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Luke has three ways of finding potential students: by rumor, by hunch, or, if he's very lucky, via an unexpected meeting. Unfortunately, the latter is exceptionally rare. Usually, he relies on some combination of the former. Admittedly, none of his methods have been particularly successful thus far, but no Jedi Order was built in a day.
In this case, Luke's working off a rumor. Whispers have reached him of a girl, somewhere on the edge of Wild Space, who can see the future. With no more than to work off of than a few stories passed through shipping lanes from the Outer Rim, Luke leaves the school in Artoo’s capable manipulators and sets off in the small T-1 shuttle he uses on missions where he hopes to acquire a passenger.
He acquires his first real lead on Bestal III.
"She may speak in tongues, but she won me five hundred Republic credits at the swoop races on Lipsec!" swears a maintenance tech at the tiny hangar where Luke docks his shuttle.
("Are you sure it wasn't just a trade language?" "Ain’t never heard a language sound like that !")
Dozens of disappointments have taught Luke not to get his hopes up too much. The more outlandish the rumors, the more likely the source is to be a clever charlatan. But no lead is too wild to chase down.
The tech had encountered the girl on Dosuun when the freighter he was contracted on stopped to pick up a shipment of durasteel. "But no guarantees she’ll still be there," the tech warns. "Her uncle was in a real hurry to leave the planet."
Despite the tech’s warning, Luke feels an encouraging flutter from the Force as he programs the coordinates for Dosuun into the T-6’s navicomputer.
When he finally arrives at Dosuun Central Spaceport, it’s planetary night—too late to do much investigating in a place this small. Each of the hangar bays has a large sign that reads "NO OCCUPYING VEHICLES OVERNIGHT" in bold, blocky letters, and the night guard unsubtly shoves a thumb towards the poster when Luke disembarks to pay the fee.
There is a (suspiciously close) lodging house across the wide, empty street from the spaceport. It has no name that Luke can see, but flickering lights illuminate a placard advertising "BUNKS — CREW DISCOUNT". With a sigh, Luke resigns himself to his fate. So much for conserving the small monthly stipend he receives from the New Republic for "ensuring the preservation of our valuable cultural heritage." He futilely hopes that at least the bunks are parasite-free.
"I've heard there's a girl here who can see the future," he mentions casually to the innkeep over his mug of what passes for watered down house ale. (Even years later, drinking alcohol feels dangerously indulgent—on Tatooine, only offworlders and the wealthy could afford to partake of diuretics.) This late, the bar is empty even of offworlders still running on ship-time, but the opportunity to have a moment alone with the being most likely to know all the goings-on of the spaceport is too valuable to pass up.
The Ithorian pauses in her vain wipe of the grimy counter to narrow her eyes at Luke. "What’s it to you?"
Luke shrugs, putting on his best "harmless Tatooine hick" impression to allay the innkeep’s obvious suspicions. "My sister’s pregnant." (This, as far as he knows, is a lie.) "I’ve got money riding on it being a boy. It’d be nice to know if I should start looking for some extra work before she’s due."
The innkeeper’s posture doesn’t soften, but her ire is no longer directed towards Luke now. "You seem like a nice kid," she says, "so I’ll give you a warning. Mark my words, that girl and her ‘uncle’ are nothing but trouble. I’ve never seen his type here before, and she’s just downright unnatural. You’re better off spending your credits on a nice gift for the baby."
"Trouble how?" Luke presses.
The Ithorian drops her rag back in the gray bucket beneath the counter. She leans in conspiratorially towards Luke; apparently she’s been holding this rant in for a while. "Crashed their ship in the hills out to east of here about a month ago. The scrappers who picked through the wreck said it looked like it’d been through a firefight."
"Firefight?" Luke interrupts. "Are pirates a problem around here?"
The innkeep shakes her head. "Couldn’t have happened locally—satellites would have picked it up. They must’ve managed a hyperspace jump before their engines gave out. Scrappers said there were still bodies in the cabin—burnt to a crisp, no way to ID the species."
"It’s a miracle there were any survivors," Luke says under his breath. A point in favor towards the girl’s legitimacy.
The Ithorian nods. "Didn’t even seek out the local clinic, either. Rumor has it they’re squatting in one of the abandoned warehouses outside of town."
Luke takes a small sip of his beer and changes the subject back to his original purpose.
"How’d the fortunetelling rumors start?"
"They showed up in the open-air market a few rotations later. Neither of them speak a word of Basic, but the uncle, he speaks a bit Meese Caulf. Not very well, mind you, but it gets the point across. Starts telling anyone who will listen the girl will tell their fortune for fifty credits. Think the first few takers thought "fortune" was code for something else , if you get my meaning." The Ithorian’s disgust comes across clearly through her vocoder.
Luke grimaces in return. "Whatever she’s doing, it must be convincing. Met a mechanic on Bestal who wouldn’t stop singing her praises."
"It’s something alright," she scoffs. "Every evening my bar’s full of gullible offworlders telling me how her eyes started glowing as she looked into their soul and started chanting… after they’ve handed over their credits of course."
"You know," Luke says, "I heard that they were looking for passage offworld. Anyone willing to take on passengers must pass through here, first. There any truth to that rumor?"
"Hah! Passengers? Had a light freighter captain in here the other day who says the uncle tried to buy his ship off of her. There's no market for private vessels here…least not with a functioning hyperdrive. Nobody’s got the credits. Captain told him he'd be better off hitching a ride Coreward, but he insisted. Needed his own vessel. Awful suspicious, if you ask me."
Privately, Luke can’t help but agree. If they needed a ship that badly, why not hitch a ride to a place where a small secondhand shuttle would be more readily available?
To his left, the first pale fingers of an early sunrise started to creep through the dusty window. Reluctantly, Luke acknowledges that he should probably attempt to get at least a few hours of rest before setting out to approach the girl and her uncle. He drowns the last of his watery beer, thanks the innkeeper for the conversation, and leaves a hefty tip on the counter before heading up to his overpriced bunk. (A crew of one , apparently, was not eligible for any of the advertised discounts.)
In the end, it’s not that hard to find the fortuneteller. She’s exactly where the innkeeper had said she would be, in the open-air market at the center of the small spaceport town. It must be a school day, because the only children he sees is the occasional babe swaddled to its parent’s back. As such, the fortuneteller stands out, even from her slightly sheltered locale in the space between two buildings. A small group of hopeful customers has assembled in front of her, briefly preventing Luke from getting a good view, but a few words barked in a raspy hiss from the shadows behind the girl has the onlookers clumsily assembling into a haphazard queue, allowing him to get a better look.
