebullient spirit could never remain repressed for long and soon he was planning a second expedition to the Jedi archives.
“We just have to find a better way to avoid the security droids next time,” he told Aronoke. “There’s certain to be a way to get past them if I look for it.”
Aronoke was even less eager to try a second time. He did not want to see the Jedi Archives. It was like a bone-sucking worm in a box to him, a dangerous thing best avoided, not something you should go and poke a vibroblade at for fun.
“Why do you want to go and see it so much?” he asked reluctantly. “We’ll only get in trouble again.”
“I don’t know. Because it’s powerful? Don’t you want to see a really powerful Jedi artifact, to know what they’re keeping secret from us?”
“Not really,” said Aronoke. “I guess we’ll get to see them later.”
“Bah, you’re getting really boring,” said Draken despairingly. “All serious about lessons and sparring and sticking to the rules and everything. Well, I like the sparring too, that’s not what I mean. But lessons, lessons, lessons all the time gets so dull.”
“It’s just all so easy,” said Aronoke apologetically.
“Yeah, well maybe, but that makes it less interesting, not more interesting,” said Draken crossly.
“That’s not really what I mean,” said Aronoke seriously. “I find some of it challenging. I don’t know how to read properly yet and I have to work hard to catch up with the rest of you. There are lots of things I find difficult to get used to. But overall, everything is so easy. I know you feel restricted by all the rules, but compared to where I come from, this is like being handed everything you need without having to pay the price for it.”
Draken made an unconvinced noise, but his eyes were on Aronoke, impressed by his seriousness. Aronoke did not usually make such personal or lengthy speeches.
“It’s like,” said Aronoke, inspired, “it’s like it’s a holiday every single day.”
Draken said nothing for a long moment.
“I do want to be a Jedi,” he said. “I want to get through my training, for my family and my level and all that to be proud of me, but I also feel that’s something everyone expects of me, because I come from a poor district. Expects me to be the local boy done good. To be a lower class hero and a good example for all the kids where I come from.”
“That’s not why you should do it,” said Aronoke. “Not for your family or your level or anything. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. It matters what you get out of it. You should do it for yourself. Then one day when you’re a full Jedi, you’ll be the Jedi that you want to be, not the one that everyone else expected.”
Draken thought about this. “I think I get it,” he said. “You’re saying that I shouldn’t become a Jedi for the honour or the glory or to please the people back home. You’re saying I should bide my time, endure the training, see it through and then, once it’s all finished, I can go on to do whatever I really want when it’s all over.”
“Well, not exactly,” said Aronoke, who had been trying to say that self-improvement was a goal within itself, but Draken was quite taken with this concept and wasn’t really listening any more.
It probably didn’t matter, Aronoke thought. By the time Draken finished his training, had spent all those years in the Jedi temple, he would have changed too.
REPUBLIC PLANETARY FACTSHEET:
Thrasybule Sector NJ21.4 “Kasthir”
(Kasthirian United High Elective Council’s Prescribed Settlement World #5)
Warnings: EXTREME SECURITY DANGER
EXTREME ENVIRONMENTAL DANGER
SEVERE HOSTILE BIOLOGICAL DANGER
Planetography: Solar Orbital Period 5.88 , Planetary Rotational Period 0.87 , Mass 1.12 , Gravity 1.08 , Metallicity 36 (%ile), Heavy Metal Toxicity 3 (%ile), Volcanism 16 (%ile), Hydrologic Capacity 97 (%ile), Atmospheric Pressure 0.59 at datum elevation. Approximately 80% of surface is dry sea-bed below datum elevation, with 20% rocky continents above datum elevation of overall fractal dimension 2.24. Highest point Republic Survey Marker NJ214-874, 24.6 N 57.8 E, +6718 m. Lowest point unnamed location 44.4 S 108.3 E, -3008 m. Most water sources are contaminated with toxic concentrations of heavy metals and there are many unmapped areas of unstable geothermal activity.
Atmosphere and Climate: Atmosphere approx. 85% N2, 15% O2, halogens present in amounts from irritating to fatal, especially at lower elevations. Approximate annual mean temperature range 300-320 K (polar), 320-330 K (equatorial datum elevation). Approximate daily mean temperature range ±10. Winds >100 kph are common in all continental zones and >150 kph in all sea-bed zones. Atmospheric halogen concentrations are in the fatal range at all elevations below approximately datum – 1000 m and may reach the fatal range at most locations on the planetary surface depending on weather conditions and localised geothermal events.
