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One
The thing with being on a ship with a growing crew was that it decidedly meant a lot less personal space. Not that Cal was any stranger to that; he shared a dormitory with other Padawans at the Temple as far back as he could remember. And after that, small, simple living quarters with Master Tapal. And on Bracca, well. Personal space was about as hard to come by as a warm, sunny day. Train cars to and from their work sites were almost always packed to the brim, bodies fighting for space and sharp appendages sometimes violently making themselves known. And when he could finally afford a living space, it was little more than a closet attached to a shared space with ten other workers, coming and going at all hours of the day and night.
The Mantis , while a luxury yacht, likely was meant for shorter trips, not a long term living space, though everyone seems perfectly comfortable with that. The engine room isn’t exactly what Cal would call homey, but the hum of the ship and a space wide enough to practice his stance discipline if he wanted is really all he needs.
Still…
“Oh! Uh—”
“Sorry, just need to—”
“Go ahead, I’m—”
The singular, narrow corridor isn’t exactly meant to accommodate two people at once.
Cal tries to sidestep but ends up moving into the same space that Merrin was attempting to occupy, and they bump shoulders. The dance continues for a few moments until he breathes out a self-conscious laugh. Merrin just looks at him pointedly.
“Terrible you have not yet mastered the skill of intuition,” she says.
“Hey, my intuition is fine.” He flattens himself against the wall and gestures for her to move past him. “When there’s an actual threat.”
She scoffs, heading toward the galley. “We’ll see who’s a threat next time we spar and you look up at me from the flat of your back.”
He doesn’t dignify that with a response – just grins back at her as he makes his way to the engine room.
So it works – mostly.
Throw in a supply run on an outpost planet that turns into a rescue mission for a handful of scientists who lived there, the Empire none too happy that they were quietly rebelling due to the treatment of the scant surrounding population, and their living situation works decidedly less.
Crates of Maker-knows-what have completely overtaken the engine room and half of the communal space up near the front of the ship. The scientists were apologetic but fervent that their work and equipment escape with them, so Cere, Merrin, and Cal quickly work to find any space they can, while Greez grumbles loudly about the state of the ship and plots their course.
“An officer and their troops are set to arrive any minute,” one of the scientists says from the ramp of the Mantis , wringing her scaled hands. “I’m sorry, but we must go.”
Cal wipes the sweat out of his eyes. It hasn’t been that long since the events of Nur, and while he is healing, there is still some residual weakness and pain, and moving heavy crates around certainly hasn’t helped. “Okay. We’ve got two more here, but do one final sweep in case there’s anything else. We leave in five.”
“Uh, about that!” Greez calls from the cockpit. “We’ve got a cruiser hitting atmo, Imperial designations. If we’re gonna get them out of here, it’s got to be now!”
Cal grits his teeth and is about to sprint down the ramp to follow the scientist who had gone to make a final round, but Merrin stops him.
“I’ll go,” she says. “You take care of the rest of the equipment.” She disappears in a green flash.
Cal looks to Cere, who nods. They load the crates in record time (with as little use of the Force as was possible – Cere was adamant that they still maintain some amount of anonymity) just as Merrin runs up the ramp with the scientist.
“Greez, we’re all in!” Cal calls out as he hits the button to close the hatch.
“Roger that,” Greez responds. “Everyone grab onto something, we’re gonna make a quick getaway!”
Cal races up to the cockpit, grabbing onto the walls as the ship jostles in its ascent. BD-1 is already there, helping as best he can to copilot. He beeps shrilly, and the console lights up.
“They’re targeting,” Cal says, jumping in to do what he can to get the ship off the planet.
“I know, I know, I see it,” Greez growls out. “Oh boy, I hope that equipment isn’t as valuable as they were going on about–”
Cal’s stomach swoops as the ship drops and then cuts a hard turn, then blasts back up at an angle that pins him back against the seat. BD squawks as he’s thrown from the console, but Cal catches him before he ends up at the back of the ship.
After a few tense moments, the atmosphere gives way to the darkness of space, and the second it does, Greez punches the hyperdrive.
Cal lets out a breath. “Never a dull day.”
“Kid, I haven’t had a dull day since you stepped foot on this ship.” Greez flaps a hand at BD, who beeps indignantly. About Greez’s comment or his flying, Cal isn’t exactly sure. “We’re good; no one’s tracking us. Go check on everyone else. Hope you’ve got a plan on how we’re gonna make do; it’ll be at least two standard cycles until we reach the facility.”
A valid concern; it was something he and Cere discussed briefly, but they decided they’d figure it out once all the equipment was on board. They definitely needed to do some rearranging.
After it’s all said and done, Greez and Cere double up in Cere’s quarters, allowing two of the scientists one room, with the other three taking up the seating areas around the holotable and in the common area.
“Cal will stay with me,” Merrin says matter-of-factly. His eyebrows shoot up.
“Oh – well, I was planning on just using the copilot chair –”
“And I’m sure those former Imperial scientists would be very intrigued to hear the things you say in your sleep.”
“I do not –” Cal starts indignantly, but Cere gives him a look.
“Fine. But I’m taking the floor. Got plenty experience making it work.”
Greez does his best to scrounge up enough food to feed five extra mouths, but the reserves were already running low, especially since they had planned on picking up supplies on the planet they just escaped from. The scientists are grateful, though, but dinner conversation is stilted and mostly comprises small talk, neither party willing to divulge any more than basic information about themselves. It’s a relief to finally head to sleep. He leaves BD in rest mode in the common area, partially as surveillance. Just in case.
Merrin’s quarters are so tidy it looks almost unlived in. Though to be fair, Cal thinks, she hasn’t been on the Mantis that long. Still, that didn’t stop him from pretty quickly leaving scattered pieces of tech on the workbench and around the engine room, fiddling to keep his mind empty and hands busy. Old scrapper habits die hard.
He rolls one of his cleaner ponchos into a pillow-shaped ball and is eyeing where best to stretch out when Merrin comes in behind him.
“You have been hit one too many times in the head if you think I will let you just sleep on the floor.”
“Merrin. This is your space. I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor.”
“Cal. Neither of us will sleep on the floor.”
He stills, confused for half a moment, and then his eyes widen.
