Book 2 Chapter 32

Watching what happened in the aftermath of their attack on the prison was an. . . education, Jorel had to admit. Dilvax Lonlen, leader of the Rebellion, worked fast, spinning a story about the ‘Bioweapon facility’ masquerading as a prison, that only bore a passing resemblance to the truth. The man had been informed, by Hisku and Jorel both, about what they’d seen and what had happened, but the singular floor, deep underground, had turned into a building-spanning facility, with Bith scientists that were conducting experiments on behalf of Core world interests. From there, that got spun into a narrative of how the congressional government of Pengalan had, as they always did, double dipped, selling out the very people they were supposed to protect while getting rid of political prisoners in the process.

And, despite Jorel knowing this entire narrative was spun out of a reality which looked nothing like that, the Jedi caught barely a whisper of such a thing in the Force when the man talked, first to the people in the head Rebellion cell that the Padawan was stationed in, then to others. And, with the facility publicly destroyed by what everyone saw as a Congressional battleship, there was no evidence to disprove his words.

Jorel was reminded of the pirate lord he’d, foolishly, talked to on his own, and of the lesson that he’d learned in doing so, something his Master had confirmed, and this only drove home. The Force, despite what the Masters at the Temple had stated, did not show when someone ‘spoke falsely’, only their agitation in doing so. There was no quality of ‘falsehood’ or ‘truth’ that the Force detected, it reacted to someone’s emotions, and maybe their intentions. Lonlen, despite lying like a Hutt, was either not bothered by it, or had convinced himself that doing so was a good thing, and, thus, created almost no disturbances when he talked.

Or, at least, none that would denote lying.

When he talked about taking the fight to the Congs, about making them hurt for what they were doing to the people of Pengalan, his Presence, faint thought it was, became Dark in a way Jorel was familiar with. It was nothing on the Dark Adept the Padawan had killed, of course, that madman had reveled in the pain and suffering he caused, but it made for an interesting contrast, and one that reminded Jorel of another piece of Er’izma’s advice.

That the Force was to be listened to, but not obeyed.

That it was a valuable advisor, but one that could be wrong, usually at the worst moments.

And that was why he and Hisku were here, gathering information, instead of just ‘trusting the Force’, and had been for weeks. Jorel had the feeling he had a good idea of what call to make, and that the Rebellion, despite Syko trying to leave them for dead, were in the right.

There was also the issue of the attention that he and his attaché had started gaining, not helped by the fact that Syko, while she hadn’t fired a shot, had taken a few more holos of what they’d seen, images that had been spread all around. Two, in particular, had shown Hisku and him when they’d come to the rescue of the rest, one of them both running, guns blazing, past several dead sith-alchemy created hounds, and another as they’d caught one of the creature’s claws with their vibroblades.

The Padawan was glad they were stills, so no one could realize that the pair had been moving far faster than a human, or a Chiss, should, but those, combined with Syko’s and Loran’s testimonies, had made the two heroes to the rest, which combined with their performance when the shuttle had first landed, ignored by some but noticed by the more veteran fighters, had cemented the common consensus that he and Hisku were both commandos that’d gone AWOL, for love, and were supporting the Rebellion for sentimental reasons.

Also it was agreed upon that they were both actually in their late twenties, possibly early thirties, but had both gone through surgery to change their appearances, and only looked like they were kids, something that Jorel hadn’t been to happy to with, as he was an adult! He was seventeen, for Force’s sake! That counted!

Thankfully, they’d had time between missions, which they had both needed, Hisku far more than him. Able to rest, entering a healing trance and using the Force to repair his own internal wounds without appearing to use the Force, he’d been up and about the next day, talking with the others even as he actively recovered.

Hisku, meanwhile, was a mess, and one that he empathized with.

Thankfully, she was able to move and take care of herself, but every motion brought a wince, despite her best attempts to seem stoic, and he knew that the bone deep ache of the Dark’s empowerment run rampant were unlike any one would feel from training, like your joints were full of barely-covered needles, a constant threat of stabbing pain, with hints of deeper agony, that whispered if you just used a bit more, you’d be fine.

Until you stopped, of course.

