The Lost One

By Terri Ruwe

(This part of the story takes place 20 years before ANH)

The two Jedi slipped quietly into the underways. "Hurry, we must,"
Yoda insisted. "Fast they will move. They know the location."

The tall woman barely spared him a glance. "We cannot move faster
without betraying ourselves. My padawan is there already."

"Save the children, we must," Yoda replied softly. "The one child,
Kalycia, your daughter she is."

"I know that," Depa Billaba snapped. "I don't know why I let you talk
me into that." She gestured for the older Jedi Master to follow her.

"No regrets," Yoda said shortly.

"No regrets," Billaba echoed softly. "And yet. . . one cannot force
the fulfillment of prophecy."

Yoda declined to answer as they scurried through the tunnels of
Coruscant, heading for the Jedi crèche; the Force granting they were
not too late. It was almost too easy. The crèche entrance was
disturbingly deserted. The Jedi Masters entered cautiously; a dark
young man with blazing blue eyes stood guard with an activated
lightsaber. He relaxed slightly when he realized who they were, and
flicked the lightsaber off. "Master," he said in relief, and, with a
nod of respect, "Master Yoda."

"Miklos, Are the others away?" Billaba asked her padawan.

"Oh yes," he answered. "Even Brinnie; I told her to flee. These four
are the last."

Billaba favored him with a smile, and swept into the crèche behind him.
Three boys and a girl toddler were semi-confined in cribs, playing
quietly, almost too quietly, watched by a silent woman. Billaba went to
the girl; picked her up and sighed, holding the child like a lifeline.
"Even you cannot force prophecy, Master Yoda."

The gnome-like Jedi ruffled the girl's hair sadly. "Yet, no regrets
had Adi Gallia," he replied. "And so, this one has no father. Nothing
says the prophecy about mothers."

"Exactly so. Two mothers," Billaba agreed. "Although. . . I see that
this is the last I shall see her. Be strong, my little Kalycia." She
hugged the child, turned to Miklos. "Take them; all four of them. Flee
to the rim, where hopefully they will not be found. Keep this for her."
She handed the young man a silver bracelet. "It will tell her who she
is. Its holocron crystal is encoded so that only a Jedi historian can
decipher it, and shielded against the Darkness, so that only a Light
Force-sensitive can see it." The padawan took it reverently, secreted
it in a pocket.

"Come with us, Master," Miklos urged. "We will have so much a better
chance with you along."

Billaba shook her head, even as Yoda observed. "Targets you will be,
regardless; but not so noticeable as a Jedi Master to the Sith. The
young ones must be safe."

Miklos nodded slowly. "So be it. These four shall be as my own

"Just go," Billaba said softly. "We will cover your escape."

Miklos bit his lip. "May the Force be with you, Masters." He took the
child from her, and gestured to the other woman. "Come, Daravy. We must
go now." They gathered the rest of the children and slipped out the
back way, even as the unmistakable footsteps of troops and battle droids
echoed softly in the corridors.

Billaba did not watch them go. "Survive she will," Yoda said gently.
"Destiny will she serve."

Billaba nodded, and drew her saber, and waited.

# # #
(Three years later)

Kalycia and her father were hiding. They had been hiding a lot. Bad
people, her father said. At first, sitting in this box in the alley had
seemed like an adventure; a fun game like they used to play before her
mother and brothers had died of the lung-fever. Hour after hour, they
sat, and made finger patterns in the single shaft of sunlight that
penetrated the piles of trash that covered their hiding place. Now, she
was bored. She wanted to run, to play and to have fun. But Pa wouldn't
let her, kept telling her to hush. Every time they heard heavy footsteps
he would hold her close, and scarcely breathe.

The shaft of sunlight was gone. There was nothing to do. Kalycia was
hungry, and Pa wasn't letting her do anything. She sulked now, thinking
it's been forever since they heard anybody. Finally, she burst out, "I
want to go home!"

Pa grabbed her and put his hand to her mouth. "Sh!" Footsteps sounded in
the alley.


Pa clapped his hand over her mouth. "Quiet, Kaly!" He held her so hard
she could barely breather, and he wouldn't let go. She bit him. "Ow!"

Suddenly, the top of the box, with its attendant trash was flung aside.
Pa blinked up in the sudden brightness. A big man, dressed in funny,
shell-like clothes grabbed her Pa and yanked him up. Kalycia fell out
of his arms.

