Chapter Twenty-Three

Jorel woke, slowly, mouth dry, body hurting, with a sense of filth that he remembered from years ago, and had hoped to never feel again.

There wasn’t some moment as awareness returned, as memories flooded in. He knew exactly what he’d done, why he’d done it, and was well aware his Master was well within his rights to dump him on an Agri-corps world and never look back.

Force knew he’d been threatened with that enough in the Temple.

However. . . he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He knew, knew, that if he hadn’t reached for the Dark, not only would he have died, but Hisku would’ve as well. His own death. . . he was prepared for. He’d been told enough times that even dying wasn’t as bad as using the Dark, and he was prepared to do so before he reached for it again, but he was prepared for himself dying because of his mistakes, not Sergeant Hisku, who hadn’t done anything to deserve his fate.

With a groan, he sat up, to see he was in a hotel room. The same hotel room he’d only looked into once, before he and Hisku had left to go. . . exploring. Standing, he prepared for the pain of dozens of half-healed blaster wounds to scream in objection, but he felt nothing. More than that, he felt. . . good?

He still felt the taint of using the dark mirror of the Force, but he remembered it being worse. Much, much worse.

“It really does get easier,” he grumbled, almost disappointed he didn’t feel as bad as he’d feared. After what he did, he deserved to feel that sense of being stained, and thus felt almost. . . cheated.

Regardless, a sniff proved he reeked, and so it was to the fresher he went. Coming out, feeling better, though still with that thin layer of oily grime on his soul, he found a fresh set of clothes on his bed, as well as a note to tell the door guard he was ‘ready’ when he was done.

Door guard? he thought as he dressed, and closed his eyes, reaching out. Sure enough, he could feel two presences outside of his door, the slightly brighter than normal signatures in the Force he was coming to associate with his master’s men.

Sure enough, opening it up there were two soldiers, both in the light purple uniform of the Flock. “Um, the note said to tell you I’m ready?” Jorel questioned.

Nodding to him, the Human started to walk away, obviously wanting the Padawan to follow, while the other soldier, a Twi’lek, fell in behind him. It was a quiet walk, taking a lift up to the top floors, and being led back to the same room he’d met his Master in before.

Dawn was breaking through the large windows in the back of the room, which seemed to be transparisteel instead of mere glass. Er’izma worked at a desk, perpendicular to the sight, not paying the vista any mind. “Good to see you’re finally awake, Padawan,” the large man commented blandly, not looking up. The two soldiers left, leaving the pair of them alone in the room. “Have a seat, I’ll be done in a moment,” the Jedi instructed when Jorel stood awkwardly, unsure, and the padawan cautiously moved to do so.

The Knight continued to work for a long minute, before tapping in the way Jorel recognized from practice meant he was filing a report. Putting the datapad down, the dark-skinned man turned to regard his padawan, though I might not be his padawan for long, Jorel couldn’t help but think.

“Before we get started, would you like anything to drink? Caf? Water?” Er’izma inquired.

“Um, both sir, if that’s alright,” Jorel requested. Er’izma didn’t move, but a moment later a lieutenant came in from a side door, placing two waters down, one on the desk and the other on a small side table Jorel hadn’t noticed. When she returned a moment later, she dropped off the dark, bitter stimulant, still steaming.

Without a word, the woman left, leaving only the two of them, but also leaving Jorel with the knowledge that they weren’t alone. Not that that fact changed anything.

“Now, last time I asked for an explanation for your actions,” Er’izma asked, taking a sip of the scalding beverage without care. “And you informed me that ‘The Force’ told you to do it. I would appreciate a more complete explanation, Padawan.”

Jorel hesitated. “Well, it started when we were deciding where to go,” he began, the explanation of everything coming, often haltingly, over nearly an hour. “And then I passed out. I’m sorry, Master, it’d been a long day. Night. Whatever. I’m actually surprised I’m feeling as good as I am, given. . .” he cut himself off, lest he damn himself further.

