3-30 PHASING

Salute.

Go.

Two beams of captured plasma collide, hissing and spitting in the rippling air. A river of light forms as two forms blur in the center of the room.

Heat. Hot, ionizing fumes. You breathe through your mouth, sucking in oxygen through the gaps between your face and mask. The smell doesn’t make you gag like when you were younger, but you still grimace.

You push in closer. Closer! Ataru demands aggression, tempered by understanding. Pacing. Fast, rapid pacing. You control the space; you control the fight.

Swing. Parry. Parry. Deflect. Swing.

Two pairs of small feet stamp through the room, tempo constantly changing. You need to be unpredictable. You need to keep ahead of your opponent.

You stab forward, but Tera’s already pulling away and spinning out of range. You press the attack, blade twitching as you probe for openings. You feint, and feint, and poke, and pause. She dodges, leaping backwards far out of reach and resetting the field.

You breathe.

Sweat drips down your face, but you have no time to wipe it away. Tera’s preparing for another move, you can see it — you can hear it — so you preempt her and attack again.

Feint up, left to right. Twist the blade around, do not engage the enemy where they are strong. Lean down, break the footing and the feet. Fail. Retreat.

You backpedal as Tera presses the advantage. Her saber beats down upon yours and you can feel the difference in strength. She’s still shorter than you, but she is just stronger. You continue retreating, turning your frenetic footsteps into a controlled waltz. You stop. You become the wall.

Tera pushes forward, but you push back. Resistance, and then a slip!

You dip to the side, allowing her blade to pass. You spin, your tail reaching out and sweeping around at waist-level.

You duck and roll as Tera drops back down, her leap having carried her far above your head. If you’d had more time, you’d have made her think twice about leaving the ground. Still, she’d avoided your dirty spin with grace, and now she’s grounded again.

Space is eaten up in a fraction of a second, your lunge bringing you into range far quicker than Tera can react. Yet, she still dodges, for she’d begun moving even before you did.

Foresight. Knowledge and preemption. Reliance on only reaction is for blunts.

Action is yours.

You’re upon her again, making short, chopping swings. She blocks the first three strikes, then dodges the fourth and spins. Her blade points toward your throat, but you’ve frozen your steps, leaving you with half a meter to spare.

And then it’s her turn again.

You’re running out of stamina, your early acrobatics having drained you. Still, you of all people understand the concept of space and timing.

You build up one as you use the other, allowing you a heartbeat of respite. However, Tera doesn’t let up. A swing from above. You spin to the side, bringing your blade down upon hers. Sparks fly as you force Tera’s blade into the floor, but she catches you in the chest with a punch.

You scramble back.

You fall.

Rolling backwards, you pop up onto your feet. You take your stance. You set a trap.

Tera faces you, pacing warily as you pant with exhaustion. She spins her sword in her hand, creating a vibrant pinwheel for a second. She rushes forward.

You make to block her tight swing, but pull your blade away and dodge instead. Tera maintains her momentum, unfazed as she races past. You spin again, reaching backwards to intercept her escape.

Her blade takes you in the arm.

Your saber falls to the ground as you cradle the stinging wound. You flex your hand, gasping with the pain. The stun setting hurts, but it’s far better than losing the limb.

Tera walks over with your lightsaber in her hand, beaming with delight. She spreads her arms wide as she closes in and attempts to envelop you in an uninvited hug.

Her arms don’t reach all the way around, but you suppose she’s trying her best.

“Good fight!” she chirps, her smile stretching her cheeks. She positively glows with self-pride. Was defeating you that big of an accomplishment? Were you really that much of a challenge?

Does she really think of you that highly?

You bow, reaching up and pulling your mask off as you straighten up. Sweat pours down your face and you make a note to clean your mask later. You’d rather not go around smelling your own sweat for the next few days. Or months.

“That was… was that close? It feels like you had it all under control the whole time.”

She nods and you can’t tell if that’s a response to your question or to your statement. Either way, she’s made an impressive amount of progress on her own.

“You’re really going to become the next battlemaster, huh,” you remark. She nods again, saving her breath. She hands you your canteen as she takes a swig of her own. You swallow thickened saliva, unwilling to spit it out onto the floor.