Biosphere: Infectious biota n/a (%ile). Indigenous life-forms are silicon based with a range of undescribed microbiological species present. Several deaths due to infection by unknown silicon-based organisms have been reported among travellers who recently visited THRNJ21.4. Macrobiological life is largely restricted to the dust seas. One report of destruction of a stock light freighter Forced to land in the dust sea by a hostile non-sentient biological has been received. The Kasthirian Death Annelid ‘Bone Sucking Worm’ is the most common macrobiological organism in the continental regions. It secretes hydrofluoric acid and amputation of any body part bitten by this organism is the recommended treatment. [See: Rep. Med. Ref. 21178-KJTY-M108.c] Numerous toxic and sometimes fatal reactions have been reported to other macrobiological organisms, including the Lemniscate Helminthoid ‘Brain Sucking Worm’, Azurite Helminthoid ‘Foot Eating Crystal’ and Yttrium Accumulating Xenoform ‘Toxic Bloat Bug’ [See: Rep. Med. Ref. 23424-RJKN-N022.a,b, and c]
Sentient Occupation: Estimated population 5E4.Main species: Duros, Human, Arconan. Licensed refueling depots: None. Licensed resupply depots: None. Administration: THR-NJ21.4 is nominally administered and policed from the Syndaar system, but there are no regular security patrols of the world. There is no recognised legal framework among the inhabitants of THR-NJ21.4 and criminal individuals and organisations maintaining weapons with capacity to destroy spacecraft operate on the planet. Documented settlements: (* indicates Class 7 unlicensed refueling and supply facilities reported) Northern Continental Mass 20-60 N 10-100 E Tarbsosk* 37.8 N 33.0 E, Shiny Fumarole 52.3 N 72,0 E, Granthos Valley 51.8 N 74.4 E Zygom’s Crypt 55.5 N 76.3 E, Black Knife Landing* 44.7 N 80.8 E, Krothos Landing 43.4 N 88.0 E Glory Hole 26.7 N 40.4 E (abandoned), New Cona Landing 48.7 N 81.8 E (abandoned), Xselcharvond 30.6 N 44.4 E (abandoned), Stuff This For a Joke 45.6 N 88.4 E (abandoned). There are believed to be numerous undocumented settlements on the Northern Continental Mass. Southwestern Continental Mass 0-40 S 110-170 W Xothrask 38.4 S 122.2 W, Mad Bastard(?) 23.2 S 150.5 W Breznor’s Landing* 26.1 S 150.8 W Old Gundark Mine 30.0 S 153.2 W (abandoned) New Gundark Mine 30.3 S 153.2 W (abandoned) Parallaxion 1.3 S 144.4 W(abandoned). Southeastern Continental Mass 10-50 S 20-60 E Joojantis Prime* 46.9 S 41.2 E Quagnor Landing* 49.6 S 44.8 E Phlebos Landing* 49.4 S 40.7 E Soliton Valley 49.3 S, 39.9 E Jackpot Valley 11.7 S 22.6 E, Crazyplex 33.5 S 26.7 E (abandoned), Xord 48.9 S 20.2 E. There are believed to be numerous undocumented settlements on the Southeastern Continental Mass. Equatorial Continental Mass 10 N-10 S 60-80 W No documented settlements recorded.
Economic Activity: Small deposits of exotic minerals are found in many locations on THRNJ21.4 Estimates based on sporadic interception of smugglers operating in the system suggest 2-10 GD of these materials are exported from the system annually.
Aronoke was very late to dinner that night. The cleaning droids were already bustling about, cleaning up after the diners, and only a few people were left, finishing off the remnants of their meals. He went up to get a plate and one of the droids stopped him.
“It’s very late, past the hour when dinner is traditionally served, Initiate,” said the droid. “Do you have an excuse for why you are so late?”
“I had to go and speak with Master Altus,” said Aronoke.
“Excuse accepted,” said the droid. “The refectory will be closing service very shortly, so please conclude your meal promptly.”
Aronoke was left to fill his plate, relieved that his excuse was good enough. Sat eating his food in peace. He noticed another kid came in, younger and even later than himself. The droid asked him for an excuse as well.
“I got distracted,” said the kid. “I didn’t notice what time it was.”
“Excuse denied,” said the droid. “Punctuality is an important and useful habit. Next time perhaps you will remember missing your meal and will be more punctual.”
“Aww,” whined the kid. “But I’m hungry! Look at him – he’s still eating.” He gestured at Aronoke.
“His excuse was acceptable,” said the droid. “He had a meeting with an important Jedi Master. Now please vacate the refectory.”
The kid complained a bit more, but the droid did not waver.
Sheesh, thought Aronoke. Fancy making such a fuss over missing just one meal – a meal that you hadn’t been hungry enough to attend in the first place. People on Coruscant were so obsessed with regular meals. It was different to worry about eating if there was never enough, but here it was like worrying about holding your breath for ten seconds. That you might miss out on some air.
The next day, he had to go for his rescheduled medical appointment. Continue reading
Aronoke was not certain what language Master Insa-tolsa spoke, but he could not understand it at all. It was with a series of hand gestures and intonations that Aronoke was ushered over to the part of the testing facility where he was going to stay. The big alien loomed high over Aronoke, had a long curved neck with peculiar eyes on a strangely shaped bar-like head at the end. Later he learned that Master Insa-tolsa’s kind were called ithorians.
If Master Insa-tolsa hadn’t so obviously been trying to be kindly and welcoming, Aronoke would have been highly intimidated. Though Master Altus had said he could trust these people. Nevertheless, it was with some trepidation that he followed the two aliens, wondering what he had gotten himself into.