“Given you used the Dark Side of the Force?” Er’izma asked, with an arched eyebrow, and Jorel had to nod in agreement. “That is because I removed the remaining energies, as best as I could.”

“Master?” Jorel asked, confused, not having heard of such a thing even being possible.

The large man sat back in his chair. “I am not as accomplished as my Master is, but it is possible to drain the bits of Force clinging to one who has fallen. It is not a pleasant experience, for either participant, but you were unconscious, which simplified things.

“But, what about you?” the Padawan had to ask, not wanting his master to be hurt just because of him.

The tip of the man’s mouth twitched upwards, the only bit of levity on his otherwise stony expression. “I have suffered far worse, in my several centuries of life. That said, do not make a habit of reaching out to that which you cannot handle.”

“Master?” Jorel repeated, thoroughly confused, but with a glimmer of hope. “I, you still want me as your Padawan?”

“Is there some reason I should not?” Er’izma asked in turn.

The Padawan looked at the much, much older man incredulously. “But. . . I used the Dark Side!”

“And?” the Knight asked, as if that wasn’t the gravest sin a Jedi could commit. “Are you planning to do so again?”

“No!” Jorel nearly shouted. “But, that doesn’t matter. I fell. You don’t come back from that! I was only allowed to stay before because I wasn’t-” he cut himself off.

“Because you weren’t a Jedi yet?” his master completed. “Why should I believe you can’t ‘come back from that?’ After all, I did.”

The young man couldn’t help but stare. “You. . . what?”

“I fell, and found my way back to the light,” Er’izma noted, as if that were normal, as if that were even possible. “Let me guess, the Masters in the Temple said that was an impossibility? That even to think such things was the first step to falling?”

Numbly, Jorel nodded.

“Countless have strayed, and returned. Some of them work humbly, like Master Beholl, Master Trayku, Master Focyol, Knight Ierus, Knight Diwuks, and Knight Holtadiz,” his Master listed off, Jorel only recognizing the second name as the other man continued, “to some of our of the orders most powerful members in history. A certain Prodigal Knight comes to mind. But the Order does not want to admit such examples exist. After all, if a Jedi falls, it is easy to tell oneself that they were never a true Jedi to begin with, and thus the concept of their redemption is impossible as how can you return to what you never truly were?”

Er’izma shook his head. “Let’s ignore the fact that, by the standard they often apply, Master Windu on the Jedi council has fallen at least once. To suggest such a thing of a member of the High Council is so obviously untrue, to do so would be tantamount to an admission that one had fallen themselves, and is working to ‘undermine’ the Jedi Order. No, Padawan Jorel, it is much easier to teach younglings that to dip a toe into the Darkness is to be forever stained by it, making the purity of being that which is a ‘true’ Jedi always closed to any who make a single mistake. It is also much easier to tell oneself that, and kill those who have lost their way, than walk the treacherous path that is to bring one lost to Darkness back to the Light.”

Jorel didn’t know what to say to that, flying as it did in the face of everything the Temple Mastr had taught him. But, then again, didn’t the Temple say we were to defer to our Jedi Masters once we were Padawans? the young man thought wryly. Doubt they expected this. Then again, Jorel knew precious little of how other Jedi acted. He thought he had, he’d read the Archives, but he’d never- no, he realized. He’d read the portions of the Archives that younglings were allowed to access. How much had been locked away, the ‘dangerous’ knowledge merely an idea that opposed what the Temple Masters had claimed was true, unassailable because those they instructed had no knowledge to counter it with.

“Then. . . what I did. It was. . . alright?” Jorel asked hesitantly. The flat look his Master gave him spoke volumes. “Ah. That’s what I thought.”

“You erred, Padawan, of that have no doubt,” Er’izma informed him. “But why did you do so?”

“Because I wasn’t strong enough,” he replied instantly, the answer obvious.

From the dark-skinned man’s unimpressed look, it apparently wasn’t. “Then should I expect you to call upon the Dark again in training, when you are not strong enough to match the goal I set you?”