The other men, dressed the same, flung Pa up against one of the alley
walls. "Found you at last, with all the other trash, Jedi," one of them,
a woman with honey-blonde hair, and the same piercing blue eyes as Pa,

Kalycia bounded up. "Don't you hurt my Pa!" she shrieked, beating her
hands at them.

With hardly an effort, the first man grabbed her by the collar and threw
her, hard against the wall. Lights exploded in her head, and she heard
Pa shout, "No!" Then she heard nothing.

# # #

It was dark when she woke up, and she didn't know where she was. There
was no light, and the sky was black, and she was scared. No one
responded to her whimper. It was cold. Finally, she pushed herself up,
her head feeling like it would explode, and the world swung around her.
It stopped after a few minutes, and she looked around in the dim,
scattered light of the city. There was a pile of. . . something . . . a
few feet away, on the muddy street. A blanket? She wondered. It looked
kind of fuzzy. She wobbled to her feet and stumbled toward it. When
she fell on it, she realized it was a person, not a blanket. A soft
"oof" warned her.

She rolled off and turned around. It was a man, very pale and
grey-looking, black streaks dried around his mouth. His eyes were open,
and half-focused on her. "Thank the Force. Not dead," he mumbled.

"Who are you?" she asked.

He seemed not to hear her, but reached out spasmodically and gripped her
hand. She tried to pull away, but he would not let go. With his other
hand, he forced something cool and hard into her palm and closed her
fingers around it. "This. . . yours," he said, as if it were a great
effort. "Keep. . . always." His hands fell away from hers.

She backed up a couple of steps. The thing he gave her was a bracelet.

He turned his head slowly to look at her. "Should have hid in the
open," he said more strongly. "On Coruscant. . . Daravy. . .sorry. . ."
His voice trailed off, and he said nothing more.

She watched for a long time, but he didn't move. The night wind started
to blow, and she shivered and turned away. She smelled hay. Following
her nose, she found a dorna stable, and climbed inside with the shaggy
beast of burden. It was warmer here. She burrowed into the hay and
started to cry.

She was alone.

# # #

Sometime later, she woke again, cold, and burrowed deeper into the hay.
Her groping hand touched a person's leg, and she shrieked, remembering
the man in the alley.

"What?" A young, sleepy voice demanded. She could barely see the
outline of a body as it sat up. "Bad dream?" As the person moved
closer, she could see that it was a girl, only a little older than she.

She nodded. "Yeah."

The other girl said, "I'm Mara. What's your name?"

She considered the question. What is my name? What had that man said?
"D-d-dara-vy?" It was the only thing she could think of. She shivered.

"Daravik? That's a funny name," Mara said. "You cold? Come closer to
me, we'll be warmer that way. We have to leave when the sun comes up,
or the stablemen will catch us and be mad."

"Okay." Daravik crawled closer to Mara and they burrowed into the hay.
At least she had a name now. . .

Part II

Daravik Kotewa hunched over the controls of the Imperial courier ship
Falcon, as she lifted from the Dhiva IV spaceport. She shivered with
the enormity of what she had done, and what she had found out. She set
the coordinates for a hyperspace jump to . . . nowhere, and hugged her
arms to herself. "Oh my lady, please try to understand," she whispered,
knowing in her heart that Princess Anelis would regard what she had
done, and her sudden departure, as more than a personal betrayal, it
would be outright treason. She watched the port through the jump, as
the stars became streaks, then disappeared in a huge flash in front of
her. She was safe, for the moment. "There is no safety for you. No
sanctuary, not anymore," she told herself aloud, acutely missing the
comfort of the Wookiee's Uncle, and especially the companionship of the
Uncle's resident cats and getras. But there was no choice. The Uncle
was too well known, now.

She stumbled to the galley and made herself a steaming cup of cha. It
would keep her awake, but that was all right. *You have to sleep
sometime*, a vicious little voice taunted her inside her head. "Not if
I can help it," she muttered. Every time she closed her eyes, she
remembered. With a concentrated effort, she thought about the child, in
a drugged sleep in the aft compartment, and what she would say to her
when she awoke. That would be another tough one, Daravik knew, but
again, there was no other choice in her actions.