“That’s—it’s not—”
“What’s the matter, Jedi? Do you consider me a threat?”
Heat rushes up his face to the tips of his ears.
“No,” he manages, then clears his throat. “But you’ve elbowed me in the ribs before and I didn’t like it the first time.”
“Have no fear,” she says, the barest hint of a smirk on her face. “I sleep like the dead.”
Okay, now she’s just messing with him.
She climbs into the bed, scooting all the way over to the wall. Large, luxury accommodations the beds are not. Thanks to his time on Bracca, before Prauf took him in and helped him, he had to learn how to sleep in small spaces, knees folded up and scrunched still into the nooks of buildings to keep dry. He can do that again. No problem.
He follows her in and quickly forces himself to settle into a decently comfortable position. Arms by his side, he breathes shallowly, completely and fully conscious of the mere inches of space between them.
“You got enough room?” he asks.
“Plenty,” Merrin responds with more amusement than Cal can ever remember hearing in her voice.
“Good,” he mumbles. “Good.” And flicks off the light.
The darkness seems to amplify every noise. Merrin shifts, and her hand brushes against his wrist.
It’s silent for a long handful of minutes. He stares up into the pitch black of the room. Someone coughs from the common area.
“Cal.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Stop thinking so loud and go to sleep.”
"Trying to, but someone keeps talking at me.”
Merrin hmphs. “I will not take the blame if you are completely sleep deprived tomorrow.”
The quiet settles over them again. Ever so slowly, Cal feels himself beginning to relax. Merrin’s breathing evens out next to him, the soft sound lulling him. His eyes slip closed.
The next thing he knows, the preset morning cycle on board is running. He is curled in towards the wall, but that side of the bed is empty, though still somewhat warm.
He doesn’t tell Merrin that it’s the best night of sleep he’s had in a long time.
Two
“Look at that,” Cal murmurs, to himself or to his droid, Merrin isn’t sure. But looking she most definitely is.
The swell of crystalline blue-green waves rise up to meet the Mantis as it lands on a spit of land barely wide enough to accommodate it. Craggy islands surround them, the giant, dark rock formations a striking contrast to the ocean they rise up from. It is, she must admit, quite stunning.
Merrin is not naïve – the Nightsisters kept detailed records of planets within the same system as Dathomir, their geological composition, weather patterns, trade routes, and so on. Holovids were harder to come by, but she had seen some of those worlds, from lush green to frozen wastelands, so different from the dusty rust-red landscape of her home.
The holovids don’t compare to this, though.
The hatch opens to a chilly wind and salty spray misting the shoreline. Cal finishes clipping on his gear and looks up at her. “You ready?”
“Ready,” she responds. She doesn’t need much. Just her knife will do.
“We should be back by dusk,” Cere says next to Greez, pack on her shoulders. “If you both run into any trouble at all, use the comms. I still don’t know how much I trust this intel.”
“We’ll be fine,” Cal says with a grin. “Saw’s recon hasn't been wrong yet.”
Merrin sees the dark look that passes over Cere’s features, gone almost as quickly as it appeared.
They separate, Cere and Greez headed towards the small town further inland to do some recon of their own, as well as pick up some supplies. Cal, BD, and she make their way down the coastline cliff, their destination a remote bluff half a day’s journey away.
Merrin thinks back to the holomessage received from someone named Mari, courtesy of this Saw Cal mentioned.
“You trust this person who sent us this info, yes?” she asks.
Cal skirts a patch of spiny plants. “Saw Gerrera? Yeah, I’ve helped him out before.”
His intentional vagueness is oftentimes an annoyance. “With?”
He shrugs. “Back when we were trying to track down the holocron, we had to go to Kashyyyk. Ran into him and the Partisans trying to liberate the Wookiees from Imperial occupation. I helped him, he helped us.”
“And now you feel as though you owe him more.”
“Owe? No. But Saw, the Partisans – they’re out there making a real difference against the Empire. If I can help with that, I will.”
They fall silent, trudging along, the steady cadence of waves rolling in and crashing against the rocks filling the background.
“How are you, Merrin?” Cal asks suddenly.
She looks at him, confused. “How am I?”
“Yeah. I mean, it hasn’t been that long since you’ve left Dathomir, and a lot has happened since then. Just wanna make sure you’re holding up okay.”
A warmth goes through her. It is not a question she expected. She appreciates that he does not ask if she misses her home, the same way she would not ask if he misses his Order. That answer is almost insultingly obvious.
“I am holding up, as you say. It has been… an adjustment, but a welcome one. It is nice to have people to talk to again.”
“People who aren’t Malicos, sure.”
That gets an unexpected laugh out of her, and he grins.
The terrain turns more rocky, and their concentration shifts to scrambling over moss-covered boulders. Then, Cal stops suddenly in front of her, BD-1 beeping out a warning.
“Looks like we’re not alone out here,” he says, crouching to poke at the charred but still-warm campfire. Merrin sees a few tracks leading away towards the edge of the cliff, then nothing.
They hasten their efforts, moving quickly and quietly along the coast, occasionally ducking some kind of sea bird that swoops above them, calling out shrilly. The droid’s attempts to scan them are valiant, but fruitless.
Finally, they spot their destination, little more than a hut situated at the end of the cliff side.
“Hopefully someone’s home since we’ve come all this way,” Cal mutters, hand hovering over the saber on his belt.
They approach cautiously. Before Cal can knock on the rotted wooden door, it swings open, revealing a gnarled older man, glaring at them with the only eye he has left.
“You’re late,” the man grunts. “Get in before anyone sees.”
Saw’s intel was indeed good; the man, Jova, had defected from the Empire a few standard rotations ago by stowing away on a transport and going on the run. He had worked as a porter in the engine room of a frigate, the lowest of the low in the eyes of the Empire. During the days of the Republic, he had been an engineer but was deemed by the Empire a dissident who still had enough value to not be completely removed.
Jova hands them a data disc of the frigate’s engine specs – components, blueprints, and, most importantly, weaknesses.
“We were just numbers to them. Their carelessness nearly got me killed more than once. Took pieces of me instead.” He holds up a hand, showing two missing fingers and then points at his empty eye socket. “May they rot in hell,” he spits.