To Luke’s mild surprise, she’s just a little girl. From the talk, and from her seeming control over her abilities, he’d been expecting a teenager. But she’s ten at the oldest, and more likely eight or nine or the equivalent developmental benchmark for her species. At first glance, she's near-human, with pallid gray-blue skin and dark, unevenly trimmed hair. For a second, Luke thinks she might be Pantoran, but he quickly realizes she must be a different, unfamiliar species. This on its own wouldn’t be unusual; spaceports are diverse places, and Luke only recognizes about half the beings populating the market.
But the rumors were right about one thing — the girl’s eyes are a bright, glowing red.
Definitely not Pantoran.
Standing behind her, with one clawed appendage grasped possessively around her shoulder, must be her "uncle." They definitely aren’t related by blood. He’s tall—almost twice as tall as his niece, with a long, flexible torso and short, digitigrade legs covered in thick, grayish brown scales. Long, sharp feathers speckled with white drape over the tattered collar of his jacket. His yolk-orange eyes observe the short queue of hopeful customers with a predator’s watchful stare.
Luke carefully avoids letting his gaze linger too long. The girl’s uncle seems like the suspicious type, and Luke wants to avoid starting off on the wrong foot. Better to not draw too much attention before he has a chance to properly introduce himself.
But first, he needs to find someone who speaks Meese Caulf.
As Luke makes his way around the market, he takes the time to get some second opinions about the pair. Unlike some small towns, he finds that the local stall keepers are, for the most part, friendly; living in a port town, they’re used to a constant flow of offworlders eager to converse with someone other than their crewmates.
A merchant with a spread of secondhand droid parts arrayed under a large, patched awning confirms that the girl and her uncle first appeared in the market a little over three weeks past. Word seemed to spread quickly that the girl’s talents were legit, and the merchant noticed an uptick in foot traffic to the square shortly afterwards.
“Good for business,” he grunts approvingly. “And the big one’s good with unruly customers.”
“You ever a customer yourself?” asks Luke.
The merchant shakes his head. “Unlucky, questioning the fates is. To each their own, but I’ve more sense than to get involved with that business.”
Next, Luke approaches a small, elderly Bimm woman selling woven textiles. She has a friendly, open face that wrinkles with concern when Luke brings up the topic of the fortuneteller.
“I went up to them that first day, you know,” she says, “I had heard rumors their ship had crashed, and I asked them if they needed any help. I hate to see a child in distress! But would you believe, that ‘uncle’ of hers blew me off! Told me that unless I had a ship to sell, I could mind my own business! Wouldn’t even tell me their names! I tried to report them to the authorities, but you know how they are.”
Luke does not “know how they are”, but he can make a few guesses from the fact that the only law enforcement he’s seen since arriving on Dosuun is the night watchman at the port.
A speeder repairman with an actual storefront has slightly more to offer. He’s leaning against the shop’s door jamb, taking a smoke break, when Luke approaches him.
“Yeah, I know them,” he confirms. “The big one—calls himself “Vrik”—came by looking for leads on a ship with a hyperdrive. Told him I don’t do favors for folks who can’t be bothered to introduce themselves first. Gave me what sounded like a fake name, then started getting pissy when I told him I didn’t know anyone selling at the moment.”
The owner of the vegetable stall across the aisle is less helpful. “I mind my own business,” he says. “It’s no skin off my back if offworlders are too stupid to recognize a scam when they see one. As long as they aren’t causing trouble, I could care less.”
The vegetable seller doesn’t speak Meese Caulf, but a woman perusing the display of root vegetables overhears Luke asking. She interjects, voice calculating, “I might. How much you offerin’?”
It takes fifty credits and surprisingly aggressive haggling, but Luke finally manages to persuade the woman, Linna, to interpret for him. (Perhaps he needs to start bringing Threepio with him on these missions in order to save credits, if not Luke’s patience.) She suspiciously counts her credits as she tails Luke to the fortuneteller’s queue.
The wait is brief once they join the line. Not fifteen minutes later, the grizzled Klatoonian in front of them is getting back on his feet, having sunk to his knees in disbelieving joy when the fortuneteller’s uncle—“Vrik”—relayed the purchased revelation. His eyes are still glistening wetly as he drifts away into the crowd. (Luke didn’t realize Klatoonians even had tear ducts.)
Before Luke knows it, he’s gazing down into the glowing red eyes of what could be his very first pupil.
Luke gently reaches out to her, intending only to get a surface read, confirming her presence in the Force. But the moment he opens his mind, a torrent of fear and despair crashes into him, the aftershocks rippling out through the Force. The mental barrage almost drives his physical body back a pace.
Luke slowly withdraws and centers himself, praying that his reaction wasn’t noticeable to the person he is now absolutely certain is holding the girl against her will. He’s saying something in that harsh, scratchy voice of his. Luke struggles to draw his focus from the girl to her not-uncle.
"Payment upfront," Linna translates in a bored monotone, oblivious to the turmoil invisibly afflicting the Force around her. "Fifty credits."
Luke silently passes over the money, taking the opportunity to size up the being he now recognizes as the girl’s captor. Vrik’s mind is frustratingly opaque, as is the expression on his broad features. As he reaches out to take Luke’s credits, Luke catches a glimpse of an unfamiliar blaster beneath his blackened jacket.
For a second, Luke fears that his New Republic credits will be rejected—it wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened, this far from the Core. But the Force must be with him today. Vrik jerks his triangular head in acknowledgement and rasps out something that Linna interprets as, "Pose your question."
Luke experiences a momentary panic. He had planned on asking something hard to guess, yet easily verified. How many points would the Corellian Cogarrs score in their stick ball game against the Taanab Tookas? But now, the stakes have unexpectedly risen. Luke casts around for a question. Vrik shifts impatiently, clearly unused to waiting.
Quickly, Luke says, "Will I be going home alone?" To the casual observer, it just sounds like he’s wondering if he’ll get lucky tonight, but he makes eye contact with the girl as he speaks, willing her to understand the true meaning behind his question. I'm here to help you. You don't need to be afraid.
He doesn't take his eyes off her as the interpreter repeats the question in Meese Caulf, or as Vrik repeats it again in a strange, third language.
The girl listens carefully. Once the question has danced its way through the network of translators to her ears, she cocks her head slightly, brows furrowed. She mouths something under her breath and closes her eyes, face slipping into a grim mask of concentration. She trembles slightly, and Vrik's claws tighten on her slender shoulder.
