The Golden Saber - Chapter 4

Travel to Besk

Aylee

"Unbelievable!"

Aylee paced the small cockpit of the Night Vesper, ire ratcheting every time she turned.

Tir-Zen watched her from the pilot's seat, twisting so he could look over his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Master," he said in his soft, strained way.

She halted, spun to face him. "This was supposed to be our chance! I thought this would be--"

"I know."

"That they might finally trust--"

"I'm sorry, Master."

Her anger hardened. Not at him. "I don't need a babysitter!"

Someone cleared their throat.

Aylee whirled, a flutter of robes and discontent, to find a man standing at the bulkhead separating them from the cargo hold. A familiar one. Auburn hair. Her brain scrambled for a name, or something that sounded like a name.

It tossed, "Ben!" up and out her mouth in desperation (was that right?), while Tir-Zen voiced, "Master Kenobi?"

He gave her a strange look as she charged at him, recoiling but not giving ground.

"You're the babysitter?"

He recovered. Settled. Humor edged his mouth and blue eyes as he regarded her. "I prefer bodyguard."

She glared. Up. Because he was taller, which made the effort annoyingly less effective. "I don't need one," she ground out.

He shrugged, unperturbed. "That's what I told them, but the Council insisted."

Aylee's breath came quick and hot with anger as she stared him down. Outrageous. Preposterous. Insulting, even! "Are you getting off my ship?"

"No." She crashed against his placid tone, her own state thrown more into contrast by his commensurately Jedi example. Infuriating implacability.

Aylee's mouth tightened, and she spun on her heel and stomped up the steps from the cockpit to the lounge.

OBI-WAN

They watched her until she disappeared from view, and Obi-Wan had to try hard not to question the Council's wisdom in this venture.

"You'll have to forgive my master," Tir-Zen said evenly. "She has a lot on her mind."

Obi-Wan looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. "Spoken like someone who says that a lot."

A frown rippled across Tir-Zen's face, and he pressed his lips into a tight line as he turned to face forward.

A silent, effective rebuke and hardly a good way to start a journey. Chastened, Obi-Wan slipped quietly into the seat next to him. Tir-Zen kept his eyes on the hangar doors, hands resting lightly on the controls. Obi-Wan had challenged his loyalty to his master, and if anything, Tir-Zen's tense silence was a credit to the both of them. He should have been more mindful of his words.

"I'm sorry," Obi-Wan began. "I--"

"Are you ready to leave?"

No anger. But no familiarity either.

Obi-Wan's thoughts went quickly to Anakin, staying behind in the Temple to continue work on his assignment. Alone. For the first time. After a moment's hesitation, he said, "Yes," though it lacked conviction.

As Tir-Zen flicked the Night Vesper's controls, he chanced a guarded glance in Obi-Wan's direction.

"I meant no offense," Obi-Wan offered gently. He'd thought of Tir-Zen as a friend first and a padawan second.

Tir-Zen's shoulders eased, and he gestured toward the radio, passing communication duties over to him. Because of his voice, Obi-Wan thought, suddenly profoundly curious.

"More often than I'd like," Tir-Zen rasped at him, barely audible, just before Obi-Wan pressed the button for station control.

AYLEE

The Council's orders had been clear. Besk was descending into chaos following a disputed election. What started as riots was quickly becoming civil war. The damarque had sent word to the Republic, asking for intervention. In turn, the Jedi had been tasked with bringing Besk into the Republic and restoring order. They'd given Aylee little time to prepare.

"...the Republic offers member planets beneficial trade agreements..."

Aylee made a face, crossed the words off on her datapad, and tried again. "...will usher in a new era of economic prosperity," she muttered, meandering back and forth in front of the table in the Night Vesper's lounge.

She picked up a second pad and thumbed through some data on intergalactic currency trading. Credits. If Besk joined the Republic, they'd have to convert to credits, which would change the planet's buying power across the galaxy.

"New markets will open, increasing imports and exports." She tsked at herself, deleted it. "Healthcare and technology," she said, talking to herself as she switched pads again.