“What? No!” Jorel sputtered, but realized what his Master was really asking. “No, it wasn’t because I wasn’t strong enough, it’s because. It’s because I was about to die. No. No, it was because His- Sergeant Hisku was going to die if I didn’t. That. . . am I getting to attached, Master?” he asked, suddenly unsure of himself. “The Temple said attachments were wrong. Is this what they meant?”

The Jedi Knight nodded. “That is what they meant. That does not make them correct. You fell, yet I did not find you knee deep in the corpses of those that pushed you to that point. Why?”

He turned that over in his mind. “Because of Sergeant Hisku,” the young man finally said. “We were getting away, and if I did that, and I kind of wanted to, I’d be putting her in danger.”

“So, what I hear you saying, is that your attachment to your attaché is both what led you to use the Dark Side, but what also led you back to the Light?” his Master inquired, and when he put it that way, it didn’t sound nearly as bad.

Jorel knew what his Masters at the Temple would say, that it didn’t matter if she helped him back, the fact that he called upon the Dark because of her made his caring for her life wrong. But they also said Jedi didn’t recover from falling. Once more, he wondered what else they were wrong about.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Speaking of Hisku, though.

The padawan looked up, to ask about her, but he already knew, somehow, she was alright. She was. . . above him?

Looking up even higher, he could feel the Dove in geosynchronous orbit over the city, the crew a second, smaller sun, but one present only in the Force, and one made up of several thousand lesser fires. Of those flames, he could easily pick out Hisku, though not enough to know what she was doing, only that she was. . . alright.

“Master. Why didn’t you tell me Sergeant Hisku was Force Sensitive?” Jorel asked instead.

“She is?” the old man asked, mock surprised, but his faux shock so blatantly fake it was almost insulting. The Padawan gave his Master a flat look, returning the one from earlier. “Force Sensitives exist, Padawan,” the Knight offered. “Is it really so surprising that you would run into one?”

“She was strong enough to pick me up and throw me,” Jorel argued. “I think she broke my ribs. And I didn’t ‘run into’ her, she was assigned to me. You knew.” A thought occurred to him. “Is that. Is that why you have me teaching her? You, she’s too old to be a Jedi, Master!”

Rather than argue, or deny the accusations levelled against him, Er’izma just nodded. “She will never be a Jedi,” he agreed. “But she will be able to learn some of our ways.”

“She doesn’t want to learn,” the padawan disagreed. “Said it was cheating.”

“She told you that much? Hmmm,” the Knight noted, pleased. “Tell me, what do you know of Chiss society?”

Jorel stared at the other man, feeling a headache coming on. “I didn’t even know what the Chiss were until yesterday! Two days ago! This week!”

“You didn’t ask?” Er’izma questioned, surprised.

Giving his master an annoyed look Jorel shot back, “I didn’t want to be rude! She didn’t like me that much without me prying!”

“Doesn’t. . .” the older Jedi echoed. “Young man, she was. . . no. No you’ll find out later,” he stated, unhelpfully. “To put it simply, the Chiss Ascendency is a hard-line meritocracy. On the surface it is an Oligarchic Autocracy, but adoptions happen so often they do not mean what you would think.” The Jedi paused, “or what you would think if you grew up outside of the Temple. Position is determined by skill and ability, the difference in inborn traits slight enough to render them inconsequential, given the Chiss’ quick maturation and logical nature. With that in mind, how do you think such a culture would take those who have the overwhelming advantage that Force Sensitivity can impart?”

“They’d think it was cheating,” Jorel replied, the answer obvious. “But, the universe isn’t fair. Some species are faster, stronger, more perceptive.”

Er’izma nodded. “Among the greater galaxy, yes, but in the Chiss Ascendancy there is only the Chiss. Not in that way, Padawan,” he chided, as Jorel wondered if they killed outsiders, “Only that Chiss make up over ninety-nine percent of the population of their systems, and those who are not tend to gather together. Located, in the Outer Rim as they are, like the Hapes Consortium, they are mostly left alone.”