It’s late by the time they leave, the setting sun already below the horizon and casting a disquieting hazy blue hue around them. When they’re a ways from the hut, Cal takes out the comm.
“Cere. We’re all set here. Headed back to you now.”
Silence for a few moments and then: “Sounds good. Be safe.”
It’s slower going on the way back thanks to the lack of light; even Cal nearly slips a few times on the slippery moss-covered rocks. About halfway into their journey back, Merrin starts to feel a prickle on the back of her neck. It only worsens as they go.
“Cal,” she says softly. “Someone is following us.”
“Yeah,” he responds, looking out onto the horizon. BD-1’s optical sensors whir as he swivels his head around. “A couple of someones.”
Merrin does her best to appear nonchalant, though, like Cal, she is tense and ready to defend herself.
She doesn’t have to wait long.
Almost as if they appear out of the air like she can, six figures advance towards them, though only one holds a blaster.
“Empty your pockets and no one has to get hurt,” the quarren says, gesturing with the blaster.
“We don’t have anything of value,” Cal says. He stands with his arms at his side, attempting to diffuse the situation before they resort to hurting anyone.
“Well then, we’ll just have to take the droid, won’t we?” The bandit lunges, and BD-1 screeches, bouncing on Cal’s shoulder. Cal easily rips the blaster out of his hold with the Force, where it lands on the cliff’s edge. The bandit doesn’t seem the least bit deterred and instead starts swinging his fists.
She sees the other five pull out their various weapons and wastes no time disappearing and reappearing behind the one who has a knife as big as her forearm. She smashes the heel of her palm into his throat and he drops the knife, choking. Two others come at her, one with a staff and the other with a smaller blade. The one with the staff swings wide, which she easily ducks. She sweeps a leg out while crouched and knocks him off his feet. The bandit with the blade takes the opportunity to stab downward at her, the knife arcing much too close to her liking. She rolls away, sharp rocks jabbing into her back.
Quickly back on her feet, she dodges the bandit’s graceless lunge, then propels herself upward and kicks out, making contact with his sternum and throwing him backward.
She looks up to see Cal engaged in a similar fight, though, strangely, he is not yet wielding his lightsaber, as she sees it still clipped to his belt. Two of the bandits are sprawled on the ground behind him, but the first, the quarren who had the blaster, is quick on his feet and fighting dirty, forcing Cal closer and closer to the edge of the cliffside. Cal blocks one punch but another lands on his side, and even from where Merrin is, she can hear his grunt of pain. He holds up a palm and pushes , sending the quarren tumbling back.
Merrin has her own problems to deal with, as the bandits she previously laid out are making a valiant but foolish effort to come at her again. She notices then, too late, one of the bandits coming up from behind Cal, staff raised to strike.
“Cal!” she shouts, but it’s not enough; the staff comes down on the back of Cal’s head, a sickening thunk echoing off the rocks, and he goes down.
Merrin’s knife is embedded in the bandit’s neck less than a second later.
She tries to make quick work of the rest of them, grabbing the fallen staff and swinging out as sharp and quick as a desert viper. Having already been incapacitated once before, they go down easy. BD-1 jumps on the last bandit, sending a shock through him, and he falls hard on the rocks.
Merrin rushes over and turns Cal over from where he’s slumped on his side. He’s out cold. Very carefully, she turns his head to see blood matted in his hair and a sizable lump already forming.
“Cal. Wake up.” Her voice trembles; she lightly slaps his cheek, but his eyes remain closed. BD-1 scans the injury and wails out a series of beeps that she cannot understand.
They need to go before the bandits rouse or backup comes. She rubs her knuckles up and down his sternum, hard. That finally prompts a response, as he groans, eyelashes fluttering.
She takes his face in her hands. “Cal. It’s Merrin. You have been injured but we need to move. Can you stand?”
He looks at her blankly for a few moments, blinking rapidly as if to clear his sight. “Merrin,” he finally mumbles out.
“Yes,” she acknowledges. “I will try to lift you slowly.”
It’s slow going, much more slowly than she would prefer. She finally gets him to sit up, though his eyes are shut tight, brows drawn down in pain. Standing takes what feels like monumental effort, and the second he’s vertical, he leans over to be sick, Merrin taking pretty much all of his weight to keep him from falling flat into it. He groans again, taking shuddering breaths. His face is almost ghostly white in the darkening twilight.
“We are too far for me to transport both of us back safely,” she says, adjusting his arm over her shoulder and pulling him up without trying to jostle him too much. “We will need to walk just a bit farther, Cal. You must stay awake.”
“Think I hit m’head,” is all Cal slurs out, either not hearing or not understanding her. She doesn’t respond, focused on keeping them both upright.
The way back is arduous, Cal barely able to lift his legs over the boulders that were tricky to navigate even when they both were physically able. When his head droops, Merrin pinches the underside of his arm to keep him awake. They make it a fair distance from the spot where they were jumped, so she pulls out her comm.
“Cere. We ran into some trouble. Cal is hurt, but I should be able to bring us both back to ship shortly.”
She can hear Greez swear in the background as Cere responds. “Got it. I’ll get things set up here. Anyone we should be concerned about making their way in our direction?”
“No, just a couple of local thieves. We are still in possession of what we came here for.”
“Okay. Be safe – call us if you see anyone else.”
Merrin readjusts her grip before they set off again. While Cal’s eyes are open, she does not like how blank his gaze is.
Finally she feels the inkling of Cere’s presence from the Mantis , meaning they are close. She gently lowers him to the ground to ease the transition, then takes his cold, clammy hand in hers.
“I will try to transport us with as little discomfort as I can, but it may be unpleasant,” she says, for what it’s worth.
“Hmm,” is all Cal manages in response. She takes a breath and pulls.
They land in a heap on the Mantis , and Cal cries out as his head hits the hard floor. Merrin swears, hands hovering over him but unsure what to do. “Sorry, sorry, I – Cere, he took a hard blow to the head. I think he has a concussion.”
Merrin’s heart slows a little as Cere steps in, all business. “Okay. Let’s get him up on the seats. BD, give us a scan and let us know what we’re dealing with. Greez, dim the lighting, and we’ll need some towels and warm water.”