Tera drags you to the side of the room where a utilitarian bench sits. The two of you slump down onto it, exhausted from the fight.

“Ready for more?” Tera asks only two minutes later. You gape at her, clutching at your chest with your wounded arm where she’d punched you earlier, and massaging the arm with your other hand. Your breathing is steady, your heart rate slowing to nominal levels now that you’ve gotten a chance to recover. However, you’re tired.

She pulls you up and back into the center of the yard anyways.

“I - I’m not ready!” you gasp out. “Gimme a minute!”

“Nnnope! You’re not going to have breaks in a real fight, right? You need to get used to it now!”

“That’s…”

That’s not fair.

But, nobody will care, Nobody cares about the pathetic concept of fairness in war or battle. You’re going to have to get used to such things.

Life is unfair. You’ve experienced as such.

You sigh and set your mask to the side. You set your stance.

You fight.

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

The fight is shorter than the last.

The next one is even shorter than that.

“Are we done yet?” you whine out, face down in the middle of the room. You turn your head to the side and spit the taste of floor out of your mouth. Your saber sputters in agreement, a wisp of smoke spilling out from its internals.

Perhaps making it into a monolithic tube isn’t great for heat dissipation… It’s a good thing you wear gloves or your hands might be toasted at this point.

The smoke stops. The saber spins, rushing back into your outstretched hand.

You inspect it, seeing the inner workings vibrating with incensed scorn. Denial. You apologize and it calms and cools.

“Yeah,” Tera calls from the other side of the room. She cheerily spins, running through some Forms. She has too much energy. Too much to be compacted into such a small body. It’s a wonder that she doesn’t explode!

“Hey, what time is it?” you ask, too weary to look for yourself.

“Time for a nap!”

“Nyeh.”

“It’s just past eleven. Why? You got somewhere to go?”

“I have a meeting with Master Yoda in an hour.”

“Oh?” Tera quits her exercises, coming closer as she tilts her head in curiosity. “About what?”

“I didn’t tell you?”

“No.”

“He has a Master in mind for me. He’s going to tell me who it is today.”

“Really? Don’t you already have Corr and Lasah, though?”

“Yeah… I dunno. It’s another option that I want to at least hear out.”

Tera squats by your head, reaching down and to poke you in the cheek. You flop your hand out toward her, but can’t muster the strength to push her away. She pokes you again.

“Stooop,” you groan out.

“You’re so lucky, Xena.”

“Ehh.”

“You really are.”

“Yeah.”

You roll over, giving her full access to both cheeks which she quickly takes advantage of.

“I don’t know who to choose, though.”

“Just pick the one you like the most.”

“I don’t know which one that is! Master Corr is really nice. Master Lasah is really nice, too! Cho’an asked her to be her Master, you know. But, Master Lasah told her that she’d already promised to consider me first!”

Cho’an had been… mildly upset. She had understood, but she’d much have rather gotten a definitive answer. You’d felt slightly bad about it, but also relieved. And then, you’d felt bad about that since you’re not even sure if you’re going to pick Lasah anyways.

“She didn’t have to do that,” you continue, “but… I guess that’s nice of her. The thing is, I’m not even sure if I should pick like that.”

You twist your head, biting at Tera’s next attempt toward your face. She pulls her finger back just in time and your teeth snap together with a loud clack! You sigh and lean back, but fortunately she decides to end her teasing. She stares at you, waiting for you to finish your thought.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“Do you remember when we were talking about what we wanted to be in the future? I’m always thinking about that now. I’m always thinking about what would set me on that path, and I’m not even sure if any of my choices would do that.”

Tera is quiet for a minute, thinking. Finally, she speaks, hesitantly at first, then with conviction. “You know… you know, you don’t have to be a Jedi. You could go into the Service Corps, or you could leave.”

“Leave?”

Leave the Order behind? Leave behind your home — your people?

“Yeah. If that’s what it takes. If that’s what the Force wills. People have done it.”

