I follow the young woman who left the cantina so precipitously without
quite knowing why. Her dark brown hair and midnight-blue jumpsuit are
reminiscent of my own deceptive garb. The lightsaber hanging from her belt
would be a clear enough sign of her talent, even if it weren’t just as vivid
in her aura. She is a beginner, like me; but the feeling I get from her is
one of strong potential. She stops at one of the more remote rest areas on
the station, with several couches of varying sorts, some blue and yellow
feathery plants, and a wonderful view of the stars. I hold back as she enters
the area, as she hasn’t noticed me yet; then I approach openly. She turns
quickly, her hand not quite going to her belt.
"I’m Rachel," I greet her in an easy, friendly manner. "I don’t think
I’ve seen you around the Academy?"
She looks at me. "Academy? I think you have me mistaken for someone
else. I’ve never visited an Academy." Turning, she sits down on a blue
leathery sofa. "I’m called Octavia."
"It’s nice to meet you, Octavia. May I join you?"
"If you wish." She pauses. "You followed me from the cantina, didn’t
you?" Her dark brown eyes gaze intently at me.
I blink. "Yes," I admit. "I didn’t realize you noticed me. I’m sorry;
I don’t mean you any harm."
"Then why did you follow me?" she asks bluntly.
"I was curious about your lightsaber," I say frankly. "About why you
seem to hide it. It’s almost as if you’re ashamed of it." I perch upon a
nearby ottoman covered in a velvety fabric.
"It’s just a weapon to use." Octavia shrugs. "I don’t…" Her words
trail off. "Why do you display yours, for what purpose?"
I raise an eyebrow. "It’s a bit more than ‘just a weapon,’" I say
dryly. "The lightsaber is the symbol of the Jedi, who were the keepers of
peace and justice in the Old Republic for thousands of years." The words come
out in a singsong manner, memorized by rote as they were. "And now the Jedi
are returning, thanks to Luke and the Academy," I add more seriously. "I’m a
Jedi student. Why shouldn’t I display the lightsaber that is the symbol of my
calling?"
"Keepers of peace and justice?" Octavia’s voice is thick with sarcasm.
The tension in her body suggests a complicated tale. "That’s just a silly
idea, a story to confuse people. As for the Jedi, what good did they do, then
or now?" She shakes her head. "I don’t believe that old tale; it’s just a
story to make some people feel superior."
"Who told you that?" I ask, puzzled. I’ve known plenty of people who
didn’t like Jedi; but this is the first time I’ve met anyone who didn’t
believe in them! "It sounds like someone who had a bone to pick with the Old
Republic, not to mention someone with a big chip on their shoulder." I shake
my own head slowly. "Granted, the old Jedi weren’t perfect; but while they
lasted, they held off the darkness of the Empire for as long as they could.
These days, the Jedi serve the people; and they try to keep the New Republic
alive as a galactic government that truly serves the people whom it
represents."
Octavia looks around uneasily. There is something about this subject
which disturbs her more than she wants to admit. Casually, I step over to a
particular potted plant and reach into the green soil. As I turn a hidden
knob beneath the topsoil in a certain sequence, a thick, transparent panel
slides across, from floor to ceiling, isolating a corner of the chamber from
the rest of the corridor.
"Other people can still walk by, but they can’t hear inside," I
explain, tapping the near-invisible boundary lightly. "And the wall is so
clear that most people don’t notice the lack of sound." I grin. "One of the
tricks I picked up from spending so much time on station. To get out, you
just rap on the bottom of that brown chair leg twice." I lean back
comfortably against my chosen couch again, letting Octavia respond in her own
time. I am almost surprised that she doesn’t test the wall release; but she
seems to be gradually relaxing. Maybe the cessation of outside noise is as
soothing to her as it is to me.