In all her years of service as bodyguard to Anelis, she had been a
personal witness to much violence and cruelty, which she understood as
the Imperial method of dealing with upstarts and rebellion,
particularly, THE rebellion. She had dealt violence herself, as her
precipitous exit from the Alliance proved, at least to some, she added
to herself. She had participated in manhunts, interrogations and the
apprehensions of fugitives from Imperial justice. Those she
understood, at least intellectually. But this. . . Besides her circle
of Sith students, Anelis also trained a few adults, and her own
children, all of whom she told Daravik were incredibly Force-sensitive.
Daravik had nodded, not really believing in the Force, but unable to
deny the strange Talents of the Imperial princess, nor those of her
father the Emperor. As senior bodyguard for the Princess, she
accompanied the royal personage everywhere, including the training
sessions of the young would-be Sith.

Daravik shook her head, as if it would rattle the memories loose. It
seemed so incredible because as ruthless as the princess could be with
Rebels, spies and conspirators, she normally was gentleness itself with
her children. It was the only time Daravik had seen any of the "softer"
emotions in the Imperial princess. There was quite a collection of
children in the Safire Valles Palace on Dhiva IV. In addition to the
three sons to whom Anelis had given birth, she had adopted three
children from Tantalus: Torian, who had been killed during the
Passionist raid on Safire Valles five years ago, Tomas, who had
survived, and their sister Tivea. She remembered Anelis' rage at the
kidnapping, the pure fury directed at the kidnappers, and even the
smoldering resentment against Prism Nighthawk, who returned Garrik,
since neither Anelis nor Daravik were completely convinced that the
rogue Jedi was not more deeply involved in the whole thing.

How could she? Daravik wondered. Her own daughter--- well, that wasn't
strictly true, now, was it? The other children had been obedient;
pursuing their lessons and their practice of Force skills to please
their mother. All except Tivea, who not only did not progress, but who
showed no interest or aptitude whatsoever in Force skills of any kind.
She had known that Tivea was a genetic construct - not a clone, but a
product of genetic manipulation and in-vitro incubation - she just
hadn't known about the "donors" of the genetic material. The cup of cha
slipped from her hand, as sleep finally caught up with her, and she
drifted off to relive the last two weeks over and over. . .

The boys had been doing well, especially since they were all close in
age: Gareth and Gahan being twins, and Tomas a mere two months younger
than they. At eight years old, they were nearly the age Torian had been
when the kidnappers killed him. Daravik, watching their lessons, hoped
that they remembered little of that particular incident. Anelis set
them to do TK exercises while she worked with Tivea. The princess
seemed particularly determined that her adopted daughter should master
skills at the same age and with the same ease that she herself had.
Daravik wisely said nothing about this to Anelis; she just stood in the
Palace garden and watched.

Tivea reminded Daravik of herself, a spirited little girl with silky
dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Anelis was trying to familiarize
her with a lightsaber, another instance where Daravik bit her tongue.

Anelis took the child's hands in her own, wrapped them around the
saber's hilt and turned it on. "You must deflect from the remote," she
told Tivea. "It will shoot at you, and you must use the saber to

"I can't," Tivea said hesitantly.

"Yes, you can," Anelis said. "You are strong in the Force. You will
make me proud."

"But Mother," Tivea protested.

"Just do it." Anelis ordered.

The child tried, Daravik had to admit. But she held the lightsaber
awkwardly, as if it were an uncontrollable, living thing. The remote
darted and stalked her, and Tivea flailed wildly with her weapon,
sizzling air, chopping through the tree leaves, frying burned trenches
in the ground.

"Tivea," Anelis said in exasperation, "Let go. Let the Force do it."

"I can't," Tivea insisted, close to tears.

Anelis stalked over to the girl. "Yes. You. Can." She wrenched the
saber from the girl's hands, restarted the remote, and nimbly deflected
a succession of bolts. "There. Like that." She forced the saber back
into the girl's hands and flicked it on.

"I won't!" Tivea screamed and tossed the active lightsaber from her.

Anelis leaped backward, out of the saber's way, trying to catch it
before it hit the ground. Her timing was just slightly off: the blade's
tip sliced open her palm. Daravik ran to her mistress, trying to assess
the injury; Anelis shook her off, grimly advancing on Tivea, who
watched, wide-eyed with shock at what had happened.

Daravik grabbed at Anelis. "My lady, don't! She's just a little girl!"

"Don't you tell me what to do with my children!" Anelis shouted. "I
mastered the saber when I was younger than this little brat!"

