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They say time heals all wounds, but they forget to mention the scars it doesn't...
Fifteen years ago. Master Vrath's warm, smiling face as he reaches out with his welcoming hand. Ren's teary-eyed face as the ship takes off to re-establish orbit. Cael bawling as her parents, looking on, fade into the distance as the ship rockets into the atmosphere. Hugging Ren with a love that only sisters can share.
"Cael?"
Eleven years ago. The rigour of daily exercise, the soreness at the end of a day. Master Vrath and Larook's teachings. The adrenaline rush as the Force flows through you - you've felt it before, but now you can call to it, your voice no longer a whisper among the storm. Watching the padawans around you soak in the teachings of the Jedi. Looking at Ren and smiling, memories of family back home fading away. The greater good is the purpose, the Padawan's past life inconsequential.
"Caeelllll, snap out of it!"
Five years ago. The excitement of your first mission. Nodding to Ren and the other Padawans as you swoop into a room, lightsabers in hand, clearing it like action heroes. Staying behind the Republic soldiers as they converse with Master Vrath about which course of action to take. No more giggling in class, this is the real deal, but you can't help but be giddy with your new role. The deafening flash of a stun grenade, the acrid smoke that follows. Your world reels, you're unprepared, you ignite your lightsabers and probe the room with the Force. The others are getting up, unsteady, unsure. The Republic soldiers are yelling, some screaming in pain, others returning fire at the ambushers. You calm yourself, controlling your fear, launching yourself to the assault. Lightsabers meet flesh, pirates fold before you as your deadly dance tears through their ranks.
The fire inside you calms as the blaster fire outside stops, the Republic soldiers sweeping past you and clearing the room. You feel a familiar presence and accept Master Vrath's outstretched hand as he pulls you up and congratulates you. The others tend to the wounded as you run back, looking for Ren. Her teary eyes greet you as you sink to your knees. You keep pressure on the wound but it won't stop bleeding, you can feel her slipping away. Your attempts to heal fail from your distress. You scream as the others hold you back, scream as Ren screams at the Republic medic's quick and precise patching.
"Cael!"
Cael Scythe focused her eyes, blinking the world back into view. The blurry face in front of her became clear, as did her surroundings; Jock was tugging on her arm, drinks in hand, as he leaned against the cantina's bar, prodding his date.
"Come on, silly! I brought you here for a date, not a funeral! Whoo-ee!" The freighter pilot laughed at his own joke and sipped from a ridiculously gaudy straw, pausing only to offer a blue concoction to Cael.
She smiled and accepted as the din of the cantina returned to her ears. She normally fell into the memories at night-time; they were what kept her up at nights, but she generally wasn't too bad around people. They'd been getting worse, though. The fact that it was almost her fifth anniversary of leaving the Jedi Order behind, leaving her life behind - it was haunting her more and more. She couldn't imagine that she made for good company in this state. It bothered her, the fact that she couldn't control the memories; you'd think most twenty-one-year-olds would have their lives under control. She finished her drink quickly, suppressing a shudder as the sugary shit washed down her throat. She was still convinced that Coronet's bartenders were all part of a massive conspiracy to turn all women into popsicles by mixing their drinks with enough sugar to put down a bantha.
"C'mon, let's go dance!" Jock took her hand as she hopped off the bar stool, dragging her to the dance floor before she was even on her feet. Cael laughed, drawing up to him and sticking close as they weaved through the writhing mob on the dance floor - her latest fling was actually shaping up to be a potential keeper, though he was hilariously macho. It was almost overzealous, really; if any guy looked at Cael - and they did with clockwork certainty - Jock was up in their faces, growling something about "my girl" and not to look at her. Cael didn't really mind - she could take care of herself, but right now, she was happy with what she had: a small-time nursing job at the hospital, an even smaller apartment, and a boyfriend who was all chivalry and testosterone. Besides, the galaxy already had its fair share of emasculated freighter pilots - she didn't need to create another one.
After what seemed like an hour of navigating through the hundreds of patrons, Jock stopped and whirled around, all smiles. Without missing a beat, he wrapped his hand around Cael and laid a massive kiss on her lips, stopping only to flow into a quick and lively dance number as the cantina's Bith band went into full swing. She giggled, sweeping her light-brown hair out of her face and gazing, puppy-eyed, at her now-drunk boyfriend. His hips gyrated, remarkably on-time given the amount of Corellian brandy he had already consumed, as he slipped his hands down her sides and placed them in the small of her back. Cael doubted he would have stopped there, but she was subtly planting thoughts in his mind that he didn't want to run his hands down her hips, not tonight - otherwise he'd probably find the lightsabers hidden under her dress.