They get to work. Cere grabs his shoulders and Merrin his boots as they lift him onto the lounge seating. As soon as they set him down, he tries to sit up.
“Hafta go,” he mumbles, pushing against Cere.
“You don’t,” she says. “Your job for the foreseeable future is to lie down here.”
Cal seems to take this in thoughtfully, pondering it for a few moments. “Oh,” he finally says.
Greez comes in with the towels, and they work to clean the now sluggishly bleeding wound, the blood somehow contrasting gruesomely in his red hair. BD-1 scuttles around, scanner flashing, then whistles softly at Cere.
“Okay. Not great, but not the worst it could be. We’ll have to keep an eye on the swelling and cognitive functions. BD, can you scan every few hours to make sure there’s no bleeding?” The droid beeps affirmatively.
Cal looks up at the noise, not able to fully focus, but still zeros in on BD-1. “Buddy,” he says with a smile, then winces, hand coming up to cover his eyes.
“This kid is gonna be the death of me,” Greez grumbles as he trudges out of the common area, bloody towel in hand.
“I will stay with him too,” Merrin announces. “Make sure he is resting. I should have….”
“No ‘should haves’ on this ship, Merrin.” Cere administers a painkiller that Cal doesn’t seem to notice at all. “We’d be drowning in them if we let those in.”
Merrin blows out a breath, trying to let go of her guilt with it.
“Try to get some rest yourself,” Cere says kindly, packing up the med kit. “Let him sleep as much as he can unless BD detects anything.”
They bid each other goodnight and Merrin is left alone in the darkened common area with Cal, who, from the looks of it, has already dozed off. After a moment’s consideration, she very gently sits him up slightly and lets his head rest on her lap instead of lying uncomfortably flat on the cushions. No sense in going all the way back to the engine room for a pillow.
She would not admit this to anyone, but it scares her how much she has come to care for this crew. The brutal lesson of how quickly and easily loss can strike is etched into her very bones.
She looks down at Cal and knows it is the same for him.
Her fingers softly comb through his hair, avoiding the back of his head, and trace down his forehead. He stirs, and blinks an eye open to look at her.
“Hi,” he whispers.
“Hello,” she whispers back.
“M’glad you’re here,” he says, and then promptly falls back asleep.
She follows his lead, resting her head on the back of the seat, breathing deep.
*
Merrin wakes an indeterminate amount of time later somewhat disoriented. She doesn’t understand why she is not in her cabin but becomes quickly aware of an arm resting on her hip and red hair sticking up from her side.
Cal is smushed against her, snoring softly. She must have fallen over from her sitting position during the night and now lays horizontal next to him. A fair feat, considering the size of the couch. Unfortunately her foot is asleep, and she needs to shift to wake it. She tries to do so slowly so she doesn’t disturb him, but she knows she is unsuccessful when his breathing suddenly stops and he tenses against her.
He untangles himself and sits up as if jumping back from a raging fire, then groans in pain at the sudden movement.
“Uh,” he says, a flush creeping up his neck.
“How are you feeling?” she asks.
He swallows, still a bit disoriented. “Fine?”
She gives him a look. “Try again.”
“Head hurts pretty bad,” he says, and then tenses up again. “Wait – they didn’t get the disc, did they?”
“Most definitely not.” Merrin brings him over another painkiller, which he administers himself. “But you earned yourself a concussion.”
“Great,” he mutters, then eyes her sitting next to him. “Um. Sorry about. I didn’t mean to….”
She shrugs. “You needed the rest.”
“Okay. Well. I’ll just head back to the engine room –”
“No,” she says, pulling him back down. “BD-1 and I must monitor you, and it’s too cold back there. This couch is fine.”
She didn’t think it was possible for his skin color to nearly match his hair, but he achieves it with great effect. But she can tell he’s exhausted and in pain, so he doesn’t put up a fight, just sinks back down with a sigh. As he settles again on her lap, a question pops into her mind that she can’t help but ask.
“During the fight, you didn’t use your saber. Why?”
He’s silent for so long, Merrin thinks he’s fallen back asleep already. “Didn’t want to draw attention and potentially get Jova in trouble,” he mumbles eventually. “Guy’s been through enough.”
It’s certainly not the answer she expected, though she’s come to understand that about Cal. Self-sacrificing without limits will eventually get him dead, or worse. She resolves to talk with him later, especially in regards to easing back on facilitating the requests of this partisan leader.
It takes some time before she finally falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.
Three
“You’re not going to believe this,” Greez calls out from the cockpit. “But we’re being hailed.”
Cal tries his best to stifle a groan of annoyance, but it’s a near thing. “After our luck these last few weeks, I do believe it.”
They’d had a rough go of it lately. Saw Gerrera had Cal (and so, by extension, the crew) running back and forth across the galaxy on various missions, though twice now both Cere and Greez had tried to talk him out of accepting them, leading to, at one point, a startlingly heated discussion that left Cal feeling a guilt he didn’t think was warranted. Not long after, an illness struck that only affected Cere and Cal, putting them out of commission for a while. Then one of BD’s sensors had gone bad, so they had to make a pit stop to find parts, only to have an Imperial outpost catch up with them and nearly blast a hole in the Mantis . Cal and Greez had done their best with repairs, but with half the engine down and the temperature regulator on the fritz, it was slow and miserable going. Supplies were low and tempers testy, so they had been making their way to a settlement on a moon in the Outer Rim if even just to stretch their legs and get a break from each other, but now….
“Imperial?” Cal asks, moving up to the cockpit and abandoning the pile of tools and hardware for the patch job on the regulator. The stupid wiring keeps zapping him.
“Nah,” Greez says, pulling up the ship specs on the HUD. “Probably just some local yokels trying to make some quick credits and act like they’re running the show. I’ve run into these types before. I bet they’ll say they need to board us for some kind of transport inspection.”
“That’s… less than ideal, considering the kinds of things we have on board.”
“Well, with the engine still not at full power, we ain’t outrunning them, so unless you have a better idea….”
Cal takes a couple of very mature and deep, meditative breaths instead of pulling out his own hair like he wants to. “Any hidden compartments I can store my lightsaber and a couple other things?”
Greez looks a bit stricken, as if he’d forgotten who he had on board with him. “Oh. Yeah. There’s a false door behind the cabinet where I keep the spices.”