Then it’d be worse.

Thankfully, his partner didn’t know how to use the Force that way consciously, and was no longer in a Dark Nexus that’d do the heavy lifting ‘for’ her, so that wasn’t a danger. Also, because it was a Force-created injury, she let him heal her every day, the stubborn girl accepting it without complaint, and in doing so forced to see and accept just how much help the Force could be. Force Healing wasn’t Jorel’s best power, but he was certainly getting practice, and the Dark created injuries seemed to. . . fight him, for lack of a better term. Normal healing was surprisingly straightforward, once you ignored what the Temple said about it and leaned into your emotions, wanting to help and caring for the person you were healing.

Separate from that, though, healing the girl’s somewhat self-inflicted injuries were like trying to clean glue from hair, in that if Jorel pushed too hard, he started to cause Hisku some pain, ripping the Dark out, like he had done to them both when they were mired down by it in the Adept’s sanctum, but too little ‘pressure’ and the foul energies would hold fast, resisting his attempts. Compared to when he’d had to clean himself, as a child, it was in many ways far easier to help her, but he couldn’t dwell on the thought that, if someone had helped him, it wouldn’t’ve been nearly as bad. He did his best not to dwell on those countless nights spent twisting in pain, knowing relief was a single thought away, but it was a poisoned cure, as the ‘Masters’ waited to see if he was beyond ‘saving’ and would need to be dealt with, for his own good, of course, as that’d destabilize his own healing attempts, so he did his best to push it from his mind.

After a few days, Hisku was able to move without pain, though reaching for the Force caused the damage done to her soul to flare up, which also helped the Chiss realize just how much she used the Force, in ways that she’d done her level best to try and ignore. It actually ended up being a help in her training to use the true Force, ironically, as the first step every new Initiate had to struggle with was already taken care of.

Every being could feel the Force, to some degree, but for most it was so subtle that it was impossible to know when you were. Because of that, new Initiates had to meditate, trying to feel their connection to that omnipresent energy, like a limb they never knew they possessed. With her Dark poisoning, it was easy for her to know that ‘arm’ was there, as it’d been broken, and was now fractured, healing, but still tender and telling her exactly how it felt to reach for the Force, even if the feedback was unfortunately negative.

“I think I’ve got this, Padawan Jorel,” she stated, sitting on their bed, meditating. “Must we continue?”

“We don’t’ have to,” he admitted, “but it’ll help.”

The blue-skinned woman grimaced. “Isn’t it. . . diverting forces for training instead of fighting?” she questioned, using their ‘the Dark is like an invading force’ analogy from before.

“More like giving your troops better weapons and intel,” he disagreed. “The metaphor isn’t the best, but by. . . circulating the Force through yourself, I guess, it helps clean things out. Replacing the bad with the good, kind of,” the Padawan shrugged. “Or, uh, like making sure you put pressure on a broken bone so it heals correctly? Do Chiss work like that?”

“We do,” she sighed, and he could feel her Presence stir slightly, feeling stained and injured, but slowly improving as she once more started to use the very basics of Force Control to improve her body. He’d tried to teach her healing right off the bat, but that needed emotions, and when she’d tried, she’d somehow started to pull something from him instead, which had not been fun. The Jedi supposed it might help her, if he healed himself and she. . . leeched his life from him, but there had been something angry about it, feeling greedy and almost. . . entitled?

He'd had to reach out through the slight connection they shared and make her stop, metaphorically slapping her in the Force, but, after she’d snapped out of it, she’d seem shaken, admitting that she’d lost control herself. It turned out that there was a lot of difference between not allowing your emotions to control you, and merely not allowing them to show. Realizing his attaché, for all her professional demeanor, did not have a Jedi’s level of emotional control, had made him stop trying to skip steps and start with the basics, then work his way up instead.

“But why does it hurt so much?” she whined a little, another aspect of her Dark poisoning, which ruined what control she had had, and made it doubly hard for her to rein in her reactions. It was another reason he’d been out and about while she’d kept to their quarters, her disdain for Syko clear when they’d crossed paths again, Jorel talking over his partner before she’d taken the woman to task, and exposed the fact that they’d lied about what had happened under the prison. “You said there were Dark side users? The Sith? How could they do anything if they spent weeks recovering?”