"Who is this speech for?" A warm voice asked.

The latest advances in anti-cancer treatment...

So many topics to cover. Regenerative medi-gel, limb replacements, plague vaccines. The health advances alone... Aylee tore her eyes from her research and looked up at Ben, leaning against the door, his arms tucked into his sleeves as he watched. She stared at him, sure that he had spoken. Her attention bounced, drinking in details.

"You have beauty marks," she said and touched a spot below her eye and on her forehead. What a curious thing. "Odd for your generation."

His eyebrows shot up and he stepped further in. "My generation?" he laughed as he repeated it. A lovely laugh, bright next to Tee's huffs.

She lifted one shoulder and looked down at the pad, reading as she spoke. "It became trendy. Parents removing everything. Fixing it all so we're the same blank slates." She gestured at her own face vaguely.

At his answering silence, she looked up to find him frowning in confusion. Or even offense! A cold bolt shot through her spine, and she pulled the pad to her chest. She hadn't meant to offend. Had she? She couldn't tell. "They're very nice," she said, announcing a proclamation. That should have been obvious, but sometimes obvious things needed saying.

His lips parted, and he frowned a little more. "Thanks," he said slowly, like it might have been a question. He drifted closer, scanning her face. "Why don't I remember you?" he asked, troubled that such a thing could be.

A smirk touched Aylee's mouth, and she sat, restless under his scrutiny. She kept her eyes on the datapad, not really reading.

"I passed my Trials the same year Chancellor Valorum took office." She looked up and watched him do the math. Nine years, roughly. "You were just a youngling when I left Coruscant." She shrugged. "Haven't really been back."

He huffed and rubbed at his chin. "And here I thought the beard made me look older."

"Oh, it does. But something... I don't know. Doesn't quite reach your eyes, I guess."

It earned her a small, self-conscious smile that warmed out to her fingers. She glanced back at her speech, the spinning wheels in her mind slowing and gaining traction.

"Say that thing again."

"What?"

"What you said before." She flapped a hand in his direction. "Say it again."

"Who is this speech for?"

She stared at her words and then up at him. He lifted his eyebrows in query, watching with interest.

It was the right question. Perhaps the first in a series of right questions she hadn't even seen to ask. The threads of her attention started to come together, braiding into a solid strand. She rose slowly, looking at him as though reading answers from his eyes.

"It's a speech for politicians," she said, piecing her words together as the thoughts formed. "I was going to tell them why Besk should join the Republic. The Tusks already support Besk joining. If I..." She turned away, pulse picking up as a possible future unfolded, so clear. "If I show up and tell them Besk should join, then I come in on the side of the Tusks. Naturally my conclusion would be that the election should be settled in their favor." She frowned and looked at the datapads on the table, the speech.

"But?" he prompted.

Didn't he see? So clear. So obvious. "This started with a corrupt election. If I come in declaring a victor who just so happens to support my interests, that won't stop anything. It's as biased as a bad election." It dawned on her with a cold sinking. "I can't ask them to join the Republic," she said in a small voice, and watched him for a reaction.

He nodded and looked grim. "What can you ask them to do?"

"Trust themselves," she answered automatically. But it was the truth, too. They didn't need to believe in the Republic to solve their problem. They needed to believe that they could solve it on their own. That their political system was capable of producing their greatest good. "We can help. We can be arbiters and observers and provide the manpower to do a recount or have a reelection. But the Republic can't make an armistice dependent on Besk's willingness to join."

She dropped into her seat, stunned at the revelation. At the useless amount of work she'd already put into a misguided task. She looked up at Ben, and he grinned automatically back.

"I think I've made more work for you," he said, wincing with apology. "I'll go." He backed up a step, and then turned.

"You can stay," Aylee told him. "If you want."

He gave her a quick, assessing look and took a seat in one of the plush chairs on the other side of the room. He closed his eyes as Aylee picked up her datapad and cleared her first draft. While he meditated, she started again, the words flowing as from the Force itself.