A few seconds or a few hours later she lets out a small gasp and her eyes snap open. They unerringly seek out Luke's face. Their red glow is as powerful as a tractor beam.
She says a single word.
Luke waits, not daring to breathe, as her response travels through the cycle of translation.
Moments later, he has his response: "Yes."
"Thank you," he tells her sincerely, silently following it up with I'll return through the Force, even as Vrik is snarling something and gesturing curtly away.
It feels astonishingly inadequate, but he hopes she receives the message. It might be his imagination, but as he turns to leave, he thinks he feels her stormy presence in the Force calm slightly.
Luke thanks Linna for her assistance and retreats to an open bench on the other side of the busy square to plan out his next moves.
A quick glance around the square confirms that there's too many people around to risk trying to free the girl here. Even if Luke was confident that he could avoid collateral damage, he has no way of knowing whether the girl's captor has allies amongst the crowd. Despite the innkeeper's complaints the night before, Luke sees no sign of overt animosity towards the pair from the locals, and, while the local authorities might not have responded to the textile merchant’s complaints, there was no telling how they’d react to physical confrontation.
He decides his best bet is to follow them back to wherever they've made camp, and make his move then. The innkeep had mentioned an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town. The location will be perfect for extracting the girl without drawing too much attention and minimizing the potential for anything other than property damage.
Luke considers using this evening as reconnaissance and delaying the actual rescue until tomorrow night. Vrik seems cautious enough to have probably set up some sort of defensive perimeter around the warehouse, and it’s also likely that the girl is kept restrained in some way while Vrik sleeps. Luke was mildly regretting leaving Artoo behind to manage the construction droids at the school. Even as he considers the delay though, the memory of the girl's distress convinces him that the rescue cannot wait an extra day. Whatever awaits him in the warehouse will have to be an acceptable risk.
Luke wonders if her family had been aboard the ship that crashed, denied a proper burial. Was Vrik the one who attacked the ship, or had she been taken from her family earlier? Was this just another in a sequence of tragedies scarring her short life?
Luke is tempted to scout out the wreckage, see if he can find any clues passed over by scavengers and the elements, but he doesn’t know how late in the day the pair will stay in the market, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of missing their departure.
As the sun reaches its peak, Luke relocates to a seat at the outdoor bar of a nearby cantina. From here, he can just barely see the feathery crown of Vrik’s head poking up above the crowd. He orders a drink and some toasted legumes, and settles in to wait.
The sun is slipping towards the horizon and the market crowds have started to thin when Luke notices Vrik start to move. There’s still too many people about for him to spot the fortuneteller, but he assumes she must be nearby. He tosses down some credits as a generous (but not so generous as to be suspicious) tip for the bartender and hurries to follow his target.
When he catches up to them, Vrik is walking with one clawed hand still tightly grasping the girl's shoulder, guiding her down a narrow back alley lined with dumpsters and clouded with exhaust vents. Luke is careful to keep his distance as he tails them, not wanting the fortuneteller to sense his presence and inadvertently give his position away.
Vrik seems to be wary of potential tails, too, his amber eyes darting about his surroundings as he forces the little girl to match his long strides. At one point, she stumbles, and he jerks her upright with a sharp hiss of something in their shared language.
As the sky darkens, Luke clambers up an escape ladder to continue his pursuit by roof. They’re nearing the outskirts of town, and Luke can no longer sense any sparks of life in any of the nearby buildings. This plan fails him a few short blocks later, though, when the space between buildings grows to a distance that he cannot bridge even with a Force-assisted jump.
None of the Daruun’s three moons have risen yet, so it’s too dark to see very far, and Luke doesn’t dare risk lighting a glowrod. He turns to the Force to guide his steps.
Vrik’s species must have excellent night vision, because he continues unerringly to a dilapidated warehouse without breaking their pace. He shoves the girl through the heavy door (Luke catches a glimpse of a broken padlock) and quickly follows her in.
Luke circles the building, evaluating the situation. One of the moons is out now, providing him with a bit of light by which to examine the warehouse. It’s fairly big, large enough to house a small spaceship or several pieces of large farm equipment. There are no windows, and the only other entrance is sealed shut.
Luke uses a stack of empty fuel canisters to vault his way onto the roof. Here, at least, the Force is with him: one of the corrugated metal panels has rusted away, giving him an excellent view of the situation within.
And it certainly is a situation.
The first thing Luke notices is the girl. She’s curled up, seemingly asleep, on the crumbling duracrete floor of the warehouse. If Luke had any remaining doubts that she was being held against her will, they’re silenced by the sight of the shackles securing her right wrist to a weight bearing support column.
The second thing Luke notices is the blue glow of the deflector shield . It’s a design he doesn’t recognize, and he’s so busy puzzling over what could possibly be powering the seven meter diameter shield that he almost fails to notice Thing Number Three: Vrik is nowhere to be seen.
Almost , because the Force alerts him just in time to dodge the blaster bolt the whizzes past his head.
Vrik is standing just past the ridge of the roof, the muzzle of his gun beginning to glow as he raises it for a second shot. He fires again, spitting something whose intonation sounds almost like a question. Luke lunges into a roll, hand going to his belt to unclip his lightsaber. He ignites it as he rises to his feet. So much for stealthily sneaking in and spiriting the girl out with Vrik none the wiser.
In the green light of the lightsaber, Luke sees Vrik’s eyes narrow to slits. He says something else. This time it’s definitely not a question. Vrik’s free hand reaches for his belt and he withdraws a short staff that resembles a slender club. He flicks his thumb and the air around it begins to shimmer. Damn. Must be ambidextrous.
An eight-foot tall feathered reptile has nothing on a Sith Lord, but Luke’s learned that no opponent should be underestimated.
Vrik charges forward, bearing down on Luke with his strange club. Luke brings his lightsaber up to block. Instead of slicing through the other weapon, his blade meets it; it feels as though he’s attempting to force like poles of a magnet together. Knowing he won’t be able to match his opponent’s strength, he pivots off the line and lets the Force of the blow carry his lightsaber around into a strike to the side of Vrik’s head.
However, the incline of the roof and the unexpectedly continued momentum cause Vrik to stumble forward, and Luke’s blow misses. Vrik manages to turn his fall into a roll, and he’s already firing shots off at Luke as he stands. Luke deflects the blasts away with his saber. Vrik keeps up a steady onslaught of blaster fire as he closes the distance between them, forcing Luke to take a step back so that he still has space to block the oncoming bolts.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t notice until it’s too late the changing texture of the roof panels beneath his feet. The corroded metal gives way beneath his weight, crumbling into dust and sending Luke falling into the space below.