“Great.” Cal claps Greez’s shoulder. “I’ll let Cere and Merrin know.”
With the rest of the crew informed and everyone doing a bit of quick cleanup to make sure there is nothing incriminating in plain view, Cal isn’t worried, more just annoyed that this will delay them further.
Until he hears Greez calling for him again from the cockpit.
“Uhh, well, we might actually have a bit of a problem. Turns out, this is a restricted zone, and on top of an inspection, they want to slap on a fine. Like, a sell-your-mother’s-jewelry-to-make-ends-meet kind of fine. How was I supposed to know this was a restricted zone? There’s no broadcasts saying anything about it, not like I can read minds –”
“Greez.” Cal runs a hand down his face, trying to stave off the headache that’s coming. “We need those credits to repair the ship. What are our options?”
“This is supposed to be a luxury transport yacht,” Cere says, coming up behind them with Merrin in tow. “Can we act as though we are taking customers on a sightseeing trip? Play dumb?”
“I dunno. Usually with these types, that’s not an excuse. They may still want some kind of payment. Unless….”
Cal raises his eyebrows at Greez. “Unless….”
“We could really play it up. See if we can make ‘em feel uncomfortable and guilty and get them to drop it. So you,” he points at Cal, “and you,” then points at Merrin, “need to act like a couple. Oh! Maybe newlyweds even. On an adventure before starting your life together. And this trip cost years worth of credits to put together. I’m sure there’s got to be a resort on a planet close by that we can say we’re headed to….”
Cal chokes on air. “Now wait a second – hang on –”
“Cere and I tried that routine on Kalarba once, trying to get our trade fees reduced when selling some premium items. You do not want to know how that turned out.”
“It wasn’t pretty,” Cere chimes in dryly.
“At least you two are near enough the same species to make it work,” Greez says, punching in something on the console. “Go put on some nicer clothes, kid.”
“I don’t get a say in this at all?” He knows how petulant he sounds, and unfortunately, he did ask Greez for other options. And this was… certainly an option.
“Fifteen minutes until they board!” is all Greez says.
Cal is certain this is some kind of payback for accidentally dropping a spanner wrench on Greez’s foot the other day. He turns to Merrin, who looks completely unruffled.
“Come,” she says. “I have some accessories you can wear to heighten the ruse.”
So he finds himself, twenty minutes later, seated in the lounge with Merrin closely next to him, knees touching and their hands clasped over each other’s as the inspectors are welcomed on board. Identical silver bracelets adorn both their wrists, a symbol of union in some cultures, Merrin had said. He’s almost glad BD-1 is powered down and hidden away; the droid would certainly have a few choice things to say about all this.
“…and you wouldn’t believe the hoops you have to jump through just to fuel up in that sector. Bureaucrats, am I right?” Greez leads the three inspectors into the lounge area, laying it on thicker than a pit of oil sludge. “Ah!” he says, gesturing at Cal and Merrin. “Here’s our happy couple. We were making our way to the Viona Sun resort on Itruna when I made the unfortunate mistake of not triple checking our coordinates, but our number one goal here on the Stinger Mantis is to ensure our guests have the utmost in luxury —”
One of the inspectors holds up a hand at Greez to cut him off impatiently. “State your names and where you’re coming from.”
They had come up with a quick cover story while waiting for the inspectors to board, nothing that would hold up if looked at too closely but enough to buy them a couple hours if they did any digging.
Cal clears his throat. “Davin Harik. My wife, Jana. We’re from Grange, and you’re ruining our holiday.” If Greez wants him to sell it, he’ll sell it; at least he doesn’t have to fake his irritation.
“These men are just doing their jobs, darling,” Merrin says, patting his knee.
“We’ve been saving for this forever, you know,” Cal continues. “Nothing but the best for my, uh, beautiful wife.”
Cere stands in the cockpit like a silent sentry, waiting in the wings, but Cal sees her bite her lips together to keep a straight face out of the corner of his eye.
“Yes, well,” one of the inspectors says disdainfully, as if they’re the ones inconveniencing him. “We’ll just have a quick look around, make sure you’re not carrying anything on board you’re not supposed to.”
“Sure, sure,” Greez says. “Hey, I just picked up a bottle of Corellian whiskey if you guys wanna help yourselves to a little mid-workday indulgence – no? You sure? Okay, your loss is my gain!”
The inspectors start poking around, shifting items, looking under cushions, not even pretending to be careful or put things back where they found them. Cal grinds his teeth but keeps his mouth shut.
One of the inspectors heads towards the back of the ship where the living quarters are, stopping first at Merrin’s room.
“Probably best that you don’t go in there,” she says.
The inspector stops, turns, and stomps back to the lounge area. “Oh yeah?” he goads smugly. “And why don’t I want to do that?”
“Well,” Merrin leans against Cal, their hands still clasped together. “Our union ceremony imposed particular rules based on our spiritual upbringing. We were not even allowed to see each other for weeks until the ceremony itself. So, as you can imagine, we’ve had a lot of catching up to do.”
Cal freezes, eyes going wide.
The inspector frowns. “So?”
“So, the few days it took to get here left us plenty of opportunity to do that. In that room. A lot.”
If it were possible to dissolve into the potolli weave and never be seen again, Cal is sure he would have achieved it. He is also sure he could start a spontaneous fire with how hot he is all over.
Cere completely turns around to press some random buttons in the cockpit and hide her face, he’s sure, the absolute traitor; Cal can feel her effort to keep quiet strumming jovially in the Force.
The inspector does a fairly decent impression of Big-Mouth Faa fish, mouth opening and closing for a few moments. “Ah,” he finally says. “Right. Yes. You know, I think we’ve seen what we need to. We’ll, uh. Leave you to it.” He gestures for the other inspectors to follow him out the docking hatch. “Mind your damn coordinates!” he shouts back as they leave.
Everyone remains still as the hatch closes, listening for the inspectors’ ship to decouple from the Mantis . When they’re away, Cal slumps against the back of the couch, head in hands, swearing in a few different languages.
Greez claps all four hands together, delighted. “See, that wasn’t so bad! Inspired, you two, great work. I better get us out of here before they change their minds.”