It is an option. A viable one, and so is going into the Service Corps. You could work in the MedCorps, though you might as well ask Master Corr to take you on if you were to choose that. You could work in the AgriCorps or for the EduCorps, but both of those hold less meaning to you now.

The ExplorCorps, though…

Going out there, being with the stars and exploring the Galaxy. It does hold a certain charm to it — a resonance with your being.

The other option, leaving the Order entirely, is also possible, but far less desirable. You’d lose your home and your friends and all your support. You’d be throwing yourself out into the wilds, where you’d be at the mercy of all those messy blunts!

And, what would you do then? Here, you feel like you could do something. The war has just begun, and it feels downright distasteful to turn your back on the Jedi and the Clones who are about to lay down their lives.

…Actually, perhaps there is something there? Maybe the Navy would accept you? Maybe you could enroll in one of their academies and learn the trade? You’d get the chance to be a navigator, or a captain, or an admiral! But… as young as you are, they’d never put you into a position where you could make a difference in this war.

Still, it’s another thing to consider.

“Xena? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you quietly respond. “I’m just thinking.”

“Well, think fast. We should go get cleaned up. You don’t want to go to your meeting like that!”

You look down at yourself.

You stink. You’re soaked in sweat. Your clothing is rumpled and somewhat singed. She’s right. You nod your head and accept a hand of assistance. Tera pulls you up and pats the dust off of you swiftly. As you collect your stuff, you take one last look around the room, mocking up the duels you’d fought in your mind.

“Did I really do well?”

“Better than I’d expected. Your training with Cho’an probably helped.”

Satisfied, you turn on your heel, and with a wave of a hand, you’re on your way.

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

“I honestly thought it would be longer before you called for me,” you say to Master Yoda. The Grandmaster waves you into his room, pointing to the same, squat pair of seats as you’d used last time.

“Hmm. Why so, Youngling? Think me old and slow, do you?”

You shake your head, a wry smile hidden behind your mask. You’re not falling for that one. Not this time.

“No, Master Yoda. You were waiting on this ‘Master’ to be ready first. I thought that would have taken longer. I guess you might have implied that, actually.”

You settle onto the seat, bouncing on the drum like surface. Your hands settle onto the thin felt covering, gliding along a seam. You trace a finger around and around a brass fastener, rubbing against the circumference. You look up, your curiosity still yet to be sated.

Master Yoda carefully lowers himself onto his own seat. He moves with slow surety, patient as if he has all the time in the world.

You, on the other hand, have a babbling brook within you, beginning to widen as a greater sense of curiosity begins to flow. Master Yoda’s ears twitch, his old eyes betraying nothing. His thoughts — his mind — on the other hand, smoothly sways with the Force, revealing healthy branches far beyond your reach.

Wisdom. Beyond your years. Beyond your comprehension.

The boughs bow at your earnest begging, allowing you a peek.

A face appears, one that you haven’t seen before. However, it’s familiar. You recognize the shape. You recognize the beard.

A funny man. So serious as he often is, as stalwart as he tries to be, he’s still young. He still has his faults, he still makes mistakes.

He’s not invincible, but he knows that.

He raised a boy from child to man, under intense pressure and scrutiny from his peers. His is a name recognized throughout these halls. His and his Padawan’s. The two of them have done great things for the Jedi Order. The two of them have made waves.

Still, he will be observed for he is a role model for many, but also the rival of others. And, it’s not just his own faults — his own accomplishments and feats — that draw eyes. His Padawan, his soon to be former Padawan, being who he is, adds more onto his plate just by being so closely connected.

A flash. A younger man, his own braid lopped off. His eyes are wet but the tears cannot fall. He has a purpose.

Another flash. He is older. He looks down at you, his eyes blazing with will, but his own rigorous self-possession holds him in check. He glances to the side and reaches out. A young boy guiltily passes a saber over and he hands it to you in turn.

A broken— no, just a beaten man. Beaten in body, but not in stubborn will. He is angry and sad, his own attachment blinding him to his Padawan’s faults. He needs to let go. He needs another drive. Something to wean him off that bond, for snapping it in twain so suddenly would do terrible things to either end.