He reaches for the Force to slow his fall, but forgets to compensate for the presence of the deflector shield.
Luke hits the curved edge of the field and its repulsive force is enough to send him flying at an angle. He briefly goes numb, and he loses his grip on his lightsaber as an electric tingle floods his body, like the sensation of blood rushing back into a deadened limb. The blade retracts as it hits the ground, and the hilt rolls off into a dark corner of the warehouse. Luke’s head knocks against the hard floor as he lands, and he lies still, momentarily too dazed to retrieve his saber with the Force.
As he struggles upright, he sees Vrik drop much more gracefully through the hole in the roof, artfully avoiding the forcefield despite his bulk.
A quick glance to Luke’s left reveals the commotion has woken the girl. Through the electric shimmer, he can see that she’s huddled close to the pole to which she’s been shackled, attempting to hide behind it, her small body made even smaller and red eyes wide with fear.
Vrik notices the direction of his gaze, and this seems to enrage the kidnapper further. He lifts his blaster and advances on Luke. Head still spinning and still without full sensation in his fingers, Luke attempts to flick the blaster out of Vrik’s grasp. His first effort is unsuccessful, managing only to nudge it far enough off the line for the first shot to go wide. He tries again as Vrik yanks the blaster straight, this time sending it flying off to the side with a clatter.
With a roar, Vrik launches himself at Luke empty handed, weapons forgotten. Which, honestly, isn’t much of a loss, because Vrik himself might as well be a weapon. Vrik’s fists close around Luke’s throat. He attempts to bring a knee up into his opponent’s groin but his leverage vanishes as Vrik hoists him up into the air. Vrik slams him against the warehouse wall, one massive hand pinning Luke in place, the other drawing back into a fist.
Luke’s toes scrape frantically across the ground. His metal hand fruitlessly tugs at the clawed fingers cutting off his air, while his flesh hand reaches out, feeling for the resonant hum of his kyber crystal. It sings out to him, reaching back. He tugs .
Luke can’t see it, but he can feel his lightsaber fly towards him. It takes almost no additional effort to ignite the blade as the hilt whizzes through the air.
It impacts with a sizzle square in Vrik’s back, the neon tip stopping inches from Luke’s own chest. Vrik coughs out a surprised gurgle. His grip around Luke’s throat loosens and Luke slides to the ground, only to be forced to scramble out of the way in order to avoid being trapped under Vrik’s bulk as the other man tips forward, dead. His fall is cut short by the wall against which he had been pinning Luke seconds earlier. He lies there, face hidden, body slumped, the green blade of Luke’s lightsaber still protruding from his back.
Luke takes a brief moment to recover his breath, his left hand reaching up to massage his aching throat. He coughs hoarsely—if he doesn’t get some bacta on his neck soon, there’s going to be an awful bruise.
He forces himself to his feet, and walks over to retrieve his lightsaber from Vrik’s corpse. He really had been hoping to get through this mission without killing anyone. Speaking of the mission—
The girl who’s his whole reason for coming to Dosuun is still chained to a support column in the middle of a forcefield. At the moment, her red gaze is fixed on the dark shadow of Vrik’s body. A brief query into the Force reveals that her emotions are still in turmoil, but now a dark, vicious sense of satisfaction is warring with the ever present fear.
Her attention shifts to Luke as he withdraws his saber from Vrik’s back, retracting the blade and clipping the hilt back onto his belt. He bends down to search Vrik’s pockets; since the girl is inside the deflector shield and Vrik was outside it, it follows that Vrik must have had some means of externally controlling the generator.
The controller ends up not being in either of Vrik’s pockets, but is instead tucked into a small leather pouch on his belt. It’s a small, unassuming device, with three unlabeled buttons: a large red one and two smaller gray ones. Luke cautiously presses the red button, crossing his fingers that the lack of warning from the Force means it’s the on/off switch, not “OVERLOAD” or “SELF DESTRUCT”.
He’s relieved when the blue field simply flickers off—no explosions or bolts of electricity.
Now for the hard part.
Luke takes a few steps forward, making sure he has the girl’s attention. He very slowly removes his lightsaber and places it on the ground, in clear view. He lifts his robe, turning slightly, to show the girl that he doesn’t have any weapons. Then, he removes his cuff-hacking kit from an inner pocket and uses it to gesture at his own wrist, and then at the girl’s. I’m going to attempt to remove your restraints.
He inches forward, keeping his hands visible and projecting an aura of safety through the Force. Fortunately, the girl doesn’t seem inclined to panic or struggle as he approaches. Up close, he’s once again struck by how young she looks. Her features still have the roundness of childhood, but she looks malnourished in a way that Luke is positive isn’t typical for her species. Her short hair is choppy in a way that reminds him of the time when he was seven and had come home from school with a scalp full of parasites and Aunt Beru had immediately taken the clippers to his head, despite his protests.
Luke sinks to his knees in front of her. “I’m gonna try to get this off, okay?” he says gently, pointing to the cuff on her right wrist. It’s not a design he recognizes, but he’s fairly sure the lockhacking skills he’s acquired from Han will be adequate for the task ahead.
Sure enough, two minutes later the cuff pops open. The girl immediately snatches her newly freed hand to her chest, cradling it in her left. Luke catches a glimpse of dark, almost navy-black bruises around her wrist.
Luke sits back on his heels, opening up the space between them a bit. He tucks his lockhacker back into his pocket without removing his eyes from the girl. She hasn’t made any attempt to move. She’s watching Luke cautiously, body still hunched against the safety of the pillar.
Luke points at his chest.
"Luke," he enunciates clearly. "Luke."
"Luuuke," the girl repeats slowly, rolling the strange syllable about through her mouth. It’s only the second time he’s heard her speak.
"That's me! Luke," he says again.
He points to her. "And you are?"
She frowns slightly, seemingly having to think about it. Luke's heart breaks as he wonders how long it's been since anyone asked her what her name is.
"Ap'ana," she says softly. She points to herself, repeating the word more confidently this time. "Ap'ana."
"Ap'ana," Luke echoes. He knows his cadence is off, but Ap'ana's lips curve into a small smile anyway. "It's nice to meet you, Ap'ana.”
He pushes back up onto his feet, carefully telegraphing his motions, so as not to startle her. "Shall we go back to my ship? You’ll be safe there." He pushes a mental image of the T-1 towards her through the Force along with a warm sense of safety, hoping it'll be enough to get the message across.