Daravik stepped in front of her. "My lady, I beg you -"

Anelis' attention was diverted. "Beg, do you? Beg me to stop this!" And
she unleashed the bolts of searing cold and ice that were her trademark.

Daravik staggered under the assault of the Force-induced blizzard. "My
lady, don't do this to her. . ." The last thing she saw was Lady Jasan,
hustling Tivea away from Anelis' rage.

# # #

Daravik awoke in the Safire Valles infirmary.

"I thank you for your loyalty to my daughter," Anelis' voice said.

Daravik flicked her eyes to the Princess' expressionless face. "You're
welcome," she mumbled through cracked and chilblained lips.

"I did not think you would brave my anger, Daravik," Anelis told her.

"Why not?" Daravik returned. "I've braved live fire from kidnappers,
and survived them dropping half a building on me. I have stood with you
and by you through how many attempts to kidnap your person?"

Anelis nodded. "This is true. But loyalty is not wisdom. And you know
nothing of the Force, though I have wished to test you. You wanted
nothing to do with it, and I have honored that. You should know how
much this indicates my respect for you."

"I do, my lady," Daravik replied.

"Do not again try to tell me how to train my child in the Force." Anelis
warned. "It is not an area you have any expertise in."

"Perhaps she doesn't have the Force, your highness," Daravik pointed
out slowly. "She is, after all, adopted."

The princess dismissed that with an impatient gesture. "Ridiculous.
Her parent-donors are a well-known, Force sensitive couple."

"May I ask, then?" Daravik said humbly. "I see no resemblance to anyone
I know."

"Han Solo and Princess Leia," Anelis replied, savoring her shock and
surprise. "They donated, unawares, during one of their many
captivities. She is their true daughter, as I am the true daughter of
my father. So don't tell me that the Force is not with her. It is.
And she will be a Sith Princess or die trying. As I was."

The Princess took leave of her the, leaving Daravik to recover, with
chaotic thoughts whirling in her head. Was it possible? Why would she
create a child of her greatest enemies? Why would the child have no
Force ability? Why would Anelis raise the child as her own? Wasn't the
latest rumor that Han and Leia's newest son, Bail, was a non-Force
user? Couldn't that be the case with this child? Then Anelis' parting
words kept coming back to her: "She will be a Sith Princess or die

All through her recovery, those words haunted Daravik. Would Anelis
kill the child if Tivea failed? *Come on, now, she's a Sith, what do
you think?* Daravik, being senior bodyguard, had clearance to look at
most anything stored on the Safire Valles file server. Tivea's records
were there, and she scrutinized them carefully from her bed. Several
times a day, she heard Tivea from outside or in the corridors, usually
weeping. *She is going to kill that child to prove her point.* Even
talking with Lord Nathaniel Cheska was no reassurance. Anelis' oldest
student merely shook his head. "I do not believe the girl has it in
her, he said. "But her highness will have what she wills, and none will
oppose her."

Tivea reminded Daravik so much of herself at that age; lonely, trying so
hard to please, and failing. Each time she heard the girl crying was
like the twist of a knife. I've got to do something! She told herself,
and so she had. . . But how were the Solos going to react to a child of
their own, coming to them at seven years of age, and from such a source?

The hyperdrive alarm was sounding. Daravik started awake, the jerk of
her hand splashing the spilled cha over her shirt. Cursing, she cleaned
up the mess, and tossed the cup into the recycler. She made her way up
to the flight deck, and settled into the pilot's seat just as they
popped out of hyperspace. Expertly, she brought the ship to a hover,
and turned on the comm gear. This was one of the Safire Valles
couriers, so it would be able to monitor everybody's frequencies.
Daravik crawled under the console. It was also equipped with the latest
in homing transmitter beacons and she wanted to get rid of it. Working
carefully, she managed to get it disengaged and detached without blowing
up any part of the nav board. She shorted out the beacon's power pack,
and emergency power pack before tossing it in the disposer. She flopped
back into the pilot's seat. She's spent the last week sorting through
all the transmissions garnered from the Rebel commnet for Leia's
whereabouts before she'd made her decision. * Time to go.*

It was: Tivea would sleep for several more hours, and by that time, they
would be out of Imperial space, hopefully Tivea was now well on her way
to safety. Daravik took the controls. *Next stop: Mallworld.*

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