#forcefiction

Impulse Requited

The rain had started to come down, she could tell it was one of those rare storms, soon the pressure would increase in the atmosphere, intensifying gravity, and send down the heavier, rain infused with metallic particles, but she was determined to confront him. The moments after her release of regret, her conscious regained dominance and her anger surfaced. She marched to his quarters and didn’t find him there. She closed her eyes and sensed his presence; she whispered a spell to detect its location.

In the cave past the meadow she found him pacing. Instinct led her hand to her waist even though she knew their lightsabers were with Master Luke.

“What were you doing out there?” She interrupted his brooding.

“What about you? A witch! Infiltrating the Force with your spells.” She clenched her teeth together; her hand without a saber grasped its absence tightly.

“It’s not witchcraft. You have no understanding. All your talk about evolving the Jedi, changing the order, drawing on the diverse powers of this galaxy, this universe to strengthen the Force, and you’re questioning that I draw on unconventional resources to enhance the Force?”  

He retreated into the cave as the air pressure became denser. She, using a spell remained outside, cornering him in his retreat, the metallic rain beading off of the shield she conjured around her. The pressure of the atmosphere pushed him down to the stone floor. Angry as she was, she felt sympathy as he struggled with the the pressure. She entered the cave and altered the pressure. She smiled, acknowledging how she could set the spell and relinquish her control as opposed to the Force where she had to keep energy focused on what she made it control. At least for now that was the limit of her control with the Force.

“Thoughts on my abilities, now?” She stood over him as he regained composure. He looked up at her; his pupils dilated, eyebrows raised and she sensed the pulse of his heartbeat so strong it felt as if it was directly pressed against her own. Her gaze penetrated through his as she took a deep breath, elongating her posture, entrenched in the moment of this immense control, the power she felt over him, a power she had never felt over anyone. And then it became a weakness as he Force-pushed her and her arrogant stare back. Her spell broke and so had the rains. The pressure of the atmosphere had returned to a state acceptable for their species. The remnants of the metallic downpour streamed into the cave pooling around her as she sat prone on the ground.

“Your complacency with those obscure spells is your weakness.” He stood over her now, but only momentarily as his statement returned her anger to her and she hopped up from the ground. Insults about her heritage were unnecessary, but she was prepared to return them.

“Your aspirations to be your grandfather is yours.” Saberless, she tried to pierce him with these words; they locked in a stare but both shared the fear of what any attempts to control the other with the Force or what hand-to-hand combat might lead them to. He was no longer the lanky awkward adolescent for which she felt a silly girlhood crush for; he was a young man, body built and cut by intense training, and she was surprised at her lack of power to resist being drawn to him, into him....

Impulse Unleashed

She had devoted a portion of her strength controlling her impulse to use some of the forbidden arts of her culture. She wanted to learn the ways of the Jedi, pure, unaided by ancient spells and powers. Training was getting more difficult as was her ability to keep this skill set repressed. She was proud as she excelled past those with whom she had begun training, even after her injury, and often detached from the moment wondering how much farther she could excel if she had allowed herself to use those powers. The distraction was so disabling but it set a great contrast to those moments that she could clear that from her head and allow the Force to flow throughout her, she felt more powerful than any spell ever made her. She worked on forgetting her past, the traditions, her mother’s teachings to keep her mind consistently clear. She made a deal with herself to stay away from the archives just until she could have complete control of thoughts of her culture, then she promised herself she would return to her research.  

Ben and she had found other places to meet. He saw the acceleration of her control of the Force and on hiatus from their research, they would test each other in their secret meetings. He had a such a surge of the Force that she wanted to match; it seemed more powerful sometimes that he could not control it. She began to imagine that she could match his power if she returned to her culture’s craft, that ability would help her equal the surge of the Force in him. And soon, the memory of being intimidated by him became distant and implausible.

In their training with Master Luke, she and Ben were paired up to spar. She feared that Master Luke would sense her use of that craft but more feared losing a match to Ben. She exploited his confidence and lack of control over the immense Force flowing through him. She held back on using any of her familial arts for half the spar; he had seemed to be holding back; he feared any similarities in their methods could reveal their secret training, and then he became unpredictable. Luke cautioned Ben on the the feelings he sensed, confused about the fear he sensed Ben was trying hard to conceal. She decided to provoke him, to push him to reveal that fear because it would give her an advantage. 