“That’s. . . a good question,” the Padawan admitted. “There were Sith Empires, Sith Wars, talked about in the Temple Archives, but ‘how to use the Dark Side’ lessons weren’t in there. Or, at least, not available to Initiates or Padawans.” Jorel had learned the basics of Slicing, lessons on every practical skill available for prospective Jedi to learn. He’d skirted the rules enough giving himself ‘Padawan’ access, but, with Kight-grade Slicers in the Order, trying for more would’ve been stupid, and he didn’t need the Force to warn him not to try.

Not that he’d really understood how to listen to the Force that way before he’d started his apprenticeship under Knight Er’izma.

“But there has to be a way,” Hisku argued, a little mulishly.

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Leaning back, considering the issue, Jorel finally stated, “Control.” As his attaché gave him a confused, questioning look, he explained his thoughts. “Some of the records talked about Sith having to walk a ‘blade’s edge’, but they never explained what that meant. The Dark, it makes you want to go all in, lose control, and gives you power when you do, but you don’t need to lose control to use it,” he stated slowly. “Maybe if you used the Dark, just a little, it wouldn’t hurt as much? Or. . .” he shook his head. “I, I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter.”

The chiss frowned, red eyes squinting, “But if I used a little-”

“No,” the Padawan disagreed.

“But you said it’s like a drug,” she argued. “If I use less I can wean-”

“No,” he repeated, with the Force in his voice. As much as he’d hated the Temple Masters at the time, as much as he was coming to realize they didn’t have to do what they did, despite what they’d said, this was something that he knew wouldn’t work. “I said it’s like a combat stim, but it’s not the same. It’s always there, and the more you use it, the more you want to use it. Trust me, Hisku. The Dark is not something you can truly control, like that. And if you could. . . you wouldn’t be using it the way that Jedi use the Force, the way I can teach you, the way Er’izma could teach you. There’s some way to use it. There has to be for the Sith to have been a thing that existed, before us Jedi killed them all because they were a threat to the entire galaxy, but it’s not something I want to learn.”

Now fully frowning, the Chiss stated, “But if you learned how, you could use it safely! You used it before, why can’t we-”

“SHUT. UP,” he growled, something Dark sliding through his voice, and Hisku’s hands went to her throat as she started to gag, eyes widening.

Realizing what he was doing, the Jedi released his hold on the Force, which had turned into a grip, and she coughed, gasping.

“Kriffing hell,” he swore, anger at himself starting to pull the Dark in its own way, before he stilled his emotions, and let them go. “Damnit. Sorry Hisku,” he apologized, holding up a hand, glowing blue with healing, and while she flinched away from him, Jorel held still, until she mastered her own reactions, and accepted the offered limb.

Wishing for her to be healed, the intrusive thought of because of what you did weakened his use of the technique, until he agreed, yes, because of me, but moved past it, and only then the healing flowed freely. It would’ve been better if he could touch her throat, which had darkened slightly with minor bruising, but he knew better than to ask. “This is why I can’t,” he stated slowly. “Because, even now, some part of me wants to use it, and if I could find a way to excuse it? Find some way that I thought was ‘safe’? The Dark isn’t safe, Hisku. It can’t be, because it’s evil at its core.”

Shaking his head at the very thought, he told her, “To think you can control it is. . . is arrogant. And one thing the records all agree on about the Sith? They were arrogant, Hisku. Every. Single. One. Maybe you have to be, to be Sith, maybe being Sith made them arrogant, but the records say, individually, they were stronger than the average Jedi, and there were more of them, but they spent as much time fighting each other as they did the Jedi and the Republic, because the Dark drove them insane.”

Finally meeting her eyes, part of him feared he’d see derision, or anger, or even fear of him, but she was just staring at him. Frowning, yes, but he got the sense it wasn’t at him, but because of him, though he didn’t know why. “And everything you’re dealing with? I am too,” he admitted. “I didn’t, as Er’izma might say, ‘drink of it’ as deeply as you did, this time, but, as a Force user, I can take in a lot more a lot faster than you can. I’ve just. . . got more experience dealing with it. But I’m not exactly operating at one hundred percent here either.”