To the general public, the Jedi and their weapons were fifty-percent myth, fifty-percent impossible, ninety-nine percent something they wouldn't see in a lifetime. Though most Jedi only carried one saber, from an early age, Cael had shown an affinity for two; her Masters, surprised, had granted her request only after hours of deliberation and something about the Force "acting in mysterious ways". Before leaving the Order, Cael had received hundreds of hours of teaching in form IV Ataru - the art of devastating enemies with overwhelming speed and agility - and Jar'Kai, which focused on the exotic art of two-weapon combat. After leaving the Order, Cael had only intensified her training, gleaning what new information she could from anonymous black-market sellers. Sometimes, at night, she would take one of the Corellian mag-levs down to the freight yards and practice behind the thousands of shipping crates, being careful not to be spotted.
Jock burped, eyes slowly glazing over. Cael laughed, her hands draped around his neck. She had actually met the pilot while practicing at the freight yards one night; she had been mid-air, twirling towards an imaginary pirate with her sabers pointed outwards, when she felt a nearby presence. She had barely deactivated the sabers before Jock came into view. Luckily, he'd still had his flight gear on and hadn't heard anything out-of-the-ordinary, just seen the glow from the sabers. It only took Cael a minute of flirting to make him forget about everything and start thinking about her. Not that she was manipulating him; she felt horrible for the mind tricks, but she didn't want the poor thing getting himself into something he wasn't ready for. The big pilot was a good 6'2" - a half-foot taller than his girlfriend - and built like a tank, but inside, he was a complete softie, and probably not prepared to find out that the girl he was dating was a Jedi.
Though she didn't think it was right to call herself a Jedi. She had only been a Padawan when she had left. Granted, the Masters had described her combat prowess as something most Knights took years to work up to, but she hadn't even scratched the surface of the Force - beyond the acrobatics necessary for Form IV, Cael hadn't learned any of the renowned Jedi techniques. She could subtly influence minds, but not drastically; she could heal and project a defensive aura, but she lacked the focus, and knowledge, to do either consistently...
"Cael, you're *hic* drifting off again," Jock said, face making a mockery of what he probably meant to be a stern gaze.
"And you're drunk, Jock!" Cael laughed as she lifted the pilot's arm and twirled herself around to the beat of the song, nearly knocking him over. He recovered, laughing stupidly, then gazed affectionately at her.
"Cael?"
She looked at him, smiling as the cantina band slowed their rhythm into a slow-dance number. "Yes?"
"I think... I think I *hic* love you."
The world exploded, a deafening flash and bang overpowering the music. Cael instinctively ducked down, dragging Jock to the ground as acrid smoke poured over the dance floor. She heard blaster-fire, but she wasn't certain where it was coming from; there were still patrons milling about in chaos, though she thought it had come from the bar, right next from the entrance. Her eyes watered from the smoke as Jock screamed, rolling into a ball as blaster bolts screamed over the dance floor. Cael shut her eyes and reached out with the Force, looking for the source of the chaos - there, twenty feet from her, figures at the entrance. Mercenaries, pirates bandits, whatever; they were all giving off bad vibes. A breeze from the open door swept over through the cantina, dissipating the stun smoke enough to see.
The cantina band had long gone silent, the Bith musicians cowering in a corner. The packed dance floor was now covered in patrons, most of them whimpering on the ground, a few knocked unconscious by the stun grenade. Cael stayed close to the ground as she checked on Jock; he looked at her wide-eyed, sobered by the destruction. She placed a finger to her lips and he nodded, unquestioning in his fearful state. She looked up at the bar, curious to see what these thugs wanted from innocent party-goers.
There were twenty of them, all in their mid-twenties. Small-timers, but well-funded small-timers - they wore first-generation armour plating, and their Czerka-made blaster carbines looked brand-new. Cael smirked. The famed Corellian drive to succeed didn't only apply to well-meaning folk; entrepreneurs who dealt in death were all-too-common. Two of the bandits stood guard over what was left of the cantina's security staff; the three Zabraks sat propped up against a corner, relieved of their stunsticks, one of them bleeding profusely from the head. Cael took another look at the bandits. One of them stood out; taller and burlier than the others, the leader wore the same gear but had painted a white, three-fanged skull onto his chest plate - even in the civilized galaxy, the alpha males wanted to stand out. Classic.
