Novi studied the ancient structure, one dark eyebrow cocked underneath her helmet. “This must have been the palace,” she concluded. “I recognize the patterns on the base.”
“So the Zakuulans were a bunch of fancy pants after all,” Javix chimed in dryly. “Wouldn’t have thought your clan would have been fans.”
“Not really. Bralova let Lorna do her thing--when they weren’t arguing.”
“They sound like such good friends.”
“They were. You know my clan’s history.”
“Oh, yes.” The Pantoran flicked their bubblegum pink undercut mockingly before puffing their chest. “Clan Ordo-Teniir, descendants of the great Revan and Canderous Ordo! Revan, whose crusades against Vitiate made him saltier than Manaan’s seas to the point of forcing their descendant Bralova to be his new Wrath! And then Bralova had to Rasputin him!” They rolled the r’s, drawing a snort from Novi.
“You exaggerate. Anyway, I want to look around. I sense...something.” She wasn’t entirely cut off from the Force, at least not any more. Sensing her mother and her cousin die as a child had been a lot, to say the least. Meena, wife, then widow, to her cousin, had said a few times before her own death, that Novi had once been cheery as a child. But what was she supposed to do? Meena had done the best she could have. Now Novi was the last known survivor of her clan. It wasn’t entirely the Empire’s fault. If she ever met a member of Clan Kryze--the audacity of them calling themselves a clan, when they had inflicted so much damage to Mandalore and her ade! No, she needed to focus on keeping herself alive.
The Spire’s elevators still worked. Perhaps things weren’t as abandoned as the duo had thought. Novi sensed something...strange, but not threatening. They weren’t in the swamp any more, so they didn’t have to worry about giant arachnids or other beasties chasing them down. And yet...
“What might you be looking for? A sign of life?” This voice was very aristocratic, a bit condescending, and probably friendly. Novi spun around, blaster drawn. It wouldn’t have done her any good; ghosts couldn’t be shot. This ghost was a few inches taller than Novi, her fair skin contrasting with her dark robes, raven hair framing piercing blue eyes and a smug grin. The ghost chuckled a bit at the response. “You’d shoot a family friend?”
“Didn’t think I’d see you in real life, Vaylin.”
“You do recognize me?”
“Of course. You’re in a lot of old holos, at least the surviving ones.”
“Surviving holos?”
“Um, excuse me.” Javix stuck their head in between the two conversationalists. “Are you having a weird Force moment thing? Or do I need to run the fuck away very fast?”
“He can’t see me, can he?” inquired Vaylin.
“No, they can’t,” Novi answered. “Javix, go see if there’s anything we can use on the ship.”
“Whatever.” They sauntered off, muttering underneath their breath about how not having the Force was, actually, a good thing.
“They seem nice,” Vaylin quipped. “And it’s nice to meet someone from your clan 3000 years later.”
Novi thoughtfully brushed her hand over the clan sigil on her left breastplate: a golden mythosaur with red strings woven about it, and a Kell dragon beneath it, baring its teeth. “Why are you still here? You should be at peace, with your family.”
“My master, Darth Imperius, Empress Lorna, gave me orders to serve her allies as I served her, until all was right. I’m following that order.”
“All this time later? Your...” Should she call Vitiate her father, after everything that he’d done? “Vitiate died, killed by Lorna and Bralova. And you played your role in democratizing Zakuul.”
Vaylin sought the right words. “I used to have dreams about the future, on top of my nightmares borne from Vitiate’s actions. I knew that peace would be temporary, and that both Lorna’s descendants and Bralova’s--genetic or not--descendants would need my help at one point or another.”
“But Zakuul is abandoned now. Why?”
“Not everyone took to Zakuul moving away from authoritarianism, believe it or not. They liked it even less than a Togruta, married to a pirate, had both a Miraluka and a Force blind Cathar as her heirs. When Alijandra decided to marry Ruusa, your ancestor, and abdicate the throne, there was an uprising. It was never fully put down, even with Moshishi--Alijandra’s sister--killing their first two leaders. 1000 years ago, the leader of the Old Zakuulan Society, Kaleb Corr, got fed up and ordered his army to bombard as much of Zakuul as they could.”
“Zakuul rejected a dictatorship, so he...bombed his own people? What a fucking basket case.”
“Thankfully, Zakuul’s president had a mole, who let him know of the planned attack and managed to evacuate 80% of the population. They settled on other worlds. When Korr found out, he set out on a quest to get to the heart of the matter, to destroy those most intent on keeping Zakuul free.”
“That’s a dictator for you. Can’t be worse than Palpatine.”
“Oh, he runs the show now? He can’t be worse than Vitiate.”
“I don’t know that he’s eaten planets. But his thugs took my mother and my cousin, and maybe my dad. I’m a treasure hunter now, and an archaeologist, and just...trying to save my clan.”
“You inherited your clan’s affinity for the Force,” Vaylin noted, “but you’re not trained.”
“I’m not, and I don’t want to be. Respectfully, the Force has only caused Clan Teniir a lot of pain.”
“Maybe so. I always sensed that Bralova was never really happy with their lot in life.” Vaylin hesitated. “Do you not want my help then?”
It would be a risk, yes. Even in death, Vaylin’s presence in the Force couldn’t be ignored, even though her power was lacking. But she could bring an unique perspective to Novi’s life. She remembered how her mother would complain about how closeminded her Jedi master had been, and how she didn’t want that for Novi. “Join me. Fulfill your duty.”
“Of course.”