He let the tiredness he was feeling show in his voice, that spike of Dark enough to tear off metaphorical scabs before they’d finished healing, leaving him feeling raw, and her hand tightened on his for a moment, the girl carefully weighing her words, finally asking, “Then. Why?”

“Why what?” he questioned, not understanding.

Annoyance flashed across her features, before she took a breath and asked, “Then why use it?”

“Didn’t have much of a choice,” he grimaced. “Never been in a Dark Nexus before, but. . . they eat Jedi, Hisku. According to the records, places like that make any unprepared Force user fall, twisting them about. There were a few records of them existing in the Archives, but never any locations, and for good reason. They were training grounds for the Sith, and would either drive them insane. Insane-er,” he corrected, “or they’d learn to use it. Somehow. It’s why the Jedi couldn’t just attack their planets, their training grounds, like they did ours, because we’d take casualties just from being there. By the Force, Hisku, we were down in there for, what, an hour? And it twisted you all about, while I was barely holding on. If I was better, I could handle it better, but I’m-”

“No. Not there,” she cut him off, and he felt an outsized surge of anger from that, which he let pass. “On Delle. When we were escaping. You used the Dark Side.”

“. . . Yeah. Yeah I did,” he admitted, not his proudest moment, though, oddly, not one he regretted. “It sucked, but, well, worth it.”

Pulling her hand away from his, he cut off the healing, feeling a little woozy, but half-falling into a meditative trance himself let him work on shoring up his own reserves as his attaché practically glared at him, but, as he’d found the last few days, it was easier to read her, and she wasn’t really as angry as she looked, as the chiss demanded, “But it wasn’t the first time you used it. You knew you’d be, be like this. So. . . why?”

“Because you’d die otherwise. And you were only there because of me,” he replied, laughing darkly. “I though Er’izma was going to exile me over it. Or kill me for Falling.” Despite himself, he smiled, “Still worth it. You’re worth it,” he added, reaching over and putting a hand on her shoulder, not really meaning to, but enjoying the look on her face.

At her shocked expression, he reminded himself that the Dark eroded all emotional control, not just the angry, destructive ones. “Sorry,” he apologized quickly, pulling his hand back. “That was out of line.”

“It was,” she replied, a little primly, and the Padawan felt an odd dropping sensation in his stomach he wasn’t sure about, one that stopped as she looked away and added. “But I will allow it, Padawan Jorel. This time.”

Looking at her, as she was looking anywhere but at him, he couldn’t help but notice the way her lips twitched upwards in a suppressed smile, and started to smile himself when a pounding on their door made them both jump.

“Meeting in fifteen!” one of the Rebellion fighters called. “So wrap it up, lovebirds!”

Actually angry this time, Hisku started to snarl back, but the Padawan beat her to it, dropping his muffling sound bubble, and calling back, “Uh, sure. Fifteen? That’s enough time to use the Fresher!”

The woman on the side laughed, replying, “You two do that!” and, reaching out, the Jedi could feel her slight Presence leave.

“I know you don’t like it, but them thinking we’re, well, screwing around gave us enough time for you to heal. And also explained why you seemed. . . sore,” the Jedi reminded her, something she wasn’t happy about when some of the other Rebellion members had insinuated such things. “And the alternative would be having to hang around Syko.”

“. . . Fine,” his attaché agreed, clearly unhappy, but accepting it as she stood. “I needed a shower anyways. I never thought sitting down and training in the Force would make you sweat so much.”

“It’s physically demanding,” he shrugged, smiling. “There’s a reason there’s no fat Jedi.”

She paused, considered that, and mused, “Huh. I wonder if that means the General will let me skip P.T.?”

“What’s P.T.?” he questioned, able to tell it was a short acronym, but that was it.

Glancing his way, all she replied with was, “Probably, then,” and walked away.

Gathering in what was originally a ballroom, but had been converted to an ad-hoc auditorium, the pair arrived just under fifteen minutes later. Which, given this was not a military organization, despite what they pretended, meant they were there a good twenty minutes before they needed to be. Their punctuality at least helped sell their ex-military story, which for Hisku was even true, except for the ‘ex’ part.