"I’m not that knowledgeable about the Old Republic," she admits at
last. "I just know what I’ve been told. As for the New Republic serving the
people who it represents…" She frowns slightly and rises to pace. "Jedi,"
she muses. "My father mentioned them once. The saber I carry is his. That’s
all I know. It’s the only thing that’s left of him."
My eyes widen in sympathy. "I’m sorry," I say softly. "I guess we have
something in common, then. My lightsaber is all I have from my mother. She
died when I was 15."
"What about your father?" Octavia asks, curious.
"I was 19 when he died," I answer quietly. "He was part of a very
active Rebel organization. We were trying to destroy the Imperials’ hold on a
planet which held all the Force users in concentration camps, regardless of
their alleigance, and constantly Force-damped them so they couldn’t use their
powers. We succeeded, and the world eventually fought its way free; but
everyone I knew died in the process."
After a long pause, I look up with a merry expression. "Don’t get the
idea that all Jedis die! My dad wasn’t a Jedi, and neither were most of the
folks in that Rebel group." Soberly, I add: "I’m not laughing it off; but it
happened years ago. I’ve come to terms with it."
Octavia sits back down and leans against the wall. She is silent for a
long time. "My father died when I was 10. Left on some mission, he said.
Anyway, he never came home. Never learned how he died, just that he died. He
called himself a Jedi, though my mother for told me for two years that was a
fable, a tale." Octavia stares at the transparent wall and the stars beyond.
I can sense the turmoil in her mind. ‘Why am I telling this to a stranger?’
she seems to be wondering. ‘What is it that makes me feel so easy around
her?’
I’ve wondered about that, too. People seem to find me very easy to
talk to, whether they know me or not. Come to think of it, it’s a little bit
like the way they are with Luke, or even Serris. Maybe I will be a Healer,
after all...
"I believed her," Octavia says. "I believed it was all a trick, a
joke. And yet you say you and others believe this." Turning to stare at me,
she asks: "How can you believe in it so?"
I look back at her unflinchingly. "Because I can feel it. Can’t you?"
Octavia closes her eyes briefly. "At certain times, when I’m making
deals, or getting the Captain out of his gambling troubles, and when I get
angry." She pauses. "Still, it’s nothing to put stock in. I mean, I spent two
years on Mayar; and during that time, I didn’t feel anything out of the
ordinary."
"You haven’t been doing this long, have you?" I muse. Answering my own
question, I continue: "No, or there would be some shading to your aura by
now." I sigh. "The things you've been doing--using your power to ‘lean’ on
people’s minds, to affect their thoughts, and especially anything you do with
it when you’re angry--all of these can turn a Force user to the Dark Side." I
regard her with deep concern. Now I know why I was impelled to follow this
young woman.
"My father mentioned the Dark Side at one time, but I never fully
understood it." She chuckles, but is startled at my grave reaction. "Why do
you look concerned?" she asks. "It’s not like it really makes any difference,
now, does it? I mean, you said so yourself: My aura isn’t ‘shaded’, whatever
that means. You talk in riddles, like my father did."
"It means more than anything," I say soberly. "Right now, you’re just
learning to use your powers; so the ethical choices you’ve made haven’t yet
left any great impression upon your soul. But the more you use the Force, the
more the choices you make will determine your future. When you have the
Force, there are only two possibilities: Either you learn to control it,
choosing to use the powers to protect, to defend, and to learn; or you
abandon morality and use the powers to serve yourself, harming others at
random and causing them to do your will. If you choose the latter path,
giving into the powers of anger and hatred, then the Dark Side will
eventually control and consume you.
"Some time soon, you will have to make a decision. If you remain
untrained, then you will become a pawn. If you are lucky, a Jedi teacher may
convince you to study with them. If not, a Sith lord may find you a
convenient toy; and you will find yourself deprived of your freedom." I frown
uncomfortably. "I’ll grant you that my opinion is slightly biased; but it’s a
known fact that the Sith are evil and enjoy causing pain and chaos. Not to
choose is to leave yourself open to attack by any who can see your
talent--and that means anyone who has the talent themselves. Even though I’m
only a student, I can see the power in you. That is why I speak of these
things."