***

It happened without her noticing. The light sound of his breathing barely audible over the hum of the ship. But the rhythm seeped through her skin, and they fell into sync. She worked. He breathed for the both of them. Calm and steady, waves on a gentle beach. The virtues of Besk society extolled themselves across her screen, and Aylee knew them like she knew sunrise.

Tir-Zen came up the steps and announced that they had gone into hyperspace. There was nothing to do now but wait. He moved to a corner of the lounge on silent feet as Aylee read back over the last few sentences and imagined them echoing over a vast amphitheater, a whole world weighing her words.

Inhale...

Exhale...

A steaming cup of caf slid onto the table within easy reach, and Aylee glanced up from her work. Tir-Zen placed another cup on the side table next to Master Kenobi, and he stirred from his meditation. A look of surprise passed over his features and then another one of those small, furtive smiles colored with a joke he wasn't sharing. He shifted, stretching his muscles. Aylee had no idea how long it had been.

Tee sat at Aylee's side near the end of the table, surveying the scatter of her work.

"How's it going?" he asked, and tipped some sweetener into his drink.

Aylee very carefully set her datapad down. She could feel the both of them watching, the pressure of their regard. By the gift of long association, Tee read something in the length of her pause and curled his fingers around his cup.

"I'm not going to ask them to join the Republic," she told him.

He took the news gracefully and frowned. "But Master," he breathed. "That was the Council's command."

"The Council"--she turned in her seat to face him--"told us to stop the war and bring Besk into the Republic."

Tir-Zen nodded, and Aylee offered a sad smile.

"But, we can't do both," she told him, and his frown deepened. "The war is _about _joining the Republic. The Plainswalkers are already set to. If we come in lobbying on the Republic's side, we decide their election for them. The fighting won't stop."

"But if we fail--"

"We have to fail..."

"--they'll send us back to Ossus!" His voice scratched for volume, bleeding distress. He looked away, shaking his head, and Aylee felt herself disappointing him again. Seemingly always. It battered her heart.

"Tee, I'm sorry. I've thought about it. I keep thinking about it. We can't do both."

He crackled with energy and shook his head harder. "That doesn't make any sense. Why would they give us an assignment we can't complete!" he demanded, hopping up because he could no longer sit.

Aylee swallowed, all her apologies turning to ash. "To see which way we fail," she said quietly.

Tir-Zen spun and stared at her, his chest heaving. "You could at least try!" He clacked his teeth and then took a moment to calm himself, squeezing his eyes shut.

"It's not about trying. If they join, it has to be because it's in their nature, not because we forced it. And we don't know that they won't. They might."

Tee cracked his eyes, searching her face. "You think... you'll get them to join by not asking," he said, dubious.

Aylee searched the ceiling for bits of words. How to express this way of the Living Force, its most elusive aspect. "I think," she told him, "that I can help them in a way they will accept. And that some things are just beyond our control. Like... what the opposition will think of us if our help gives them a victory."

Tir-Zen held himself tense, and he held her gaze steadily. "I don't want to go back," he said slowly, enunciating each word as though their sound would have more power if he could render them right.

Pain clenched around Aylee's heart. She knew. Oh, she knew. The Temple meant opportunities. Friends. A life. But what choice was there? Tears pricked at her eyes as she watched him struggle.

"What do you want me to do, Tee?" It was a real question. "Stop the war? Sign them on?" They hadn't arrived yet. Both options were still technically on the table.

She passed the weight to him and could see the deliberation work its way onto his face, even though there was only one possible outcome. They both knew it and yet performed this pantomime anyway so he would understand and perhaps, in time, forgive if it came to that. Tir-Zen's shoulders slumped, and he met his master's eyes.

"You have to stop the war," he whispered miserably. He dropped back into his seat and hunched protectively over his sense of defeat, holding his horns in his hands.

Aylee drew a breath to speak, but he cut her off. "I know. Trust in the Force." He clacked his teeth in distress and stared at the table top.