It must be, because Ap'ana reaches out and takes his proffered hand. He gently helps her up. To his surprise, even once she’s standing she doesn’t let go, instead seeming to find comfort in the warmth of his large palm.
Before they depart the warehouse, Luke quickly takes stock of what they’re leaving behind. Vrik’s body (which Luke feels a twinge of guilt about, but it can’t be helped), the shield generator (too large to carry without the use of the Force), and a soot-streaked duffel that must have belonged to Vrik. Luke points to the bag with his free hand, questioning whether there might be any of Ap’ana’s belongings stowed in it as well, but a jerky shake of her head confirms that there’s nothing left for her in the warehouse.
Instead of leading Ap’ana back to his ship by retracing their steps from the market square, which would involve cutting through town, Luke opts to skirt the perimeter of the town, grateful for the cover of night. He knows that sneaking about in the company of a child having just killed her presumed guardian isn’t great optics, and he doesn’t particularly want to have to explain that no, he ’s not kidnapping her, he’s rescuing her from a kidnapper.
At a child’s pace, it takes them over three hours until the dome of the spaceport rises before them. At this late hour, the surrounding area is as dead as it was when he arrived the previous night. Across the road, "BUNKS — CREW DISCOUNT" still flickers in front of the inn.
As they approach the door to the spaceport, Luke whispers, “Stay close to me,” even though he knows Ap’ana can’t understand.
It’s the same night guard on duty as before. He recognizes Luke.
“Night owl, huh?” he says conversationally. “You’ll still get charged for two nights, you know that, right?”
Luke gives him his best sheepish smile. “You know how it is…spend enough time in space, and day and night begin to lose all meaning.
“Can’t say I do,” the guard shrugs. “Oh, hello, who’s this?” he asks, noticing the small figure glued to Luke’s side for the first time. “Aren’t you—”
Luke casually waves his free hand. “There’s no one here but me,” he intones, conscious of the way Ap’ana is inquisitively observing their interaction.
“There’s no one here but you,” the guard repeats robotically. Then: “Sorry about that, sometimes I jump at shadows, working here alone.”
“Perfectly normal,” Luke reassures him. “But I do need to be on my way.”
“Of course,” the guard says. “Safe travels!”
But Luke is already hurrying Ap’ana towards his shuttle.
Once they’re inside, he makes a beeline for the cockpit, nudging Ap’ana into the copilot’s seat as he initiates the startup sequence. Ap’ana watches curiously as he manipulates the controls to guide the shuttle out of the open roof of the spaceport. Luke notes her fascination, wondering if she’s interested in one day becoming a pilot.
After clearing the atmosphere, Luke is able to engage the autopilot on a course to the nearest hyperlane, leaving him free to devote his attention to his young passenger.
She’s still caught up in examining the T-1’s control panel, so Luke says her name to get her attention.
“Ap’ana.”
She startles violently, but quickly recovers an outward appearance of calm, although Luke can still feel the tension emanating from her in the Force.
“C’mon,” he says, gesturing towards the passage that leads to the passenger hold of the shuttle. Ap’ana rises, almost reluctantly, and follows him back into the depths of the shuttle.
As soon as he has Ap'ana settled in at the small fold-down table with a blanket cup of water, Luke comms Leia. Ap’ana watches, curious, from her seat.
Fortunately, she picks up almost immediately.
"Luke!" she says brightly. "It’s good to hear from you!"
Luke feels slightly guilty. It’s been a while since they’ve talked; he’s been busy with the academy, and she’s been busy with work. He can always tell she’s doing okay through their connection in the Force, so it’s made the need to reach out less pressing.
"It’s good to see your face," he tells her honestly. "I hope I didn’t interrupt anything."
"Not at all," she reassures him. "I was just going over some notes for a committee meeting, but it can wait. Was there anything in particular you comm’d to talk about, or did you just call to say hello?" She smiles at him.
"I actually have a bit of a problem that I’m hoping you can help me with,"
Leia’s wavering blue figure immediately straightens, abruptly all business.
"What is it?"
"Is Threepio around? I've got a potential student with me, but she doesn't speak Basic, and I don't know anything else but Huttese and Binary."
"Oh, so it’s not my help you need," Leia teases, but follows it up with: "Yes, he’s just in the sitting room. Threepio!"
She ducks out of view and moments later C-3PO’s metallic frame fills the hologram instead.
"Master Luke! Princess Leia informed me you had the most urgent need of my assistance!"
"I do, actually," Luke says, angling his comm so that Ap’ana will be visible on the other end of the transmission.
"Threepio, Leia, this is Ap’ana. I helped her get out of a bad situation on Daruun. She doesn’t speak Basic, or any of the local dialects, but the person she was with spoke a trade language called Meese Caulf. I don’t think she understands it, though."
"Ah!" Threepio exclaims. "So you require my services as an interpreter! Fortunately, I am fluent in over six million forms of communication—"
Threepio cycles through a dozen languages in rapid succession only to be met with blank stares from Ap’ana. Luke is beginning to despair that he and Ap’ana will ever communicate in more than gestures and imprecise Force images when Threepio pauses, eyes flickering consideringly.
"Hmm…while it would be quite unusual for it to appear in that sector, perhaps we could try…"
He says something in what must be yet another language, and Ap’ana sits up straight, eyes wide and blanket falling off her shoulders. She excitedly babbles something in response.
“Ah yes, Sy Bisti,” Threepio announces smuggly, switching back to Basic. “A common lingua franca in Wild Space, but rarely heard outside the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim. Very well, Master Luke, what would you like to know?”
Luke glances at Ap’ana, then back to the hologram of Threepio. "Can you first let her know she’s safe? Tell her that I’m building a school for students with abilities like hers, and she can stay there if she has nowhere else to go."
Threepio repeats Luke’s reassurance in Sy Bisti. Luke was hoping it would help Ap’ana relax a little, but if anything, she seems oddly deflated when Threepio finishes. Her voice is small when she responds.
"She says she was taken from her family when she was very small. She doesn’t know if they’re still alive, but she misses them very much.”
“Let her know that once we arrive at the school, I’ll do everything in my power to return her to her family. Was the man she was with when I found her the one who took her from her family?”
Ap’ana shakes her head when she hears the translation, but elaborates.
