(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 children." "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. "No!" 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, snarled. 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 (Current) 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 block." "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 trying." 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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