The boy, the man, the Jedi. He apologizes and you look upon him with sadness and understanding. And yet, he has a task to do, one that will hurt him. One that will hurt his Padawan and strain their relationship. Still, you know it won’t break. It’s not that fragile.

And yet, it needs to detach. Gently.

How, though?

How else, but distract him with a spot of trouble?

You frown, gripping the brass nodules hard enough to rub the patina into your gloves. Master Yoda gives a wry grin, his tri-clawed hands gripping his gimer stick hard. “Obi-Wan, your Master could be. A challenge for both of you.”

“Trouble?”

“Yes. Both of you, you and Anakin. Trouble, the both of you cause by mere existence. But, turn this towards good, we can do. Release their bond, I wish for you to do.”

Replace it, he means. It’s impossible to not form such a bond with your Master, you imagine. So, why does he think that the one they have is so wrong?

The Senator. That attachment between her and Anakin Skywalker. It’s so clear, so easy to see! There’s no way Master Obi-Wan or Master Yoda could miss it. They need that attachment to break, but Obi-Wan can’t do it, so weakened as he is by his own attachment to Anakin.

“Master, I thought you said you’d tell me when he’s ready. Isn’t Anakin still his Padawan?”

Master Yoda nods, his mouth tightening as he thinks. “Yes. Yes. Ready, he is not. However, ready, I want you to be. Prepare you, I wish to do. Soon, the two of them will separate, young Anakin a Knight and Obi-Wan a Master. A Jedi Master. Ask you now, I have decided. If refuse, you do, then time there is to find another. However, another there may not be, so hope you accept, I do.”

“Ah.” You understand. Preemption. Foresight and preparation. Action before reaction. It’s better to act now than be caught flat-footed a month later. However long it takes before Master Obi-Wan is “ready,” Master Yoda needs someone also just as ready to slot in.

“Think on this. Return with a reply as soon as you can. Find someone else suitable if you refuse, I would struggle to do. Time, I need, in that sad case.”

“...Master, what makes me suitable?” you ask with growing suspicion. “You said that I’m ‘trouble.’ Is that really all there is to it?”

A knowing grin. A green gremlin’s aggravating smile with amusement in the wing. He shakes his head, but neglects to answer fully, merely saying, “Of course not, young Xena! Plenty of favorable attributes you have!”

“Like what?”

“Of the right age to be an apprentice, you are.”

If you could smack him like you did to Doran, you would. Alas, striking the Grandmaster of your Order out of pure annoyance would likely get you labeled as a darksider, so you hold back. However, it seems that Master Yoda has sensed the danger he is in, as he continues listing your merits.

“Experience, you have. Did well, in the field with Master Lasah, for one. Did well, in the Halls of Healing with Master Corr, for another. Good judgment. Maturity. A sense of justice and morality. A foil, you would be, to compare Anakin’s rashness to. Notice the difference a new perspective brings, Obi-Wan would be forced to do.”

Master Yoda punctuates each point with a tap of his stick against the ground. He pushes himself upwards, looking towards you, looking where your eyes should be. “Sight, you may not have. Vision, however, you do. Watch for pitfalls, you must. Watch your Master’s back, as he does yours. Imperfect, Obi-Wan is, as are we all. His eyes, I wish for you to be.”

“That’s a lot of responsibility, Master.”

“Indeed. However, wise, Obi-Wan has grown. At least a pinky’s worth of wisdom, I have imparted upon him. Imperfect, yes. However, rash like his apprentice, he is not. He will do fine as your Master. Learn much, the both of you would.”

You nod slowly as you consider the situation. Honestly, it sounds a lot like you’d be getting less out of this than your own Master would…

However, Master Kenobi is an expert swordsman, and he and his Padawan have pulled off some impressive stunts throughout the years. They’re practically legends amongst the Initiates — their feats so dramatic and ridiculous as they are! You would learn a lot. You’d learn how to handle yourself in situations that being a healer or an investigator wouldn’t allow. You’d be a warrior. You could be a hero!

You nod a little faster, a hint of excitement building within you. It’s quashed a moment later when you remember something else.