“Inspired is one word for it,” Cere says, still clearly amused, as she falls into the seat next to Cal. He scowls at her.
Merrin simply shrugs. “I did not want them going through my things.”
“Oh no,” Cal says, taking off the bracelet and nearly throwing it back at her. “That was deliberate. That was–there was malicious intent! You couldn’t have just put them to sleep or something?”
“Where is the fun in that? Besides, we would have had their whole operation after us. Not like we need more trouble.” And then mutters under her breath, “But I better not see any more of your dirty clothes in the ‘fresher.”
Cal just glowers. “Well, then, you and Greez are banned from coming up with any more ideas.” Merrin smiles serenely, seemingly not the least bit concerned.
They separate and go back to their tasks before the interruption. Before going back to work on the regulator, he pulls BD-1 out of the hidden compartment and boots him back up.
The droid immediately asks what happened and if everything went okay. Cal colors again slightly but gives him the abridged version. And if a tiny hint of giddiness bubbles up while he explains, no one else has to know.
Four
When Cere passes along word to Merrin that Cal, Greez, and the Mantis are headed to Jedha, Merrin’s first thought was that something was wrong. She had then immediately chastised her own cynical assumptions, but it had been so long since she had seen either of them that she automatically expected their visit to entail some kind of emergency.
Not so, thankfully, but their coming to Jedha out of the blue was intriguing nonetheless. If anyone was going to get tangled up in something that required Cere’s help despite their frosty goodbyes, it would be Cal.
So she accepts the request to meet him at the rendezvous point with interest and, if she’s honest, a small thrill. She looks forward to catching up with Cal, telling him of her adventures and hearing about what he has been up to.
But their meeting is interrupted by troopers; they fight side by side with ease, as if the years apart had never occurred. After then racing across the desert and fighting their way through the sandstorm, they sit together, huddled by the fire, finally able to talk.
Now back at the Sanctuary, they all have a bit of time to rest and catch their breath. Cal and Bode will soon leave for the shattered moon base above Koboh, but Merrin is restless.
She finds Cal scanning through the holobooks in the Archive. Not looking for anything in particular, it seems; more likely curious about the content Cere had been able to collect.
“Brushing up on your poetry?” she asks, peering at the script within the softly glowing holobook. The phrasing is difficult to read, as if every other word is in a different language.
Cal grunts. “Something like that. Guess Jedi had a lot more time on their hands back in the Old Republic when there wasn’t a war going on.”
“Maybe you should give it a try,” she teases.
“What, writing poetry?” He slides the holobook back on the shelf. “Yeah, I can see that going over well. And the lightsaber shone like dew on a flower, if the flower was lit by three exploding gunships and a blaster fight. ”
“See, you’re a natural.”
“Ha.” He glances her way. “Was there something else you needed besides my inspiring poetry?”
She gives a little shrug. “Since our parting, it has been a while since we’ve fought together. You’ve learned some new tricks, but….”
He raises his eyebrows. “But?”
“You’re a little rusty.”
Cal makes a scandalized noise. “ I’m rusty?”
“Not to worry, your form is still perfectly serviceable,” she says. “But I’ve learned a few new tricks myself.”
And so, they find themselves in the makeshift training space Cere had set aside for anyone who might need it. Padding of various shapes and wear are stacked in a corner, and a row of batons and wooden staffs line the wall. There’s even a few beams, surely repurposed from old buildings or ships, mounted at various levels around the room.
Merrin selects a staff, notched and chipped from use, and throws another to Cal, who catches it deftly. He gives it a little twirl, a cocky grin on his face.
“So, what’s off the table?” he asks. “Still not sure how fair it is for me if you just end up teleporting everywhere.”
“Sounds like this will already be too much of a challenge for you, then,” Merrin replies.
He scoffs. “Fine. Same rules as before. Don’t aim for the head, check your swings, and first person with three taps loses. Just like old times.”
She plants her staff in front of her at the ready. “You’re on, Jedi.”
They square up across from each other, slowly circling, their steps silent and measured, waiting for the other to make the first move. Merrin watches Cal’s eyes as intensely as he watches hers, and maybe she’d feel like prey caught in a snare if she wasn’t just as dangerous in her own right.
It is possible that his patience could outlast hers, and any other time she might have let this standoff last much longer than it would need to, but her restlessness and eagerness to fight with Cal again win out.
Just like old times.
She lashes out in a blur, aiming for his torso, but his staff easily meets hers, parrying the blow away. She falls back into a defensive position and they circle again, watching and waiting.
She snaps her staff out again, this time a sharp jab at his right shoulder, but he dodges by leaning backward so that her staff meets nothing but air.
“I can feel your impatience, you know,” he says, and then pulls , attempting to sweep her feet out from underneath her with nothing but the Force. She slams the tip of the staff into the ground and pushes up, twisting backward and landing easily.
“Only because I’m so bored,” she says, flicking her hair off her face. “I didn’t know sparring with you again would help ease me to sleep.”
For a moment, she sees the shadows lift from his face, his too-tired eyes vibrant and alive. He shifts into another stance that Merrin has seen him and Cere practice during their downtime when they were all on the Mantis together. “I’m ready when you are,” he taunts with a grin.
So is she.
With a flash of green, she disappears and reappears right behind him, swinging her staff at his still-turned back. He flips a hefty distance back, but she’s already there, staff coming down at him again. He shifts his stance again from defense to offense and finally takes a swing at her, but their weapons clack together loudly in the space as she deflects the advance. Attempting again, he angles his staff downward to strike her leg, but she meets him there too. She takes advantage of his lowered weapon and swings up, tapping her staff on his shoulder.
“One down,” she notes unnecessarily as they both step back to reform their stances. It has the intended effect, as a look of annoyance passes over Cal’s face.
“I was just warming up,” he says. He twirls the staff from hand to hand as they stalk each other around the room. Her heart picks up its pace in anticipation.
Almost too quick to see, he suddenly flings the staff spinning at her; she’s barely able to deflect and move out of the way. Before she can recover, he pulls the staff back to him while jumping towards her, then swings the staff forward while still airborne. She rolls tightly away and pushes to a crouch just in time to hear the staff hit the ground with a sharp smack. There’s no time for triumph, though, as he comes at her, positioned to strike. Back on her feet, Merrin parries once, twice, but knows she is on the back of her heels. She’s about to teleport away when he finds an opening and taps her on the arm.