Suddenly, I grin a little, wryly. "I know it all sounds pretty wild at
first. But no one seems to have figured out a way to talk about all these
powers without making it sound simpler. One thing’s for sure; if I live to be
a teacher myself, I’m sure going to give it a try!"
Octavia stiffens. "Anything I’ve done has been for the good of my
ship, the Electria, from detecting danger to sensing when the engines are in
need of repair. Even saved the Captain’s life a couple of times." Her tone is
defensive. "I could never harm anyone I care about. My ship is like…no, it IS
the only family I have." Octavia slams her fist on the low table near the
couch. "I will NEVER lose my freedom. I’d die first. My father believed as
you did. Did it save him?! Does it stop the dreams that are driving me
crazy??"
"The only way you’ll lose your freedom is if you don’t learn how to
defend yourself," I say firmly. "As a Force user, you need to learn to
protect your mind from the control of others. My father sacrificed himself
for the freedom of others. Maybe yours did the same; I don’t know." Suddenly
I stop. "What do you mean about dreams?" I ask, peering at her closely.
"You’re a Seer, too, aren’t you?" I ask impulsively. "Do you have dreams that
seem to be real events, but not know when or where they are?"
"I am sorry for my outburst." Octavia settles down, calm and cool once
more. "Seer?" she asks. "If you mean do I feel as if I’m there, then yes. I
feel the heat, the sand, and I hear the hum of the sabers. It’s always the
same: Two men fighting with sabers, and one of them–" She stops. "One is
dressed like you, sort of; the other is in black robes." She fidgets
uncomfortably. "The last time I felt as if I was being strangled, and I heard
someone telling me to fight if I wanted to live."
"It’s all right," I assure her swiftly, all empathy. "This is a lot to
deal with all at once; and it’s clearly got a lot of emotional roots in your
background. I’m sorry about that." I frown slightly. "The Sight is very
unpredictable. The visions we See can sometimes be threats from the Dark
Side, sent to frighten us into not fulfilling our potential. Other times,
they are genuine warnings of future events. Sometimes they can even be
windows into the past." I sigh. "It’s one of the more troublesome gifts to
have, I’m afraid, not to mention one of the rarest. I’ve always had it
myself. But you can get used to it, in time."
"Then perhaps that’s why I feel at ease talking to you. You’re as
crazy as I am."
I chuckle appreciatively. "Could be." Thoughtfully, I ask: "Which is
the recurring dream that’s been upsetting you so much? The saber fight, or
the other one?"
Octavia frowns. "Being on the Electria, you get used to the idea of
possibly dying; and everyone knows I’m no good with a blaster. It’s the saber
fight, I guess. I don’t know. I want to call out a warning, to stop the death
from happening again, and I can’t. I can only watch." She shrugs. "Anyway,
nothing can be done about it, now, can it?"
"I don’t know. It may depend on whether the fight is in the future, or
the past. Do you have any sense of that from your dreams?"
Octavia shakes her head. "Not a clue. I’m not even sure how I do the
things I do, at times. I mainly stay on the ship and tend to its repairs. All
I know is that there’s sand, lots of sand; and it’s hot. The two fight; and
then it changes to a metal surrounding, almost like a ship or a building.
Then the older man dies."
"Is there anything unusual about the vision that stands out, that you
might be able to use to identify it?" I persist. "What kind of ship, what the
construction is like, what the men look like, the design of their outfits and
sabers? You said that one man was dressed sort of like me. Was he wearing a
brown outer robe, like a Jedi master would?"