“Master, that doesn’t make me being ‘trouble’ any better. The Warp, the storms, the dreams, and everything else… Are you just dumping all this on Master Obi-Wan as a distraction?”

A blooming of guilt, deep inside the trunk of the tree. It’s quickly vaporized and evacuated through the leaves above.

“Hrm. Yes and no, Xena. A distraction, it could be. However, how much trouble of late has it been? Little, I expect. No word of your hospitalization I have heard.” He lets out a small chuckle, amused at his own tiny joke. “A distraction, we all need,” he continues. “A bigger problem, we currently have. Perhaps helpful, perhaps a hindrance, your gifts may prove to be. Either way, little problem you would be for such an experienced Master. Deal with most of the issues on your own, I foresee you would do.”

“It’s a lot of trouble. I’m a lot of trouble.”

“No. Expect you won’t be, I do.”

The seat wobbles as you lean forward. Your knees and tail strain as you stretch. You look up at Master Yoda as he watches you in turn.

“So, what happens if I do accept? Do I just become a Padawan then and there? He’s not ‘ready’ though.”

“Ready, he soon will be. How soon, I do not know. Not as soon as Anakin becomes a Knight, I foresee. Occupied, he will be with the war. In command, he is slated to be. Become acquainted with his position and responsibilities, he must first. Then, new — but familiar — responsibility, he will be given.”

“So, I’d still have to wait for a while? What would I do then?”

“Train, of course. Spend time with friends, you should.”

Before you lose them, he leaves unsaid.

You bend your knees, bringing your legs to your side and rocking forward into a kneeling position. You shuffle forward toward Master Yoda, then sit back on your heels when within arm’s reach. “Master, are you sure he’d even want me?”

“Want you? Want extra responsibility, only fools desire. However, a Jedi, he is. A Jedi Master, he will be. A fool, he is not. Accept you, he will, though complain about it I would expect him to. Fun, that shall be, to hear.”

“Master, that’s a bit sadistic. Or was that sarcasm?”

“Hrm. A mystery for the ages, it is. Now, a reply, I wish from you soon. Consider this more, you should, now that an answer to the question of identity has been given.”

“Yes, Master,” you say with a bow. You stand, and as you turn to leave, Master Yoda speaks one more time.

“A desire, you may have. Questions and answers, you may seek. However, the world is unkind, Xena. Seek the will of the Force instead, when confused you are. The path, it will show.”

You go.

≡][≡ ⬦⬦⬦ ≡][≡

Questions.

Questions, questions, questions.

You partially know what you want to be, but not how to get there.

You’re learning what being a Navigator entails, but only in the context of the eyes of other-you.

So, what do you do?

What do you want to do?

The war has begun and whoever, or whatever path you choose, you doubt you can avoid it. Accepting Master Corr’s or Master Lasah’s respective offers are not guarantees of safety, but do you actually want to be safe?

Master Kenobi is to be a commander, apparently. You’d be closer to the frontline of the war than if you choose either of the other two. Or, that’s what you can guess at the moment. Is this what you want?

None of these, however, have anything to do with becoming a Navigator. A healer, an investigator, a warrior. You can imagine yourself as any of these, but it’s not what you truly wish for.

But, perhaps you can make the best of it?

You sigh, leaning back against the Great Tree once again. The Force drips in rivulets along the rough bark. It flows back up and down and around in circles within the wood. “What do you think?” you ask the tree. “The will of the Force, huh? So, what does the Force say?”

No words.

The wind blows, shaking the few leaves still borne by the old, old tree. One snaps off, falling downwards, before being caught and carried away by another gust.

No feelings.

The leaf flies out towards the never-ending city, the sparks of life blazing so brightly as to be almost blinding. It’s almost… deafening.

No sound.

An updraft. The leaf crosses the threshold of Temple and open air. Wind, caught up against the side of the kilometers tall building rushes upwards, sending the leaf spinning as it flies towards the dark sky above.

You understand.

Stars. Stars. Bright specks of light, so far away. And yet, so very close. You can bring them closer still with just a bit more training — just a bit more promise.

You’ll do what you want.

Arc 3 End