Aylee's heart squeezed again with wretched aching, and she looked across the room at Ben. He hadn't said anything. And she couldn't tell if he agreed with her course of action. In the brief moment when their gazes connected, he read her silent plea and bowed his head. A second later he stood and yawned, rolling out his shoulders.

"Well. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm going to go practice forms in the cargo hold." He slipped his robe off and tossed it on the chair. "You're welcome to join me," he said, and made for the steps.

Tir-Zen's head popped up, and he gave Aylee a sharp, eager look.

She motioned with her eyes that yes, of course he should go, and he darted after Master Kenobi, metal steps ringing under his feet.

***

Chal'tek is a game for two. Tir-Zen had fashioned Aylee an electronic version when they learned of their reassignment, to replace the ancient boards of stone and bone they'd be leaving behind on Ossus. The rules were few and simple.

It was a game of war.

Aylee leaned her elbows on the table and watched Ben reach for a piece, then reconsider. His eyes moved about the board. He made another aborted motion, plucking at her patience, but she breathed and tried not to give anything away. He had absorbed the instructions readily enough and seemed amused at the idea of a game so old it lived only in the places time forgot.

He sat back and stroked absently at his beard. Tir-Zen tinkered with an astromech circuit board somewhere behind them. Aylee counseled her expression and stared her opponent down as her stomach clenched. He gave her only the barest of looks, then leaned forward, picked up his piece, and made his move.

The perfect move.

"E tu cha!" Aylee flung herself back in her chair, glowering as a sizable portion of her pieces changed sides. She shook her head."Karking dopa-maskey goo," she ground out, still shaking her head as she surveyed the damage.

She did not look her opponent, though he seemed to have a way of making his amusement palpable.

"Was that Huttese?" he asked.

She shrugged, not looking. "All the best curses are. Finest language in the galaxy for it."

He really had chosen the worst, and by worst she meant best, possible move he could have made.

Tir-Zen crossed the room silently and hovered just over her shoulder, examining the board. He crowded into her space. "You're going to lose," he observed.

Aylee shot him a glare. "Thank you. Padawan."

His mouth twitched. "You're a bad loser."

"I am not!"

She turned back to the board, vibrant with indignation. Tee leaned in.

"Chuba doopee da wanga--"

Aylee waved him away, "I don't need your help," annoyance slicing her words thin.

Tir-Zen shrugged gracefully. She didn't see the look he exchanged with Ben over the top of her head, though it felt like a conspiracy in the air. He slipped back to his project in the corner, and Aylee scowled down at the chal'tek board, resting her mouth against the hard peaks of her interlaced fingers.

OBI-WAN

He followed in her wake, not that one could do much storming in the tiny lounge. He shouldn't feel sorry. Mostly didn't. Except the _look _on her face.

Aylee jerked open the drawer with the plates, making them rattle.

Obi-Wan hovered, trying to peek beyond the curtain of her hair. She couldn't really be this angry. He tried to pull down on his smile.

"I'm sor--"

"Don't." She opened the cooling case with more force than necessary.

He reconsidered his assessment. Maybe she was. It's not like he'd intended to best her the first time out. Twice. Mirth tickled his ribs.

"It's a wonderful game."

"Stop!" She looked at him this time, briefly, before punishing a piece of cheese with a knife.

He leaned his back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, holding it in while he watched her assemble a lunch. Self-satisfied glee fluttered through him, made worse with every clipped motion.

Obi-Wan pitched his voice low and soothing. "You're not half as bad a loser as I'd feared."

Aylee slammed her fork down on the counter and glared at him.

He fought it. The crawl of the smile. The laugh in his throat. Years of discipline into trying not to crack. But his eyes gave him away. And he could tell by her breathing that she was trying just as hard to remain angry. He ducked his head and let his posture soften.

"Maybe I just had a really good teacher," he offered.

She rolled her eyes as she looked away from him and released some of the tension she'd been holding. By silent agreement, she was allowing his mollification to work. She set her plates onto a tray with far less clatter.