She shrugs and lets out a long breath. She closes her eyes, focusing
inward. "The metal area has laser sensors," she says searchingly, "and some
sort of reactor pit–it’s deep. The older man has shoulder-length brown hair
just beginning to show gray, and a beard and mustache. He no longer has his
brown robe, just his tunic and saber, which glows green in color. The
other..." Her eyes fly open. "The other is completely in black and his face
is painted or tattooed. His saber is red, but it’s double-sided, like two
sabers joined together."
She shakes the memory from her mind. "Keep talking like this and I’ll
convince myself it’s real. It’s just a nightmare, after all right?"
"That’s something, though," I point out. "I’ve never heard of a
lightsaber like that. We might be able to find pictures of them in the
histories, not to mention the one with the weird face paint." As I speak,
though, my own gift begins to shift and stir within me. There’s something
else that’s teasing at the edge of my mind--something that might help to
solve the mystery. Abruptly, I look down at Octavia’s lightsaber again. Even
half-hidden as it is, I finally realize the other reason that it caught my
eye.
"As long as you want it to be a nightmare, it will continue to
frighten you; and you’ll never get past it," I tell her. "Is that what you
want? And there’s no point in saying you want it to go away. It won’t," I say
flatly. "Not until you’ve resolved your vision somehow. Believe me--I know."
I feel ages older than Octavia, who is probably in her late twenties. But
though I’m only a little past twenty, I’ve had the Sight since I was a child.
Octavia looks appalled. "No! Who in their right mind wants to live
with a nightmare, especially of two men fighting, and seeing the one die
again and again." She leans back against the wall again. "I just don’t see
how to stop it." She unhooks the saber and lays it on the table. "Perhaps if
I get rid of this…but I can’t. It’s my father’s." Her voice drops.
"That’s a very unusual lightsaber, you know," I say, making an effort
to keep my voice calm. "It’s of a style that hasn’t been seen around here for
many, many years."
"It has to be at least 26 years old. That’s my age. I don’t remember
my father’s age."
"It’s much older than that," I say slowly, shaking my head. "I’ve seen
holocubes of the ancient Jedis, the ones who were killed during the purge by
Vader and the Emperor’s other tools. They often had sabers of a similar
design."
Octavia shrugs. "So it’s old. I don’t see where you are going with
this."
"I’m not sure, myself. But I just realized that there’s something
about it that seems to draw me." I sigh again. "There’s a way of using the
Sight which seems to be unique to me. Sometimes when I touch an object, I can
See things relevant to its history, or the history of its owners." I bite my
lip uncertainly.
(to be continued...)
Octavia stares at me, then pushes the saber toward me. "I don’t
understand what you may think you’ll know or feel; but if you wish to study
it, you can."
"I don’t understand either, yet. But it’s possible our paths crossed
for a reason." I nod in appreciation as Octavia lays down the saber. "Thank
you."
Closing my eyes, I take several long, deep breaths. My body relaxes
muscle by muscle. Slowly, I bring my hands up above the table and lay them
down unerringly on the lightsaber. Leaving the power off, I raise it
gradually to hold it in a fighting position.
***********************
Octavia watches the so-called "Jedi student," half-fascinated,
half-skeptical. Although her eyes are still closed, Rachel’s entire body
seems to be focused on the lightsaber in her hands. Her head nods forward a
bit as if in sleep. Suddenly, she jerks upright. The lightsaber moves in her
hands, and Octavia could swear she recognizes some of the motions as those
from the battle she’s seen in her dreams over and over again. She stares,
disbelieving, as Rachel seems to replay the entire battle. Then, just at the
point where she always feels compelled to cry out, Rachel’s whole body
stiffens, her face pale and taut. She falls forward and collapses onto the
table. The lightsaber rolls out her nerveless hands to the floor.
*************************
Someone seizes my wrist in cold hands. "Are you okay?" The voice is
shaky. It takes me a moment to realize that Octavia is checking my pulse.
Blinking back the vision with an effort, I slowly sit up. "Yes, I’m
fine," I say unevenly. "I’m sorry--I didn’t expect it to hit me that hard." I
retrieve the saber carefully and put it on the table, then take a few calming
breaths. She gingerly releases my wrist. "Qui-Gonn Jinn," I murmur. "I
thought he was just a legend."