The Padawan remembered the Hapes Consortium from his lessons at the Temple. A collection of over a hundred systems in the Inner Rim, they closed their borders a thousand years before the New Sith Wars, itself nearly two thousand years in the past. Some still left that area of space, or entered, but they were few in numbers, and only a small handful of Jedi were permitted to work in their territory. If this Chiss Ascendency was in the Outer Rim, long past the edge of what was considered civilized space, it was no wonder he’d never heard of them.

“Then, how do I convince her using the Force isn’t ‘cheating’?” Jorel asked, at a loss for what to do next.

“Isn’t it cheating, though, from a certain point of view?” his Master asked in turn.

“Well, yes,” the Padawan admitted. “But why does that matter?” The other man was silent. “Okay, it does, but why?”

“Isn’t using the Dark Side of the Force cheating, from a certain point of view?” Er’izma questioned.

Jorel reeled back. “Using the Force, and using the Dark Side, are two completely different things!”

Instead of arguing, the Knight nodded. “They are. Why?”

“They just are!” the young man insisted, but paused at his master’s unamused look. “Okay, okay. Using the Force. It’s natural. No, no, evil things are sometimes natural too,” he quickly stated, before Er’izma could do more anything more than open his mouth to object.

Turning over the problem, he proposed. “Using the Force, it’s. . . helpful. Yes, you can do more than others, but it’s not a competition. You aren’t trying to beat others, you’re trying to help them. Well, unless they’re criminals, then you’re trying to beat them to help others,” Jorel joked, getting a dry look from his master that clearly said ‘yes, yes, you’re very funny, get to the point’.

“Even when I was sparring with Anaïs,” the padawan started to say, and paused, wondering how his only friend was. He might’ve included Hisku in that category, but he’d already accidentally set that relationship on fire, only he was now tasked with rebuilding it. “When I was sparring with her, I didn’t want to beat her. I mean, I did, but I also didn’t. I wanted to get better, but I also wanted her to get better. That and I, um, enjoyed spending time with her,” he admitted, expecting a recrimination from his Master that never came. Right, he reminded himself, attachments aren’t evil. Still getting used to that one.

“How, um, fiercely do they compete, the Chiss?” the Padawan asked.

With a sense of approval at his student for asking the right question, Er’izma revealed, “Fiercely. The only reason that assassinations and the like are not commonplace are that it would both weaken the Ascendency, and reveal weakness in those who use them, as one who does is obviously not able to succeed on their own merits. Such cultural beliefs are why they take a dim view on most outsiders, be they statesman, salesman, smuggler or soldier. In a way, they might deal well with the Jedi, if our very existence wasn’t anathema to their ‘fair society’.”

“But, there are Chiss on your ship, Master,” Jorel felt inclined to point out. “A lot of them.”

“The Chiss are also fond of exile as a punishment for those who disagree with their ways,” the Knight stated. “For what could be a worse punishment than being expelled from paradise, one made by their own hand?”

That made a certain kind of sense. Sergeant Zisk and Sergeant Major Gars both weren’t nearly as serious as Hisku. But, in a way, they were both prideful of their abilities in their field, not their just their rank or species. “Sergeant Hisku doesn’t disagree with that way of thinking, though. So why is she here?” Er’izma didn’t respond, forcing Jorel to re-examine what he knew.

“She didn’t have a choice, did she?” he asked, knowing the answer. “If having the Force is cheating. . . with how strong she is, she could’ve been a Jedi. she couldn’t not use the Force. It’d come out eventually.” When she felt a strong enough emotion. Did that mean she cared about him? Or was it just her not wanting to fail, and being angry at him for almost dying on her? “What were her options? Exile or. . .”

“Death,” Er’izma replied. simply “Those who cannot abide by the Ascendency’s rules have no place within its borders. I believe you can understand why she might not be the most accepting of her position. Why she might not turn her back on the way she was raised, despite it turning its back on her.”