"Five minutes to learn, a lifetime to master, so they say," she told him.

"Really," he replied, humor threading into his tone as she turned away. An impish smile spread across his face. "So... you're saying I'll get even better?"

She flung a rude gesture over her shoulder, and Obi-Wan swallowed down a laugh.

AYLEE

The Great Library. A reliquary of the galaxy that was, and the Order that protected it. Its disinterred ribs arched high, higher. Aylee stepped into its vastness, its edges fading into the darkness. No building could be this large. Row upon row upon row of bare desks, with nowhere to sit. Too many rows. She took a step and felt engulfed by them on every side. A forest of gathering ghosts. She clenched against their encroachment.

Holocrons pulsed in their casks. Their light stretched away, thousands deep. Impossibly deep.

It felt wrong.

There weren't this many holocrons in all the galaxy. They pulsed like a single heart, filling the void with a blue glow and fading to near complete darkness. A still life simulacrum of breath.

She walked in a corpse. And every nerve screamed at her to turn around. But she could not stop moving toward the stacks that disappeared into the dark and yawned up into a cavern. Her heart fluttered as she moved. Needling spider legs itched up her neck. This was not her home.

It didn't feel like her home.

She blinked and was suddenly among the stacks. Towering canyons. She hunched as she looked up at them, wary of their bulk. The silence menace of their size as they breathed the blue light of the casks.

Damp air gathered, making her skin chill with goosebumps. Libraries shouldn't be cold and damp. It wasn't good for the books.

She did not want to go on.

Turn. Turn and run.

Another step, and the air congealed. Aylee jerked at the sudden sensation of pressure on her skin. The light from the holocrons rippled and spread through the miasma, and a dark shape lurched at the end of a row.

A fleeting shadow with the shape of a claw beat out of sight.

She spun, a bolt of terror in her chest. Tried to follow it.

Out of the corner of her eye, another. Long, sinuous. A whipping flick of darkness slid out of view. Aylee spun again, her heart pounding in her ears. They were giant, massive. A shape carved out of the darkness, teeth and maw. Jaws that could swallow a ship gnashed soundless and swam up.

Swam.

It struck like a bell that she was underwater.

She twisted in sudden panic, and the animal instinct to breathe took over.

She gasped. Tried to. Flailed, trying to swim, but she stuck fast to the ground. Pressure flooded in, and she knew she was choking. Felt the air cut off. The quick fire in her lungs and squalling desperation.

The beasts in the water darted in and out of sight. Their hunger palpable. Prey.

Aylee turned to run and faced blackness. She flicked on her lightsaber and thrust the golden beam into the emptiness. She heaved to take a step, heart pounding. _Breathe! _Struggled to take another. There was nothing beyond the blade, nothing beyond the beam.

Pain exploded in her chest with the need to inhale, and she gave in.

The pressure vanished. The water and shadows and terror evaporating, as her knees hit sand. Her lightsaber rested again on her hip, and she blinked up at an alien sky with two bright suns. The heat opened the pores of her face as she closed her eyes and turned them toward the glow.

The Night Vesper rocked from a blaster strike, tumbling Aylee out of her bunk. Reflex landed her on her feet, and a sudden rush of adrenaline swiped aside all remnants of sleep. She darted from their quarters into the lounge and took the staircase to the cockpit at a leap. She caught her momentum on the backs of the pilot's chairs as the ship rocked again and alarms screamed.

"Morning!" Ben chimed and jerked on the ship's yoke. "Welcome to Besk." He glowered out at the planet gleaming ahead of them and the hail of oncoming blaster fire.

"Hailing frequency open," Tir-Zen told him.

"Besk vessels, cease your fire. This is a diplomatic ship!" Ben shouted.

Another shot hit the shields, rattling them. Aylee braced against the chairs, heart pounding. They'd been invited!

"So, how's the babysitting going?" Aylee asked him, keeping her attention on the ships crossing the main screen.

"Well, you're alive at the moment, so I'm calling it a win," he replied, light and wry despite being under fire. "Hold onto something!"