"Who is that?" Octavia asks. "I never heard of anyone by that name.
Unless..." I turn to see her staring at the lightsaber. She shakes her head
slightly and looks up at me. "My last name is Jinn. My father’s name was
Wai-Cha Jinn."
I stare at her. "No wonder there’s such a strong sense of connection
between you and this saber. It feels as though it has something to do with
your destiny." Cutting off my reverie, I return Octavia’s gaze. "I think
Qui-Gonn Jinn was your grandfather, Octavia," I say quietly. "The vision
you’ve been Seeing was his final battle." Octavia’s eyes seem slightly
glazed. I keep talking, trying to draw her back from wherever she’s
retreating to. "I don’t know much about him. I don’t really study the old
records very much, despite the way I may have sounded earlier–I’m much more
interested in the here and now," I confess, suppressing a grin as I remember
some of the puppy-sad, reprimanding looks Luke has given me on _that_ topic.
"But I had heard of a great Jedi called Qui-Gon Jinn who was reputedly the
teacher of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Luke Skywalker’s first teacher."
Octavia shakes her head, stands, and walks out towards the stars. "No,
what you are saying is impossible. It’s not real, it’s only a dream." Turning
back to face me, she adds, "It’s too far-fetched. You can’t be serious?" Her
tone is skeptical.
"I only know what I Saw," I say simply. "I saw a middle-aged man with
long, greying brown hair and a kind face dressed in the robes of a Jedi
master. First he was in some arid, sandy desert, leaping into a ship of some
sort--that part was blurry. Then the image shifted, and he seemed to be
indoors, but it was much too big for a ship. He was in a great, bizarre
colonnade with all kinds of twisting and turning metal paths above seemingly
endless depths. There was another, younger Jedi there, but I couldn’t see him
as clearly. They were both fighting a monstrous looking man in black robes
with a double-sided lightsaber that glowed red, which he wielded more like a
combat staff than a saber. His face was grotesquely colored in red and black
patterns, and he had several small horns on his head and orangey eyes. The
younger man faded out of the picture as my vision focused in on the other
two. They fought one-on-one; and the Dark Lord managed to defeat him." My
expression hardens as I relive the vision. The demonic appearance of the Sith
lord reminds me chillingly of some of the old beliefs of my home world, that
all mutants are evil.
Quickly, I shove my own thoughts and feelings aside. The vision was
painful enough as a spectator. "Being related to him," I continue the thought
aloud, "the sense of his death must be hurting you far more than it did
me--and you saw my reaction," I gesture. "But there’s more to it than that,"
I add, settling down. "You see, the Sight is not only visual; it pertains to
knowledge as well. As clearly as I see you standing here, I *know* that the
man who died was Qui-Gon Jinn. I’m not sure about the younger man; but I
think the Sith lord was called Darth something." I frown, perplexed. "Like
Darth Vader? Maybe it used to be a title instead of a name."
Octavia stares at me. My empathy, heightened by the experience we have
shared, tells me that every fiber in her body wants to scream out that it is
a lie. Yet she can’t deny what I have said. Shaking her head, she turns
away. "No--it can’t be true." Turning back to face me, she pushes the saber
toward me. It rolls slowly across the table, coming to rest in the very
center. "It’s a trick," she says gruffly. "Take the saber."
"Octavia, it belongs to you," I say gently, leaning forward. "Whether
you keep the saber or not, you can’t deny your destiny. You will have to make
a choice whether to use your powers for the Light, or whether to turn down
the Dark path." I look at the older girl sympathetically. "Search your
feelings, Octavia. You know it to be true."
She does. I can feel it.