“No, that was someone else. Aliens took her because she was special and forced her to navigate their ship. (My goodness! A child piloting a starship? What has the galaxy come to!) One day, another group of aliens—she thinks they were pirates—attacked her ship. Both her crew and the invaders were killed. She and the being you found her with, one of the pirates, were the only survivors. He made her fly the ship, but it was damaged and she was scared, so they crashed. That’s when she found you on Daruun."
"Threepio,” Luke says. “Can you ask if she remembers where she’s from? What sector? What planet? I need to know where to start looking.”
“She says her people are called the Chiss. Their system is in the Unknown Regions. She thinks she might be able to get close, but it was so long ago, she’s not sure if she remembers the way.”
Luke puzzles over that for a moment. Remember the way? Perhaps she recalled a set of coordinates, but they would be of no use if the location they pointed to was outside of charted space. Regardless, returning Ap’ana to her family, if they are even still alive, will not be an easy task.
“Thank you, Threepio. Can you let Ap’ana know that we’re about twenty hours from our destination? I’ll set up a bunk for her so she can get some rest. It’s been a long day, and I don’t want to overwhelm her with too many questions.”
“Is that all, Master Luke?” Threepio asks.
“For now, yes,” Luke says. “Leia?”
Leia steps back into the hologram. “Yes?”
“Is there any way Threepio can meet us at the school? Ahsoka’s there now, and I think it will be more convenient all around.”
"I’ll have Han drop him off,” Leia says. “He was supposed to bring around another shipment of supplies, anyway. Won’t hurt him to leave a few days early."
“Thanks, Leia, I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Luke says, relieved to have this problem sorted, at least.
“Get yourself into all manner of trouble, I suspect,” says Leia lightly. More seriously, she adds, “Take care of yourself, Luke. I have a strange feeling about this, like these are the first ripples before a massive swell.”
“You know I don’t get your water metaphors,” Luke says. “But I know what you mean. I feel it too.”
After ending the call with Leia, Luke ensures that Ap’ana is safely tucked into her bunk, then immediately comms Ahsoka to let her know to expect company. The two of them take turns overseeing the construction of the school. It’s not that Luke isn’t confident in Artoo’s ability to independently wrangle builder droids, but the location they’ve chosen is steeped in the Force and occasionally construction runs into problems that require a Force-sensitive solution.
Ahsoka is entirely unsurprised to hear that Luke’s mission was successful. “I look forward to meeting her,” she says, then sighs. “Leia actually just sent me a message to expect Solo this evening. It will be nice to see Chewie, at least.” (Ahsoka and Han tolerate each other. Luke’s pretty sure it’s just for his and Leia’s sake.)
It’s shortly after planetary dawn when Luke sets the T-1 down outside the school next to Ahsoka’s T-6.
Ap’ana had slept nearly the entire twenty hour voyage, albeit not soundly; Luke could hear soft whimpers coming from the cabin but was hesitant to wake her without means of offering explanation or reassurance. He had reluctantly shaken her awake an hour or so before they were due to land.
Ap’ana sits in the copilot’s seat for the descent. The pale light filters through the baamba stalks that line the clearing, casting translucent yellow jewels wherever it lands. The tall grasses sway in the air displaced by the shuttle as it slowly inches towards the ground.
This has always been Luke’s favorite time of day, and Ap’ana seems to agree. She observes their surroundings through the viewport with wide eyes, mouth slightly ajar. Her small hands grip the console tightly.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Luke says, not expecting a response.
Ahsoka and Artoo are waiting for them outside the entrance to the main structure. To Luke’s surprise, there’s no sign of Han, although there is a large stack of crates that weren’t there when he left.
The shuttle hatch slides open with a hiss, and Luke blinks his eyes in an attempt to adjust to the glare of the natural light. He can sense Ap’ana hesitantly approaching from behind him.
When Luke’s eyes finally adapt, he can see that Ahsoka has paused mid-step in her approach to the shuttle, her muscles tense.
"What's wrong?" he asks.
Ahsoka is looking past him with an indecipherable expression on her face. Luke turns to look. Ap'ana is standing on the threshold, clearly hesitant to go any further.
"This is the girl you were talking about? The one who doesn't know any Basic and can see the future?" Ahsoka demands. Under her breath, she mutters, "What was it? ‘Chiss’? I always thought he was just a Pantoran with an eye condition…"
Luke has no idea what she’s talking about, and before he can inquire further, C-3PO emerges from the shelter.
"He llo , Master Luke!" he exclaims, approaching as quickly as his metal legs will take him. "And this must be Miss Ap’ana! I must say, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance!" He switches languages, presumably repeating the salutation in Sy Bisti for "Miss Ap’ana’s" benefit.
The interruption appears to have been enough for Ahsoka to collect herself. She strides forward to greet Luke with a hug.
"Han didn’t stay?" Luke asks when he pulls back, a bit disappointed.
Ahsoka shakes her head regretfully. "He wanted to stick around, but said he had a job lined up that couldn’t wait. Said you should visit more." She turns to Ap’ana. “Greetings. My name is Ahsoka Tano. I’m a friend of Luke’s. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young one.”
Ap’ana offers her a shy wave.
“I’m afraid the school’s still under construction,” Luke explains, “but it’ll be a place to stay while we track down your family, at least. Here, come on in.”
He gestures her into the main stone structure. Ahsoka and the droids follow them into the dimly lit space.
Ahsoka has thoughtfully set out a third bedroll opposite her’s and Luke’s. Against another curved wall are a few lockboxes containing Jedi texts and artifacts for study. In the center of the room is a low table on a mat with cushions for seating tucked underneath. Ahsoka has left a half-full cup of tea sitting on the table’s edge.
“I know it’s not much, but Jedi live pretty simple lives,” Luke says. He can feel a ping of something from Ap’ana as he says it, but she doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t inquire further.
“Here, have a seat,” he says, suddenly feeling awkward at how he doesn’t have much more to offer her than the warehouse he rescued her from. He crouches down to pull a cushion out for her. “Are you hungry?” A nod. “I have an open-air kitchen out back. Are vegetable proteins okay?” Another nod. “Okay then. Why don’t you stay here with Threepio, and Ahsoka can give me a hand. I haven’t had a chance to check what’s in the new supply shipment yet.”
Ahsoka raises her brows in surprise—she knows that Luke is perfectly aware that the kitchen is still well-stocked from the last shipment, and that he doesn’t need any help preparing a meal—but she follows him out the door without complaint. Artoo trails after them, presumably deciding that being left alone with a child and C-3PO is a punishment too severe to endure.