In spending time together, she could push taunting him. He revealed good humor and patience with her contrary to the rumors she had heard about him reacting strongly to any attempts to reveal his vulnerability. She had seen glimpses of it in his training with Luke who knew the potential Jedi inside of Ben, pushing him harder, testing his temper.

Suddenly in sync, the flow of the Force released any control that she felt, including drawing forth her craft, the act of defeating Ben no longer required her conscious thought. He seemed to move in increasingly slower movements, she could see the molecules vibrate with each of her moves, her saber leaving trails with each movement. Then she felt a shattering in the Force, and Ben no longer moved in slow movements but in erratic, fierce pulses. The swings of their sabers left intertwining glowing trails in the air as they no longer sparred but fought. As they charged for each other and locked sabers, their master held them in place forcing them to stare at each other, to fix on the expression of the other, to silence the growls of their attempts to use mind tricks against each other. Their muscles began to burn frozen in this stance and Master Luke shut off their sabers and took possession of them and pushed them away from each other, both falling to the ground. He looked back and forth between them, finding a moment of weakness as the adrenaline drained away.

RARE DOCUMENTS, RARE TRUTHS

The Recovery

The medical droid gave her clearance to start her Jedi hand-to-hand training again…with the younglings. There was no contact in the sessions just technique drills. Everything was muscle memory, but the muscles on the left were so contracted and stiff. 

After 3 months of this humiliation, she was cleared for one-on-one training with a Jedi guard. Then after that was able to rejoin her age group, not at the level she had been, but at least she wasn’t the tallest one in the room. Impatient about returning to where she left off, she pushed her training; every move was exaggerated exertion, every punch harder, every kick stronger, every saber spar pushing the limits. Hesitancy disappeared from thought, which released the flow of the Force.    

Master Luke granted her permission to use the training hall for practice in the early morning. The room took on a new persona when she was in it alone, no droids or assessors in the upper galley looking down on her; it was just her, the space all to herself for her to recapture her ability. Her moves were second nature but the muscles still screamed out from disuse. However, by the end of the first hour, balance had returned, the ability to sustain positions became not quite easy, but natural, places where she was supposed to be. Every time she felt the inadequacy of the recovering parts and the synthetic bone in her thigh, she thought of him and her strikes strengthened. Since his clumsiness put her in the infirmary, not once had he come to see how she was doing, perhaps maybe even apologize. 

The next day, she wanted to start practice earlier. A violet mist lingered among the piercing cold scarlet dawn, hovering over the plaza between buildings, trailing behind her as she entered through the viewing galley of training hall. Expecting the silence to preface her practice, a voice below called out.

“This space is occupied. You must leave.” Down below, Ben and a Jedi temple guard were face to face, as she turned to hurry out, she heard their sabers ignite and lock. Stopping and looking down, she expected to see the clumsy moves that had disappointed her perception of him and injured her before leaving, and as she peeked down, Ben and the guard looked back at her. Her eyes grew wide and she backed up, running out of there and back into the violet mist.  

Well after her actual granted time before returning for her practice, she returned to the hall.  He was still there, alone, standing in the middle of the mat, eyes closed, hands linked behind his back, surprising her as she set up her space.

“I’m so sorry for interrupting this morning.” She called down. If this had been before her injury when she held him on that Skywalker pedestal, she might be afraid that she had made him angry. But since the accident and his failure to even check on her recovery, she wasn’t very fond of him anymore, saddened that the grandson of a warrior so revered in her culture had been such a disappointment.

“Apprentices should not overstep their bounds. You should be aware how unusual it is for you to have been given special permission to use this room and be more cautious when entering before your unprecedented granted time.”

At least an apology or a pale attempt feign regret might could have been attempted, she thought. Whatever his cultural traditions, certainly it was appropriate for a person to do if they had injured another person so grievously. But then, it hadn’t been a comfortable situation when they had interacted before then. He had intruded on her work in the archives, and read her thoughts on the page but not a lot was said between them. And after experiencing the disconnect happening in his body that caused her injury, she thought that perhaps he just didn’t know how to coordinate himself enough to interact with her. 