Octavia sits down and stares at the wall. "It seems everyone is
telling to make a decision. Why now?" She glares at me. "For 11 years, I’ve
lived a quiet life--well, somewhat quiet, anyway–on my ship. Why is
everything turning my life upside down?"
"Because your powers are manifesting, and that means change," I answer
promptly, but not unkindly. "If others have also told you it’s time for a
change, then the Force is doing what it can to encourage you. You didn’t have
the fortune of growing up with your powers the way I did. That’s why even
though I’m just a beginning student, I understand some of the theory well
enough to help teach. But once the Force awakens in you, your choice can’t be
far behind." I attempt a wry grin. "Instead of looking at it as ruining your
life, you might be grateful that you’ve had such a long period of peace. It’s
more than I’ve had; and it will probably be a good base for you to build on."
"Great," Octavia sighs. "So," she says flippantly, "I just pack up and
throw a dart, and hope that this Force picks the right place?"
"No," I say frankly. "That is, you could do that; but it seems like a
silly way to start a new life to me." That seems to get her attention. "The
Force may help us along; but that doesn’t mean it tells us what to do all the
time, or always puts us in the right place. You still get to choose how to
live your life. More specifically, you need to learn about the Force, and
decide how and where you want to do that learning. It doesn’t necessarily
mean you have to give up everything else, either," I point out. "If I were
more like the other students, I would be spending a lot more time at the
Academy; but...well, I’m a very independent type." I can feel myself flush.
Octavia looks stunned. I guess she’s surprised I actually answered her
question seriously instead of getting mad. In a subvocal stream of thoughts
that’s so strong it’s difficult to shield from, she is thinking, "‘Be
mindful’..." That one phrase is what came to mind back then, back in her
quarters one night after the visions were particularly strong.
"This is a lot to take in," Octavia says softly. Much of the hostility
is gone from her tone, as if I’ve passed some kind of test. "Either way, I
have to be mindful of my decision." Looking up at me, she continues, "I am
sorry for my attitude earlier." She grins. "So how would I go about learning
more of this Force? I take it you don’t put out an ad."
I grin back. "That’s all right. I come on a little too strong with
this stuff sometimes. I guess I forget how new it is to the other person." I
chuckle at Octavia’s quip. "Well, you could take out an ad, but I’m not sure
you’d like the sort of people that would attract." I wink at her. "Basically,
anyone who’s interested in learning the ways of the Force is welcome at the
Jedi Academy. To be fair, though," I say, pausing, "I should point out that
there are other ways to learn." I scowl. "I may not like the Sith; but they
can and do teach... They teach the Dark Side of the Force, that is."
"We all come on strong in our own ways," Octavia smiles. "But you
stated earlier that the Sith and the Dark Side was something to avoid." She
pauses, too. "Comes down to choice again, doesn’t it?"
"Yes, that’s exactly it," I nod. "Now that your Force skills are
developing to the point where you need to be taught, you need to choose which
path you will follow. That’s why everything has been coming to a head now:
This is the time to make your choice. It’s true that some do change their
path later in life; but the first step is still important." I grimace. "Of
course, I’m inclined to say that the Jedi are more likely to give you a fair
choice; but I suppose we’re just as die-hard about recruiting as the other
side. What it really comes down to is that once you start down the path to
the Dark Side, it’s damned hard to stop. For most people, it’s impossible.
That’s why I figure people might as well start off at the Academy."
I steeple my fingers thoughtfully. "In my personal opinion, Luke is
fair enough that if he *truly* sensed that someone’s destiny was with the
Sith, he’d let them find it out for themselves; and then, instead of trying
to stop them from leaving, he’d probably just let them go. He wouldn’t like
it; but there are some things that even a Jedi can’t change..." My eyes glaze
over slightly as I look within myself to a number of distinctly upsetting
options for my own future.
"Really?" Octavia sounds highly suspicious.
"Well, I’ll admit that my guess about Luke isn’t based on much
evidence," I grin. "But," I add, growing sober, "the old saying about ‘once
you begin down the Dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny’ is one
thing that does seem to hold true."