Upon examination, this band of scum looked to be no more than well-armed fools. None of them bore the tell-tale aura of a battle-hardened soldier; they lacked the scars, the demeanor of seasoned warriors. Most likely these were the spoiled kids of rich nobles, looking for something thrilling - like picking on the lower classes. Nothing stirred the blood and got adrenaline pumping more than terrorizing those less fortunate, it seemed. Cael reached out to their minds and smiled; most of them were incredibly nervous under their facade of bravado. The only one who seemed fearless was the alpha.
The leader, apparently content with everybody's undivided attention, beckoned to the bartender. The Trandoshan jumped in fear, then clumsily fumbled behind the bar before passing the MC microphone to the leader. The human cleared his throat and spoke, deep voice thundering over the bar's speakers.
"Alright, so. Greetings, scum. I'd like to thank you all for providing such a lovely reception for the Voidstalkers and I. Most of you filth are probably too drunk to comprehend what I'm about to say, but it's not my fault you slovenly pieces of shit are content with washing away the galaxy's problems with liquor and sex. Here's the gist: I will kill you all if I don't have every single bank chip handed over to me within the next ten minutes. Think I'm kidding? Allow me to demonstrate."
The leader beckoned to one of his underlings, a young Rodian male, who calmly unsheathed a vicious-looking shiv and, without pause, shoved it into the throat of one of the subdued Zabrak guards. The Zabrak's death gurgle echoed throughout the bar as a deathly silence took over. Somebody sobbed in the corner. Cael locked hands with Jock, doing her best to calm him as he shuddered in fear. The pilot had probably never seen death, having come from a well-to-do family and all. She, however, was no stranger to it; like all who have taken a life, she felt sickeningly calm as she her mind raced, trying to find a solution to the scenario. The leader spoke again, having let the moment soak in.
"Now that you've seen death, I want you to know that you will all experience the same fate unless you hand over those chips. C'mon, pass them over. If I'm not the proud owner of..." - the bandit paused as he checked over a holopad, presumably a guest list - "... five hundred and twenty-two bank chips within ten minutes, there won't be any more parties. Got it? Pass 'em up!" The leader hopped onto a bar stool, surveying the crowd as they blankly stared at him. "Well, go on!"
Slowly, the immobilized crowd started rummaging through their pockets, fishing out bank-account chips and handing them to the bandits that were walking along the dance floor. Cael turned back to Jock and gently nudged him. "You've got to do as they say, Jock."
The pilot nodded, pulling out his chip and placing it in Cael's hand. She pulled out her own chip and waited for one of the bandits to walk past. Suddenly, the bandit leader shouted.
"Stop!" He stood from his seat, pointing directly at Cael. No, to her left. She looked, just as one of her fellow partygoers popped his bank chip into his mouth and swallowed. Two of the bandits immediately appeared by his side and hauled him through the crowd, throwing him at the feet of the leader.
"See, this is the kind of stupidity that gets people killed," the leader growled, delivering a sharp kick to the human's side. "This is the kind of stupidity that gets ten people killed, in fact." The bandits started plucking people from the crowd, pushing them to the front. Cael didn't notice the bandit coming for Jock until he had already been wrenched to his feet.
"Jock!" Cael jumped to her feet as the bandit dragged Jock to the front, throwing him to the floor wheezing. "Don't hurt him!" she yelled, anger building up inside of her.
"Cael, don't do anything stupid, it'll be O-" Jock was cut short as the leader kicked him in the back of the knee, sending him to the ground in pain. The crowd had huddled together on the floor, leaving Cael standing alone in the midst of the dance floor. The lead bandit looked her up and down, a look of disgust on his face.
"Please, spare us the shallowness of your false love. Let me guess, you don't want to lose your soul mate? Sit back down, scum. Nothing short of a Republic squad is stopping us, and you don't have one of those, do you?"
Cael remained standing, staring at the ground. "Sorry, I don't take orders from dead men," she said, clenching her fists.
"What?" laughed the bandit leader, withdrawing his pistol. "Alright, enough of this. I'll add you onto the body count. Bring her here, Jakk." A nearby bandit started making his way towards Cael.
"I said, I don't take orders from dead men," Cael shouted, whipping her head up and staring the leader right in the eyes. The room seemed to slow down for a moment - Cael could feel the gaze of the leader, the fearful eyes of Jock, the puzzled attention of the cantina-goers, and the gloved hand of the bandit about to grasp her left shoulder. Five years flashed before Cael's eyes, memories of a life left behind, as she neared the mental bridge she had sworn never to cross again. She took a deep breath, dropping into a crouch as her lightsabers flew into her hands.