They both tried to grab chairs in the back, but, unfortunately, Syko spotted them, and half-suggested half-ordered them to sit up near the front, with the other ‘important’ people. Jorel made sure to put himself between his attaché and the obnoxious, almost obsequious woman, whose Presence in the Force was so faint it was hard to get a read on her.

Looking to his partner, she was frowning at the others, but then she always had treated the Rebellion leader cell with cold distain, after how they were ‘greeted’, so this wasn’t unusual. He had a feeling that only he could tell the slight deepening of her displeasure as she instinctually reached out to the Force, to check her surroundings in a way that, according to her, had been trained into her in her Basic training, only to once again feel the discomfort of her Dark poisoning, and be reminded that she had been using the Force, despite her prior beliefs. For a woman who viewed using that omnipresent energy as ‘Cheating’, the constant reminders that she had been using it anyways, even if at low levels, was doing nothing for her mood.

“Do you know what this is about?” he finally asked the woman beside him, motioning all around them.

“You don’t?” Syko questioned, frowning.

With just a bit of Force, he told her, “We were recovering. Tell me,” the woman having no protection against his Mind Trick, and the feelings of her consciousness familiar now, and easier to manipulate.

“Oh, yeah, you were recovering. I’ll tell you,” she replied. “The holos we took? They’ve been making waves. A lot of waves. People aren’t happy, and Dilvax says when the people aren’t happy, they’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” he asked, but before she could reply, the chatter went silent and the Rebellion leader walked in from a side-door. It was something that Jorel had noted, as when Stelog Waleye, the leader of his previous Cell had walked in, people had still joked and talked, quieting when he started, but here they went silent as soon as Dilvax Lonlen walked through the door.

Striding up to the podium, which sat on a raised dais, the blond man looked over the crowd for a long moment, before he started his speech, expression stern, and serious, only his Presence in the Force giving away his enjoyment of what he was doing.

“Tyranny. That is what we are fighting. Nothing but absolute evil. I will admit even I had not understood the true depths of their evil, the proof of which we lost good people to collect, which the Congs tried to destroy as soon as they realized we might have found it, and we had, thanks to the efforts of some of our best,” he stated, allowing a shadow of a smile to pass over his features as he nodded to Hisku, Jorel, and Syko. Loren, the Duros, meanwhile, was seated in the back, which was populated mostly humanoid, but not near-human, species, the humans themselves all near the front.

“Because of their actions, and in your actions in helping to spread word of the Cong’s evils, our cause has never been stronger! I’m sure you know, here on the mainland, it has been harder to get people to understand the corruption of the government. You are the few who have seen past the lies, have not been bought off by the government’s undue taxation of the outer provinces to give to themselves, and spreading crumbs to us mainlanders to try and keep us happy. As I have said, others could be brought to our cause with time. We had been progressing, but with what we have now even the willfully blind have found themselves hard-pressed to maintain their illusions. That’s not to say the time has come, regretfully,” he added, bowing his head slightly. “We have not yet the strength to strike directly, nor the support of those in the capital, but towns across the mainland have been showing their support, in ways large and small. But one in particular, Mondir, is ready to declare for us openly.”

There were gasps, and a few quiet cheers, Jorel wanting to ask what was so important about this ‘Mondir’, but everyone quieted too quickly, and, on a screen behind Lonlen, a map was shown. “I could hardly believe it as well,” he admitted, “but the central command of the southern quarter’s Military, soldier and civilian alike, all seeing the truth? We’ve heard stories of General Telane, and how he has put to death anyone who he even thinks could be working for us. But suppressing the truth does not destroy it, it merely forces it to hide, until the time is right. And in this, the time is right. Too much has happened, too much has come to light, and is time for us to start taking the mainland, just as we have taken several of the other continents. The only question is, are you with me?”

As the room exploded into cheers, Jorel felt that maybe he should’ve taken the Geist soldier’s offer to head back to the Dove.

However, feeling out in the Force, for guidance, it was completely silent.