As soon as they’re safely ensconced in the privacy of the outdoor kitchen, Luke corners Ahsoka.
“When you first saw Ap’ana, something caught you off guard,” he says. “What was it?”
Ahsoka strokes a lek as she carefully considers her response. After a moment, she speaks, voice even. “A few years before you joined the Rebellion, I was working with a rebel cell based out of Lothal. The same one General Syndulla started with.”
Luke nods as he selects a curbit from the climate chest. He begins slicing it into cubes. This much he had heard from Leia. She had also told him about the other legendary members of that squadron: Kanan Jarrus and Ezra Bridger.
“Phoenix Squadron was successful enough for the Emperor to send one of his most talented admirals to counter us—Grand Admiral Thrawn.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar, but Luke is as well-versed in Rebellion military history as he ought to be. Luke nods again anyway, waiting for Ahsoka to continue.
“Did you ever see any holos of Thrawn?” Ahsoka asks. The question catches Luke off guard; he wonders where Ahsoka’s going with this.
Luke shakes his head ‘no’ as he slices the last of the curbit. He’d looked up pictures of the Jedi, but hadn’t been particularly curious about their enemy. Most Imperials looked alike to him anyway; all gray uniforms and stuck up attitudes. He tosses some fraga berries in with the curbit and adds some diced mint for flavor. Ahsoka continues explaining as he works.
“You have to understand,” she says, “that Rebel Intelligence did everything in their power to dig up information on Thrawn, but his early military career was shrouded in mystery. All of his records required top-level clearance. We couldn’t even source what planet he was from, what species he was. His personnel file, the few sections we could access, just said ‘Classified’.”
“‘Classified’?” Luke says, slowly catching the implication. “He wasn’t human?”
“Ah, you weren’t aware. I don’t blame you for making the assumption—I don’t know that I’ve ever seen another non-human rise that high in the ranks,” Ahsoka agrees. “But he was certainly talented enough to advance despite the Imperial xenophobia. It was as though one day he just appeared out of nowhere and started winning victories for the Empire.”
“I don’t get it, though,” Luke protests. “What does any of this have to do with Ap’ana?” But Luke has a sinking feeling he knows where this is all leading.
“They’re the same species,” Ahsoka says, confirming Luke’s growing fears. “I realized it as soon as I saw her eyes. I’ve never seen anything else like them—except for Thrawn’s.”
“She said her people were called the ‘Chiss’, right? I’ve never heard of them before.”
“Neither have I,” Ahsoka admits. “And we can’t forget that the Empire considered that name important enough to classify on Thrawn’s personnel file.”
Artoo cuts in, warbling disdainfully. Both Luke and Ahsoka turn to stare down at him. The salad lies forgotten on the counter.
“Artoo…” Ahsoka says slowly. “What do you mean , ‘I’ve known Thrawn was a Chiss since the beginning’?”
More smug beeps.
“He told you?! When?”
High pitched whistles follow an indignant wobble.
“You met him? While you were on a mission with my father? To rescue my mother ?” Luke can feel his eyes bulge slightly.
“You know I had my reasons for leaving the Order!” Ahsoka says simultaneously, uncharacteristically defensive.
Luke has a sudden, desperate need for his father’s Force ghost to appear and explain the situation, but Anakin’s visits have been few and far between. Artoo seems convinced that they’re both just overreacting.
Ahsoka drags a hand down her face and releases a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, Artooie,” she says, defeated, “why didn’t you say anything sooner?” Squeal. “Of course. We didn’t ask .”
She turns to Luke. “Well, if the Chiss have made contact with the Republic before, it may give us an advantage when tracking down her family. We’d better get back. Hopefully, once she’s eaten, she’ll be ready to answer a few more questions.”
Ap’ana is engaged in a quiet conversation with Threepio when they return. Well, Ap’ana is quiet. Threepio is Threepio.
“Master Luke!” Threepio exclaims, switching back to Basic. “I have been having the most illuminating conversation with Mistress Ap’ana. Did you know , she’s never met a droid before—”
“Yes, thank you, Threepio,” Luke says, cutting him off, although he does file away that last tidbit of information for later.
Luke sets the large salad bowl down on the table and passes out three smaller dishes and cutlery. He pulls out a cushion to Ap’ana’s left, and across from him, Ahsoka does the same to her right. Luke begins spooning out servings of salad to all three of them.
He gestures to Ap’ana to take the first bite. “Go ahead,” he says.
She spears a piece of curbit cautiously with her fork, sniffing it surreptitiously before placing it in her mouth. She chews consideringly.
“You like it?” Luke asks.
Ap’ana nods, already focused on her next mouthful.
The rest of the meal proceeds in silence. Luke and Ahsoka are already used to spending most of their time in meditative coexistence, and Ap’ana is too busy eating to have any mind for conversation.
It’s when Luke is stacking their plates, mentally preparing himself to press Ap’ana further on her origins, that the girl actually beats him to it.
She whispers something to Threepio, who has been standing silently by the table this entire time, awaiting the need for his services.
“Ah yes. If I could beg your pardon, Master Luke…?”
“Yes, Threepio?”
“Mistress Ap’ana has a question she wishes to ask you.”
Luke pauses with his hand on the salad bowl, intrigued. He can tell that Ahsoka is also listening intently. “Of course. Go ahead.”
“‘Are you really a Jedi?’”
Luke isn’t sure what he was expecting, but he supposes it’s a fair question. “I am,” he replies. “Or at least, I’m trying to be. That’s what this school will be, one day—a place for training future Jedi.”
Ap’ana whispers something furiously to Threepio. He translates:
"When she was five—before she was taken from her family, she used to travel to special classes. Classes for girls with powers like hers. At one of her classes, she met a man who called himself a Jedi, just like you.”
“A Jedi?” Luke asks. He supposes it’s not out of the realm of possibility that someone calling themselves a Jedi made their way out into whatever corner of the Unknown Regions the Chiss hailed from.
Across from him, Ahsoka pales. "Is she sure? " she demands urgently of C-3PO.
Threepio repeats the question in Sy Bisti. Ap’ana nods animatedly and fires off a response.
"‘Yes,’ she says," Threepio translates. "She remembers him, because he was a human, like you, Master Luke. She says: ‘He had dark hair, like me, but his skin was the color of wet sand and his eyes were more than one color—black and blue and white.’ Her teacher said he had the Third Sight, like they did, but Ap’ana thought she must be wrong because he was a boy and a grownup."
"Ezra…" Ahsoka breaths, a hand rising to brace itself against her chest. Her other hand clenches the edge of the table, white-knuckled.