Cael stood, lightsabers held back, and defiantly stared the leader in the eye. His face, now a twisted mixture of fear and confusion, quickly regained composure as he took aim. "Kill the bitch! Kill the Jedi bitch, now!"
The bandits opened fire within a second, but their reflexes were light-years too slow. Cael lept up, closing the ten feet to the nearest thug within a heartbeat, lightsaber plunging through his chest. Her lithe body flew through the air as she wrapped her legs around another bandit's neck, snapping it as she swung around. Her lightsabers flew out in an arc, disemboweling three bandits who had just managed to fire a salvo. She jumped to the side, kicking away the now-limp body as the blasterfire sunk into the wall behind her. She sprinted towards the next bandit, lightsabers returning to her hands just as she reached him. She didn't stop moving, stepping around his body as his chest slid from his torso.
She had moved around to the left side of the cantina, thirty feet from her original position, within five seconds. The remaining bandits were still turning to track her as she leaped towards them, pirouetting in a macabre dance of death as she eviscerated and maimed armored men with disturbing grace. She slashed diagonally, decapitating a burly Trandoshan as she twirled through the air and channeled the strike into a stab, sticking two pirates at once. The bodies barely had time to slump over as she landed, plunging her blades into an off-balance Rodian.
The Rodian sank to the ground as the remaining eight bandits grouped together, unsure of what to do. The leader shoved them forward, screaming with rage as Cael sliced through them each in turn. He turned to run for the entrance, only to find his way blocked by an incredibly-angry ex-Jedi. He immediately sank to his knees, clasping his hands together as tears flowed down his face.
"I swear, it was just a bit of fun, we only wanted -"
The leader's spiel was cut short by the bisecting lightsaber blades that met his throat, sending his head rolling down the stairs to the dance floor. Cael's lightsabers extinguished as she fell to the ground, body quaking as she held back the tears. Five years had passed since she had taken a life; five years that she had spent rebuilding some semblance of a life. All wasted by a miserable gang of bloodthirsty ruffians. With a good five hundred witnesses, her life here was over. She looked up and sighed - the clientele of the cantina were murmuring to each other, all eyes on the girl who had just ended the lives of twenty armed men. She looked at Jock, who was standing next to the bar, shocked into silence.
"I'm so sorry," she said, taking a step towards him. He staggered backwards, pressing himself up against the wall, eyes wide with fear. He wasn't drunk anymore - he was frozen with terror. Cael sheathed her lightsabers and ran out the entrance, sobbing.
- - - - - - - - - - - -
Cael stepped off her speeder bike, staring at Coronet Hospital-3. The giant building towered over her, dwarfing the surrounding skyline. A steady bustle of traffic flowed around and through the building, both on ground level and in the sky; hundreds of robots, patients and employees rushed about their days. Cael slipped on a pair of sunglasses and walked towards the main hospital entrance.
She had spent the night on her bike, driving the city limits to keep her head clear. After clearing out of her apartment, all that was left to do was clear out her bank account - which, unfortunately, had to be done from the hospital, where she worked. Or rather, where had worked until today. She doubted Doctor Hawka would be sad to see her go - after all, most of the hospital staff were robots, and even then there were dozens of nurses - but there was no other way to withdraw funds on such short notice. Stupid company policy.
She steered her way towards the lifts, stepping into one of the small contraptions. Seventy stories later, the administration level beckoned in all its HR-managed glory; gray walls, gray ceilings, and graying hair filled the level. She made her way to one of the administrative cubicles, only to find herself ricocheting between offices as she was passed off to increasingly more-and-more delegating suits. Finally, she was relocated to an elderly Bothan's spacious cubicle. The canine looked over his spectacles, hands resting on his perfectly-organized desk.
"Yes, Ms. Scythe? From what my associates tell me, you'd like an indefinite leave, but you can't afford the customary week's short notice. I'm afraid I'll need a good reason to grant this."
"People want to kill me and I need to leave Corellia."
The Bothan blinked. "Very well, then, I suppose that's a good enough reason." The executive issued a few commands into his desk terminal, handing a small chip to Cael - her life savings and all her documents. "Safe travels, Ms. Scythe."
She smiled, pocketing the chip and walking out of the offices. She stopped at the railing; in a few minutes, she'd be at the spaceport on the next shuttle to Coruscant, starting another life. The plan was sketchy, but she intended to march up to the Jedi Temple and rediscover her true calling. It was kind of funny; at this rate, she'd have a new life by next week. The lost Jedi gazed at the sunset view, soaking in the last minutes she'd ever spend on Corellia. Then she simply turned and walked away.
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