"What about Princess Leia, then? I heard that she had gone over to the
Empire; but she came back."
Stifling my amusement due to my highly confidential knowledge of the
details of _that_ little shenannigan, I answer: "Yes, it does happen
sometimes. Luke himself was working with the Dark Side for a while; but he
managed to find his way back." I look out at the quiet stars for a while.
"Maybe there are some very pivotal people who are truly destined for one side
or another," I say slowly, "but the rest of us are just sort of scattered in
between. And as much as it may seem that us ‘little people’ are less relevant
than such massive powers, when it comes right down to it, it’s really all of
us added together who can swing the balance one way or the other. So every
decision that we make is important."
Octavia is almost unnervingly intent upon my words. "Do you really
believe that?" she asks. "I do not like having to make such big decisions in
a hurry."
I give her a rueful grin. "Sorry about that–just more of my innate
melodrama manifesting itself," I confess. "I’ve been studying this sort of
thing since I was a young child, so it’s actually pretty natural for me to
think in those kind of images. But another thing that I learned at a very
early age is that ‘with great power comes great responsibility; want it or
not, like it or not.’"
The image of a man--much like a shorter, dark-blue-skinned version of
Yahr, but with pointed ears and a slender tail--flickers through my mind’s
eye. That was always _his_ special saying. His impudent grin is positively
irrestible; yet his heart was among the gentlest of all of us. Octavia,
seeming to pick up on my bittersweet mood, looks concerned.
"Rachel? Are you all right?" she asks. She reaches out to touch my
hand lightly. I shield tightly, since I don’t know yet what could trigger her
Sight.
"Yes, I’m fine," I assure her. "I was just remembering my Uncle Kurt,
the person who used to tell me that. He was a Jedi, too. He wasn’t a full
Jedi Master or anything, and it didn’t seem like he was ever going to be. He
was a healer." And a sneak, I think privately, grinning to myself. "But he’s
a perfect example of what I was talking about. He wasn’t the most impressive
of the people I worked with. Our teacher was probably the most powerful Jedi
Master on our world. But without Kurt’s help--his humor, his gentle wisdom,
his constant encouragement, and his utter reliability--we would never have
been able to accomplish what we did; and our world would have basically died.
There would have been no one left."
Octavia is hypnotized. "Do you believe that our every decision is so
important?" she asks. "I do not think I want to be a part of anything like
that. I would rather stay on the Electria."
I laugh. "No, I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about saving
a world," I assure her. "That was a pretty extreme example! I did mean that
the decisions you make may have far-reaching implications. But the most
important thing to consider is what is best for you. You know now that you
need training; but how and when you find it is entirely up to you. If you do
anything you’re uncomfortable with, it will only interfere with your
development. It’s time to find your own path. You will, if you let yourself."
She looks relieved. "I see. Well, you have given me a great deal to
think about. I think I will go and do just that, if you will excuse me."
"Of course." I smile and nod to her. "It was nice to meet you." I
chuckle. "Don’t think you have to say the same–I’d be awfully surprised if
you could say so with a straight face!"
Octavia smiles. "I can certainly say that it has been interesting,"
she replies.
"Maybe we’ll see each other again?" I suggest. "Under less trying
circumstances, of course," I add with a wink.
"It may be," she says, reaching down and correctly triggering the wall
release. She’s quick-witted, all right, I note. "My ship will be on the
station for some time. After that, well, we will see."
"Fair enough," I agree.
I shake her hand and watch Octavia walk away. Her posture is as stiff
as ever, her glance as wary. But for a moment, I see her hand come to rest on
the hilt of her lightsaber. Instead of tensing, it just sits there for a
moment. Then, slowly, her hand cups gently around the hilt, almost as if she
were truly holding it for the first time.
I smile to myself. Whichever way it goes, I think, she will be all
right.
~finis~