Ap'ana shrinks in on herself and mumbles something uncertainly to Threepio.
"Nonsense!" Threepio admonishes. "I'm certain you did nothing wrong," he reassures her.
"You're not in trouble," Ahsoka confirms, "But I suspect you may have met a dear friend of mine who I had believed dead for many years. It simply came as a bit of a shock. I don't suppose you could tell me more about this Jedi you met?"
"I'm afraid she can't, Master Tano. She says he only observed her class that one day, and it was on her trip back to her home planet afterwards that she was captured."
"Ahsoka…" Luke says slowly, "You don't really think that it was Ezra Bridger she saw, do you?"
Ahsoka's expression is unreadable. She chooses her words carefully. "I've seen things achieved through the Force that I would have once believed impossible. Sometimes, we must avoid letting our doubt cloud our judgment."
The rest of the day is spent acclimatizing Ap'ana to her new surroundings, interspersed with the occasional question about her past.
Ahsoka takes her down to the deep, crystalline pond fed by a burbling spring to bathe and change into the child-sized smock and trousers Leia had thoughtfully included in the shipment from Han.
Luke gently changes the bacta patch on her wrist as Ap'ana haltingly describes how almost half her life has been spent on starships. Standing amidst the smoldering wreckage of the ship, she had almost been more terrified of the Dosuuni landscape stretching out as far as the eye could see in all directions than she had been during the crash itself. She feared Vrik, but she had feared the thought of being left to fend for herself alone on Dosuun even more.
Ap'ana is more willing to talk about her time with Vrik on Dosuun than she is about her initial years of captivity. He had been paranoid, convinced that her captors' masters would hunt him down to exact revenge. The exact nature of these "masters", Luke isn't sure; Ap'ana immediately clams up and shakes her head mutely when pressed for details.
As night falls, Ashoka, with a stroke of insight, asks Ap'ana if she'd be more comfortable sleeping on the shuttle. Ap'ana agrees instantaneously, relief palpable.
With Threepio remaining inside the T-6 to watch over her, Luke and Ahsoka settle down at the small table inside the shelter to make what has the potential to be a very difficult call.
“Impossible,” says Sabine Wren. Her blue image flickers as though the holoprojector can sense her anger. Luke knows Sabine by reputation only. He wishes their first time speaking could have been under less fraught circumstances.
“Sabine—” Ahsoka begins, but Sabine cuts her off with an aggressive shake of her head.
"You weren’t there, Ahsoka, but I went over the security footage from every angle afterwards, just to be sure. There’s no way that ship would have survived exposure to vacuum without undergoing violent decompression. The hull integrity was too severely compromised. It can’t be him."
“Just hear her out, Sabine.” Even through the distorted image of the hologram, General Syndulla looks exhausted.
“It’s been five years , Hera,” Sabine insists. “It can’t be him. Because, if it is, that would mean—” Her voice breaks. Luke tries to imagine how he’d feel if he’d suddenly learned that Biggs’ x-wing had crashed landed on Yavin, and he’d abandoned him there, believing it destroyed above the first Death Star. His stomach twists unpleasantly.
Ahsoka glances towards Luke, and he wonders whether she’s sensed his train of thought. He’s been staying out of the discussion; his presence feels voyeuristic, like he’s eavesdropping on a private family conversation. But no, her attention’s drawn to him for a different reason.
“When I learned that my master was still alive,” Ahsoka begins, and Luke’s breath catches in his throat, “it almost tore me apart. I kept asking myself—why hadn’t I realized sooner? What could I have changed if only I had known ? No, I know it’s not the same,” she says when Sabine opens her mouth to argue, “but it benefits no one to let past regrets hamstring your ability to act in the present. Don’t let your guilt cloud your judgment, Sabine.”
“Ezra…he said… ‘I can’t wait to come home.’ If he was alive, why wouldn’t he—” Sabine chokes out.
“You’re right,” Hera tells her. “If Ezra is alive, we know he’d do everything in his power to come home to his family. So since he hasn’t…”
“...there must be a reason,” Sabine concludes. “Skywalker,” she says abruptly, tone hardening. “You’re a neutral party. What do you think?”
Luke startles, not expecting to be included. It’s hard to gauge Sabine’s expression through the tiny projected image, and he’s not sure whether this is supposed to be some kind of test.
“You’re right,” he agrees. “I didn’t know Ezra, but if I’ve learned anything about the Jedi, it’s that they’re survivors . I don’t think it’s impossible that he survived. I also know that I promised Ap’ana that I’d return her to her people, and that, if I wanted to find out what happened to Ezra, I would start with the Chiss.”
Sabine grimaces. “I can’t bear to think of Ezra trapped in a society full of Thrawns. But I think you’re right. Hera? Ahsoka?”
“Luke,” Ahsoka says, “you have responsibilities here. To the school, to the New Republic, to the Order. The Chiss are located somewhere in the Unknown Regions. Finding them will take weeks if we’re lucky, months if we’re not. Hera, you do too. Sabine?”
“With Zeb and Kallus on Lira San, I think it’s just you and me,” Sabine replies.
“Well,” Ahsoka says. “Shall we bring Ap’ana back to her family?”
“And bring Ezra home to his.”
They’re on a planet called Lothal.
Ap’ana waits in the shuttle as Ahso’ka’tano goes to meet their other companion. Part of her had wanted to protest when the human named Luke had told her he wouldn’t be accompanying her back to the Ascendancy. She felt safe in his presence, confident that neither the Grysks nor their clients would stand a chance against his fantastical laser sword.
She felt more confident, though, when, the morning before their departure, she emerged from Luke’s shuttle to find Ahso’ka’tano wielding two laser swords, each blade as blazing white as the snow coating Csilla’s glaciers. She had almost cried out in warning when the icy twin blades had swung in a downwards arc towards Luke, only to realize that they were just sparring.
The trip here was quiet; Ahso’ka’tano doesn’t speak Sy Bisti, but the woman they’re meeting on Lothal does. Ap’ana hopes this doesn’t mean she’ll try to ask her questions she can’t answer.
Ap’ana can feel her chest start to tighten, breaths coming short and quick as her thoughts slip dangerously towards her captivity. She closes her eyes, trying to remember the breathing techniques Luke showed her. She focuses on threadbare cushion beneath her thighs, the tips of her toes brushing the rubber treads on the floor. She hears the hiss of a door sliding open, followed by the sound of female voices.
She’s safe. She’s not in any danger.
She’s going home.