She also wanted to tell him not to forget that he was an apprentice, too. But, although she kept the words from being vocalized, he read her thoughts and glared at her. After slight embarrassment by her sass came irritation; he should remember his place, too; the special privilege everyone knew he had as Master Luke’s nephew, as Darth Vader’s grandson was seen by some as unfair, that every padawan was entitled to just as rigorous a training as he was.

“I know you know that,’ She began after being certain he captured those thoughts. “All of us here have every right to expand our training; we all have a unique descendancy, gifts from our ancestors that deserve attention to enhance our ways with the Force.” 

“I am the descendant of the “chosen one.” He responded and stepped towards her.  

“The chosen one from a certain point of view.” She vocalized, and stepped towards him. “Now, can I have my given time in this room?” He stared for a moment, and she smirked, carefully examining his face and the dark eyes that had looked on her crafted thoughts with intrigue a few weeks ago, to tell him she wasn’t intimidated, nor impressed by his legacy, but she knew he’d know that was a lie. Her eyes traced over his features and felt his muscles tense. Then she blushed as he read a thought of hers that she didn’t expect and couldn’t stop. 

“Go.” She turned away and finished setting up her space. He smirked back at her and turned and walked out.  She had to struggle to keep her eyes off of him as he left. Her heart was beating so fast that she didn’t think she could calm down and practice. Covering her eyes with her hands at this last tender thought of his, she treaded upon a fine line between sobbing and laughing from embarrassment and was able to fall upon the latter.

After walking out, he reentered the viewing galley and watched her. He felt immense guilt for injuring her as she struggled with the positions on her left side and tears came to her eyes when her injury did not allow her to complete a sequence.  Unable to balance in a routine the hologram deemed simple she threw down her saber then punched the wall and shouted. She looked up to the ceiling and sighed, and he backed against the wall of the viewing gallery.

The Injury

Learning that Ben was that Skywalker intrigued her, but she had always kept her distance from him, avoiding any remote possibility of engaging in non-training conversation with him. His disposition made it easy as he seemed to not want to interact with others beyond their roles as padawans. And no one really talked about his lineage, at least not out loud.  She wanted to make sure it seemed that she saw him just another Jedi in training with her, not letting anyone know that she had spent a long time researching his family intrigued by the history learned in her school. But now he knew. 

Among her people, Anakin Skywalker was a admirable warrior and his legacy as Darth Vader was not communicated as a bringer of evil but as a more complex nuanced figure, a survivor, a victim fighting a battle that he fought internally and extrinsically.  His prowess in the Clone Wars had set standards for the guards defending the city in which her family lived.  

She was honored that Master Skywalker had thought enough of her to pair her with Ben, but she was worried that her skill would be nowhere near his. Although they were close in age and in years of formal training, he was a Skywalker.  She tried not to let it and him knowing her secret study in the archives intimidate her. 

From the start of the match it was a challenge because she didn’t expect her disappointment. His gangly build betrayed the strength that lay behind the blows of the saber. But his build did not betray the disconnect he seemed to have with his own body. With every strike was a clumsy recovery she saw the potential in exploiting.  In a feat of acrobatics she avoided a strike on her saber by his, and in his attempt to head her off, he threw himself off balance, and, as he tried to recover, he lost control of his saber and it pierced her leg as she landed behind him.

“Stupid, clumsy...” was her attempt to hurl an insult at him as she lay prone on the floor.  The saber had immediately cauterized the gash on the back of her lower leg, but the compound fracture of her thigh caused by the fall severed the artery in her leg. The rapid and extended loss of blood as they worked to stabilize her, released her head back into unconsciousness.

Hope for Recovery

A sweet, warm, tangy scent, soft sunlight fruit orbs on stone walls, draped in ivy...I imagine its nectar would make a compelling ink. The wall is tall and I am looking across the way at it and then following the ivy down as it falls down to the ground below. 

Out of the Bacta tank, she could walk a bit, but she would have to work her way back to stamina and strength that she had before the accident. The synthetic bone was strong, but the artificial muscle and tendon around it needed to adapt. 

“After a few more weeks, you should get clearance to start Jedi hand-to-hand training again…with the younglings.” These were the first words she heard in these first moments out of the tank. There was no contact in those sessions just technique drills; it would be ridiculous: basics, going backwards, an undoing and redoing. 