Aylee gripped his shoulder.

He threw the ship into a sharp bank and spin.

Chemicals rushed her body with a fight response and a feeling of pervasive aliveness rocketed through her veins. She could feel her pulse beneath her skin, and through that found the pulse of the Living Force. Aylee's awareness flared out.

"On your three," she said.

The Night Vesper jumped to evade the shot.

Then, "Six. Below us!"

He swore, Aylee's grip tightened, and he pulled the ship into a loop. They took a hit on the hull as they came around, electronics flashing with overload.

"We don't have guns, so if anyone has any bright ideas, now would be the time!" he said, all his concentration set on weaving them between their attackers.

The fighters must belong to the opposition. They must have reasoned that if she couldn't land, she couldn't sway the public against them. So then what they needed was...

"Tee. Can you open a channel to everyone?"

Tir-Zen glanced up at her. "We just did. They ignored--"

"No, I don't mean the ships." Aylee swept her hand to indicate the globe slipping by their main viewer as Master Kenobi swung them through evasive maneuvers. "I mean the planet. Full spectrum. I want to talk to everyone."

She met his eyes, and a second later, Tir-Zen jumped up from his seat and ran back to the cargo hold. Seconds seemed like minutes. Aylee glanced over her shoulder to see him unscrewing a wall panel.

"Today, Tir-Zen!"

Metal screamed and clanked to the floor.

Aylee turned her attention inward and focused on her breathing. Inhale. Exhale. In the river. The ship jolted as the deflector shield took another hit, but her fingers on Ben's shoulder eased as she slipped into the stillness of the present moment. The Force pervaded. And Besk ached in her senses.

Tir-Zen dropped back into his seat, breathless, and tapped a button on his wrist com.

"Ready, master?" he rasped.

Aylee nodded.

Her heart slowed.

"People of Besk. I am Consular Aylee Desai of the Jedi Order, here on a mission of mercy. I've been sent by the Republic to help settle the election dispute that's put your world on the brink of war." She took a breath and let the truth be her guide. "Some of you fear that I'm here to force Besk into the Republic. I admit to you, those were my orders. But I've chosen to ignore them.

"I've been told that Loxans can smell a lie. And I invite all of you to ask me yourselves in person. I don't think Besk needs anyone to make that decision for you, least of all me. What I would like to offer is my assistance, in any way that I can, in restoring your trust in your democracy.

"Besk was the first world in this solar system to set aside old hatreds and territorial disputes to establish a planet-wide government. You have a long and proud history of self-determination and participatory rule.

"But greed and special interests and corruption have eaten away at what you once had. These powers have placed profit over life and happiness. And you are right to dispute the legitimacy of such rule. Some of you feel that the Republic is just another one of these interests. Your skepticism does you credit.

"I am not here to deliver Besk to the Republic. I'm here because I can feel, even from this distance, the strife on your planet. I can feel the death. The misery." Her voice tore a little. "The Force is warped with your anguish, and the fighting needs to stop. We can stop it.

"And I promise you, if I can, I will deliver Besk back into the hands of its people. Please, please let me try.

"If I can't help you, ship me back. What will you have lost? But shouldn't you, for your own welfare, for the child you love and the children you've already lost, shouldn't you try a solution when one is offered?

"The Republic may have sent me, but I serve the Force, which lives in all of us. I would serve you, as I serve it, if you will allow me the chance."

The words dried up, and Aylee glanced at Tir-Zen, hopeful it was enough, that someone in the void was listening. After a moment, he hit the com on his wrist to cut the transmission.

The three of them stared out into space, hung with motionless Besk ships, waiting, with only the ship's alarms breaking the silence.

One by one, the Besk fighters turned.

Aylee let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Ben slumped in his seat. And Tee braced his arms against the console.

Aylee staggered back a few steps and fell with jelly knees onto the steps to the lounge, shaking as the adrenaline ebbed.

"Well done," Ben said over his shoulder.

She huffed and offered a weak smile in reply. "Thanks."