He was escorted to a human person whom the aliens spoke to in their sing-song voices. She seemed to understand them easily enough. Turning to Aronoke she said, “I’m Mizra. I’ll show you where your room is.” She was abrupt, but Aronoke was relieved she spoke the same tongue he did and followed her readily enough.
“Arrow-noke,” said Mizra, reading it off her datapad, pronouncing it like ‘joke’. She looked at Aronoke impatiently over the top.
“Aronoke,” said Aronoke.
“Oh. Aronoke,” corrected Mizra flatly. “You’re in number 412.” She showed him where the door was. Inside lay a small chamber with not much furniture, but Aronoke thought it must be like the one on the ship, with things that slid out of the walls. Mizra didn’t explain how any of the functions worked, but seemed to assume that Aronoke would know how to do that already. She seemed in a hurry to go away and do something else.
“The ablutions area is down at the end of this corridor,” Mizra said, waving her hand in one direction, “and the refectory is down that way.” She pointed the opposite way. “You can find out the meal schedule on your viewscreen and that’s where your messages will arrive too. Tomorrow you will most likely be sent down to the testing rooms to be evaluated, but I don’t expect you will have to do anything before then. You will probably want a bit of a rest.”
“Yes,” said Aronoke, feeling that was very true. He was wondering what an ablutions area was. And where the viewscreen was. Mizra hadn’t shown him that either.
“There’s some meditation chambers down that way,” said Mizra, pointing in a third direction. “And the exercise facilities are downstairs, but you probably don’t want to bother with all that. You’ll be doing it all soon enough, if you get through. Just let someone know if you can’t find something. They’ll be sure to tell you.” Continue reading
If Aronoke had thought the Quell flier was unusually clean and orderly, the off-worlder’s ship was even more so. There was hardly any dust anywhere, save for the trails filtering out of Aronoke’s clothing, and, to a lesser degree, that of the others. It was all sweeping corridors and tidy rooms. There seemed to be plenty of space, despite what Master Altus had said to the Quellers.
Master Altus and Hespenara were busy unloading the things that they had brought back with them and Aronoke took the time to look around himself. He had not looked very far when someone, a sollustan who seemed to belong with the ship, noticed him.
“Here to help with the unloading are you?” he said to Aronoke. “I don’t think there’s much need for it. Looks like we’re almost done. Master Altus hasn’t brought as much back with him as I expected he might.”
“He said I could come,” said Aronoke, not as vehemently as when he had said it to Hespenara.
“Oh?” said the sollustan. Aronoke had seen their kind before in Tarbsosk and occasionally beyond. “He said that did he? Well, in that case, welcome aboard. My name is Brox, and I’ll be responsible for piloting you all back to Coruscant.” He held out a hand and after a moment Aronoke shook it. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Aronoke.”
“Do you know any games? Once we get underway, there won’t be much to do. Might entertain ourselves with some games. Know how to play holochess?”
Aronoke shook his head.
“Ah, pity. Still, I’m sure anyone from a place like Kasthir can shake down an off-worlder like me at Sabacc or the like. Much as I’d rather keep my coin in my pocket, maybe we can play a few hands later. What games do you know?” Continue reading
Hespenara awoke shortly before the flier landed at the third testing site. Wiped the little trail of drool from her cheek, looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Aronoke had. Looked back at her when she stared at him with curious interest.
Padawan, that’s what Master Altus called her sometimes. Aronoke had recognised it as a title at once. Like duster, or scraper or skimmer. Still wasn’t sure what it meant. Not concubine after all, he thought, but something more like “offsider”.
The flier was settling down on a stretch of high rocky countryside, somewhere Aronoke had never been before. It was on top of a plateau high above the floor of the canyons, barren and rocky. A place no one ever came, because there was no reason to go there.
When the off-worlders dismounted from the flier, Aronoke went with them. Whereas before he had a vested interest in keeping them alive so he would not be abandoned in the desert, now he had even more of a reason due to Master Altus’s offer.
It couldn’t be true. But even the smallest chance was worth pursuing. Following the off-worlders across the plateau, Aronoke scoured the harsh landscape for dangers. It was somewhat alien. He had never been anywhere like this. The air was hard to breathe. The rocks lay scattered widely, but not randomly. They were clustered here and there, some of them lying in patterns that looked like straight lines.
“It’s a ruin,” he said, surprised. He had seen ruins before, although none like this. People had lived here, for what purpose he could not guess, but the stone structures had obviously been quite extensive.
“Yes,” said Master Altus, seeming pleased. “It looks very promising, much more so than the other sites. Now, if you and Hespenara will stand back over there, my as yet unidentified new companion…?”
Aronoke followed Hespenara back quite some distance.
“You do have a name don’t you?” asked Hespenara, rather impatiently.
Aronoke nodded.
“Well, what is it?”
“Aronoke,” said Aronoke.
“Oh,” said Hespenara. “Well, you know our names already, so I needn’t tell you them again.” Continue reading