“Certainly, muscle memory will prevail,” she began, “I won’t be starting completely over, though. Right?”

“That will depend on how your body accepts the implants.” 

The idea that there might be some remote possibility that she might not be able to return to her current skill level let alone continue to improve was impossible for her to process. She forced herself to sit back down on the bed to resist the urge to kick something...well attempt to kick something. Then she wanted to scream, and then she wanted to find Ben. Some Skywalker. This was all that clumsy idiot’s fault. And she felt the last of her energy drain from her with this small fit of anger.

The medical droid monitored her as he injected a serum. “This is to keep the infection from returning.” He explained. “No visitors until it’s eradicated.” He paused, reading the data he had just collected and prepared another hypospray. “You need more rest, now.” 

“Wait! No.” And he injected her with a sedative. It felt like gravity changed, pinning her to the bed and her thoughts took her away from this room.

Something is making me consider the jump. It’s not a sense of urgency or instinct to flee, just a sense that I can make it. I can do it. To my left is an ongoing teal sky, darker above, lightening on the horizon. The wall protects a walkway in front of a stone tower, behind it trees, and that scent. It must be coming from the pale orange and red blooms.

**************

She projected the notes that her mother had recently transmitted to her into the space around her, casting a pale blue halo of light, the only light in the darkened room, around her. This one commanded her focus:

Source: Manoussakis

What accounts for this pathology is the false positing of the good alongside with the evil, the fact that one takes the good as simply being the opposite of what is evil and furthermore the fact that one places these two opposites side by side - presenting thus oneself with a dilemma.

But no such dilemma between good and evil can be maintained. To posit the good alongside the evil equates the one with the other, as if the good were no different from the evil except insofar as one is good while the evil is evil. It is precisely this mistake that allows for the danger of ethical relativism, that is, of the undoing of ethics, for it does not take long before one starts asking what makes the good good or by whose standards is it good.

With this idea from Manoussakis was her mother’s note: 

Foolish, deceptive Jedi. Things cannot be seen in extremes. It is not just black and white. And who defines the dark? Who defines the light? Who are they to decide? Questions I think Anakin may have pondered (and may have been urged by master Jedi to repress), but through a lens of despair, fear of loneliness and losing love, and desperation, it led him to choose the dark side, that led him to think that he had to choose one over the other, when maybe there was no need to choose but just to find balance.

As she set out to transpose those thoughts onto the parchment, she sensed Ben enter the darkened archives and stealth his way into the room with her.

Story excerpt discovered in the databanks of the wrecked ship. 

Passed down in her family, on her mother’s side, she had learned many ancient and distant arts: to write on manuscript in longhand was one of them. Years of training had made her manuscripts live despite it being merely ink on flattened and dried pulp of trees or shrubs. Legend had it the more skilled artisans had the power to control minds with the mesmerizingly beautiful design of the words.

Darkness cradled the bright pale blue orb of light where she sat in the closed archives building. Her entirety fixed on the almost finished page in front of her, her hand working automatically moving the ancient instrument across the parchment, using other senses than sight to direct it into the ink, the silver nib playing the notes a slow melody with each rhythmic dip.

By the time she sensed his presence, Ben was already in the room. The instrument instinctively lifted off the parchment at her startle. “The archives are closed.” His voice violated the quiet in which she had absorbed herself. She set down the instrument and put her hands in her lap as if in passive resistance. She stared at the nearly complete work in front of her. Then she felt embarrassed, compelled to pull it to her, to throw herself over it to hide it. But upon that thought she felt her muscles slip into his control. His footsteps sounded so loud and heavy as he approached. The only part of her that she could move was her eyes that stared at her art in a futile attempt to move it with the Force then away to avoid seeing his reaction.

She had taken the conclusions of her latest research into Darth Vader and used the sentence structures as the shimmering black lines forming the images on the page. These images framed a box of marbled silver and violet text in which she wrote her findings that led her to her conclusions. She feared embarrassment over her fascination with Darth Vader: fascinated by his fall, the Jedi wanting to learn lessons from his decision to join the dark side, her culture sympathizing with his skeptical perception of authority.

When she had first arrived and became acquainted with her fellow padawans, she had heard rumors of Ben’s fascination with Darth Vader, as well. However,