“That’s one,” he says. They’re both breathing hard, taking half a moment to reassess and reevaluate each other’s strengths and weaknesses. Cal was right – he had learned a few new tricks, but he still carries some of his old habits. Merrin remembers on more than one occasion Cere telling him to be mindful of his reach, as being too forwardly aggressive could leave him open to more subtle attacks.
With that in mind, she pushes forward. Their staffs clack together loudly as she strikes on the offense. Her intent is not to get a hit, not yet, but instead draw him out and force his hand. They move together in a coordinated dance of blows, a rhythm they shared in previous escapades while traveling the galaxy together.
Finally he takes the bait and counters, pushing her staff back and making a wide swing, following it up with a sharp slice downward. She deflects, and he spins towards her, but she just disappears and reappears out of his reach. Not missing a beat, he throws the staff again, but she dodges and arcs her own weapon at him. He meets it and blocks the attempt, then jumps and twists his body in the air in an almost absurd manner, landing to her left. She can see the moment he decides to go in for the killing blow, and when he starts to move, she deftly pivots away from his trajectory and lands a tap on his wide open left side.
She huffs a satisfied breath, wiping sweat off her brow. “Maybe you should work on substance over style, Cal Kestis,” she says.
His mouth is open, about to retort, when he glances around to see that a handful of Anchorites have filed into the room and are watching them silently. She’s amused to see that their curiosity (and near-reverence) of the Jedi ways seems to fluster him a bit, but he just clears his throat and ditches his outer vest, rolling up his sleeves as best he can.
Back in ready stances, they circle each other again. Now with an audience, Merrin is unsure if he will revert back to being cautious. She doesn’t have to wait long to find out, as he makes a sharp sweep upward with his staff, attempting to hit her thigh, but she blocks it easily. He pulls back and settles. Then just as suddenly, he jabs out again, then pulls back. The pattern continues until she realizes that he is turning her own idea against her, trying to wear her out so as to find an opening.
Well, then she will lead him on a chase.
She disappears and reappears some feet away from him, then does the same again, but this time behind him. She disappears one more time, and then, carefully timing the landing, appears on the beam just above him.
Cal smirks, immediately hopping onto the nearby wall and running across it, using his momentum to jump up onto the beam with her. Their staffs clash again, both of them crouching slightly to lower their center of gravity and plant their stance to keep from falling. His parry from her thrust nearly sends her falling, but she uses the movement to ascend to the next beam up. He follows her easily and slashes out the second he’s on the beam. She blocks it and then kicks high, very nearly grazing the tip of his nose. Swerving away from her kick puts him off balance, and instead of righting himself, he lets himself fall, but reaches for her ankle as he does so, pulling her down with him.
It’s a split second of reorienting themselves in midair, and Merrin gets the upper hand.
They both land hard, but Cal harder than her, considering how she lands straddling his torso. She feels the breath punch out of him, and he groans a little, wincing. She gives him a moment to realize his situation, her staff poised above him.
“Do you yield, Jedi?” she asks.
He doesn’t answer right away, instead looking down at how she’s positioned on him. A blush blooms on his cheeks and down his sweaty neck.
Merrin breathes hard, her pulse racing.
“I yield,” he finally croaks out. A heat runs through her, not just from the exertion of their fight, which she covers by tapping on his chest with her staff for a third time.
She climbs off of him and stands, extending a hand to him. “Well done.”
He scrunches his face in obvious chagrin, but he takes her hand anyway, and she pulls him up.
“You too. Guess you really did learn some new tricks, huh.”
She watches the Anchorites slowly disperse, going back to their work. Cal doesn’t seem the least bit concerned that they essentially saw him lose. “I picked up some skills on my travels. Plus I watched you and Cere practice more than enough times.”
“Hmm.” He puts on a solemn air, but the twitch of his lips betray him. “I guess in a way that means I was inadvertently teaching you. You’ve done well, Padawan.”
She rolls her eyes so hard she’s sure it could be seen from space. “Most of your moves would only help me if I were to try and win a dancing competition.”
“Maybe one could say that fighting is just dancing but more deadly.”
“One could,” she says. “One could also get skewered while accidentally doing the Niamos tango.”
“Nah, that has way more hip action.” He shimmies his own hips a little, and Merrin is caught between amusement and a slight embarrassment at feeling herself heat up again because of something so ridiculous.
“Poetry and dancing,” she remarks before he can add any other moves. “Perhaps you’ve become too cultured.”
“Gotta keep everyone on their toes,” he says, grabbing his vest. He gives a little bow and extends a hand. “Would my lady care to dine with me in the mess hall this fine evening?”
She gives another planet-leveling eye roll, but takes his hand anyway. His grip is warm and sure, matching her own.
Five
A voice penetrates through the pain. Or. He thinks it’s a voice. It could be more memories, a swirling torrent of fear and anguish, joy and hope, determination and resilience. He feels the despair at his betrayal of Trilla, so young and so vulnerable, giving her up just to save himself. The shock of learning about the Purge and going into hiding, constantly looking over his shoulder, unable to trust anyone. How his heart leapt when he found Cal and brought him safely aboard, their connection and budding trust in each other, his Padawan in all but name only. How proud he was of him, how much he had grown, his selflessness both a burden and a gift to those who loved him. How their arguments towards the end, just before they had separated ways, cut deep. He couldn’t watch Cal get himself killed, or worse, thanks to some guerrilla fanatic. There were other ways to defeat the Empire –
No.
That wasn’t right.
Not him. These thoughts aren’t his.
“Come back to me,” the voice says, so softly.
His brain moves sluggishly, disentangling from memories that are not his own harder than working through a knotted mess of wires in a scrap pile.
Another few moments pass, and he gradually becomes aware of the hard floor below him. Someone is holding his face, tenderly thumbing away a wetness that trickles down his cheek.
Merrin.
He looks down at his hand as she gently pulls some kind of cloth out of his white-knuckle grip. His lungs burn, as if he’d been running for his life.
“Are you with me?” she asks, brushing his hair off his sweaty forehead.
He’s not quite sure yet. He almost feels as though he could sink back into the past despite the echo having run its course, like clawed hands pulling him down into swampy earth. He pushes through the mire, shifting to sit up on his elbows.
“Cere,” he rasps out.
“I know,” Merrin says, helping him sit up.
Memories — his own this time — slowly churn to the surface. Tanalorr. Bode. The funeral. The loss. The emptiness. Kata. Coming back to Jedha. To… to….
“Perhaps we should have waited a bit longer to do this,” Merrin murmurs, patiently waiting for Cal to get his bearings.
After making sure Kata was settled and as okay as a child could be having just lost her father, they stopped on Koboh to recover for a bit. Still, the Hidden Path and the Anchorites were top of mind for him, a way forward to focus on. So Merrin and he decided to take the Mantis to Jedha to at least get an idea of how to move forward.
The Sanctuary was empty when they arrived, a grotesque sort of time capsule of the events that had happened so suddenly. They looked through the Archive, BD helping to catalog anything they could find that was physically undamaged. Passing through the living quarters, Cal had stopped at Cere’s door, knowing it could potentially be a bad idea but unable to resist the pull.
Merrin had glanced at Cal as they stepped inside but said nothing.
He had reached out through the Force, closing his eyes to get a better idea of what objects Cere’s past was intrinsically entwined with, careful to avoid touching them. It was a simple space – a bed, a desk, and a small chest. Orderly, as if she still lived at the Temple on Coruscant. The chest had drawn his attention, and he opened it cautiously.
An assortment of items lay in neat compartments. Some jewelry, a hide-bound book or perhaps a journal, clothing, a blaster, and a few trinkets that didn’t have any significance to Cal. It seemed almost cruel that this was all that was physically left of her.
One of the trinkets, a little Loth cat carved out of some kind of wood, had called to him. A pang of longing had erupted in his chest, the physical pain of it drawing his fist to clench against his sternum.
He missed her so much. He wanted in that instant to hear her again. Just once. Just for a moment.
His fingers had instead accidentally grazed an item of clothing underneath the trinket.
It has been a long time since an echo has laid him out so thoroughly, as well as overwhelmed him with multiple images and feelings all at once. He doesn’t know why, but even disoriented, he can guess it has something to do with an amalgamation of his weakened mental fortitude due to recent events and his connection with Cere.
“I’m sorry,” he says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I don’t know why I….”
“I am surprised it hasn’t happened sooner,” Merrin responds. “Cere meant so much to you. There is so much still tying you together.”
Losing three more Jedi in such a short time had been and still is unfathomable to him, like he can’t even meet the thought head on. Never mind losing two Masters in the span of just a handful of years. That alone makes him feel as though he could completely shake apart and lose himself forever.
In that moment, Merrin’s hand finds his. “I think we’ve done enough for the day.”
Instead of going back to the Mantis , they set up for the evening in the guest dwelling where Merrin had stayed when visiting Cere, thankfully still intact despite the efforts of the Empire.
A thrum of guilt and a strange sort of jealousy runs through him. Merrin got to spend time here, on Jedha, in the Archives, with Cere. Helping her and passing her information for the Hidden Path.
He could have. Maybe he should have. But he was helping the cause in his own way, right? The war against the Empire had many fronts, and sure, maybe the “Jedi terrorist” route was a bit more conspicuous than Cere’s efforts on Jedha, but no less important. She had even said as much; he had inadvertently provided a distraction so the Hidden Path could do its own work.
He wishes she had invited him. He wishes he had reached out.
The sting of regret is an easy crutch to lean on, a straight and narrow path to resentfulness and spite. The deep hurt of the crew separating ( abandoning him ) is in the past now. He had worked hard, meditating exhaustively to let those emotions go and attempt to gain a different perspective. But like a tender new scar, the hurt can’t help but make itself known.
As they settle in bed together, Merrin seems to sense his mental restlessness. “What are you thinking so hard about?”
He’s half out of it, the intensity of the echo having completely drained him. He gives her a wan smile. “Scars.”
“Hmm.” She shifts, turning to face him. “They all have a story to tell.”
He’s quiet for a few moments, thinking back to the echo. “I never wanted you to leave,” he says softly. “I mean – I did. Finding yourself and exploring the galaxy – I’m glad you did it. But even despite… trying to avoid attachments, I missed your company. All of you.”
“It was not an easy decision to make. I wanted to both leave and stay. But….”
But. Cal figures now that he had helped make the decision for her by continuing to dive head first into any mission Saw sent his way.
Merrin shifts, rolling close to him. “You did what you had to do. I could not fault you for that.” She reaches to him, her fingers softly tracing the blaster scar that runs across his cheek and neck. Her lips follow, gently yet purposefully acknowledging the puckered skin, a record of his life imprinted on his flesh. She leans up to do the same to the jagged line across the top of his nose and then continues to the smaller divot that slashes his bottom lip.
Unbidden, he feels his cheeks warm at the attention. He’s never really been self conscious about his scars, but he doesn’t necessarily wear them like badges of honor either. They simply are , a constant reminder of the past that doesn’t demand an echo to relive. But with Merrin, it’s… different. He’s never shared himself so intimately and completely before with another person, never been the subject of anyone’s attention in this kind of way before. It’s both thrilling and terrifying.
She moves down to his chest to the less prominent scar left by Vader turning Cal’s own saber against himself. He was fortunate that the Mantis had the resources on board to help prevent severe muscle and tissue damage, but any kind of leftover mark from a lightsaber injury was unavoidable. Her teeth graze his neck, nipping just above his collarbone. She kisses the pinkened scar while her hand trails lower, making his stomach muscles clench and pulling a breath out of him.
His head spins and he wants , but he also feels mere moments away from unconsciousness. Merrin seems to sense this and pulls back, her hand resting on his chest.
“Sleep,” she says. “Nothing demands our attention right now. We will have time later.”
He can’t even respond, the warmth of her body next to his lulling him to sleep.
The next day, before they set out to explore more around the Sanctuary, Merrin holds out her hand to reveal the little carved Loth cat that had been in Cere’s chest. Cal stares at it for a long moment, wondering if it’s worth the risk.
And when the present slides back into place a few minutes later, the calm comfort that washes over him reassures him that it was.