Jorel did, in a way. Technically, he could have chosen not to go to an Agri-world, if he wasn’t chosen as a padawan. He could’ve walked out of the Jedi Order, exiling himself, but he hadn’t. If the choice was exile or death? He wouldn’t’ve been happy about it, probably even years later. But he also would still have tried to be a Jedi, even if he wasn’t allowed to call himself one.

“What you’re saying,” the younger man said slowly, “is that, while the Ascendancy forced her to leave, they couldn’t force her to stop being Chiss? Then how am I supposed to teach her she’s wrong?”

“Is she?” Er’izma asked, completely unhelpfully. “Whatever you choose to do, you have several years, Padawan. There is no need to rush things now. No, there is one other matter that needs to be addressed.”

And this is it. My punishment, Jorel thought. Given what his Master had said, he wasn’t going to reject him as a Padawan, but the older man also hadn’t said he wasn’t going to punish his student for what he’d done.

“What do you wish to do about those that had captured you?”

. . . or not? “What do you mean, Master?” Jorel asked, confused.

“With the information you brought us, you have left us with three options,” Er’izma laid out. “The first is the easiest. The common option, the one the Temple would suggest. We do nothing. We turn over the information to the local authorities, not having been invited here to help, and thus having no obligation to do so. The locals will make a few arrests, put pressure on the criminal organizations that acted freely, but the rot runs deep in this system, padawan. Deeper than it had the last time we were here, a few years ago. It will make things better in the short term, but nothing will change. However, there will also be no further risk to us and ours. In fact, as long as the gang remains, they will know better to harass us when we come here again.”

The padawan could see the logic of it, but he didn’t like it. “The second option?”

“We go to war,” the General stated blandly. “We treat this as the Jedi of old would, and we fight the issue head on. The local government has fallen. While they may make a show of what they do, the leaders will go unmolested, and those high enough in positions of power will arrange for others to take the fall instead. Aids and secretaries, well paid to accept responsibility, leaving the corrupt free to continue. We have the force to stop that. It will take a month, possibly two, but we will pacify this system. Then another two months to set up another government that can function on its own. We will lose people, however. Pacification is a messy ordeal, and our troops, while trained, are a strike force, not a guard. However, the work we do will last for years, decades, or maybe even a century before the rot starts to set in once more.”

As a Jedi, the bringers of order, the answer was clear. While costly, it was better to clean out Darkness then leave it to fester. That was what the Temple taught, though the fact that Er’izma said the first option was what the Temple would approve of, it concerned him. “You’re really giving me this choice?” Jorel asked, incredulous. Completely serious, his master nodded. “Are there other options?”

“There is one. My master’s preferred method,” the Knight nodded. “We continue as we meant to before your. . . adventure, with one change. When we leave, we eliminate a few key figures, the lynchpins upon which the rotten structure rests. There will be chaos, and death, but it will give those here a chance. If they are strong enough, they will rise to the challenge. If they are not, another corrupted system will take its place. We won’t be able to return for several years, and even then, our reception might be less than pleasant. However, the risk to us will be minimal, and will allow us to continue.”

“Which do you suggest?” the padawan asked, unsure. None of the options were good, but they were all bad for different reasons. The other man just stared at him. “If we go through option three. The lynchpins you’d remove. Those wouldn’t be innocent people, would they.”

“They might consider themselves innocent,” Er’izma noted. “But they are, only in that they have not done anything wrong, merely refused to act when their position, the very oaths they took, demanded they stop evil from acting itself. They honestly do not see the corruption, because they refuse to look, which they would only do if they knew what they would find.”

“Which option would the Chiss choose?” Jorel questioned, trying to get a better handle on the social structures he only just learned about.

His master raised an eyebrow. “All three. The Ascendency would choose the first, as this system is not their territory. The Chiss people would press for option two, as they cannot abide such weak and dishonorable practices. The Exiled Chiss would likely choose option three, having learned how much option two costs, or would do nothing at all, not caring about what pathetic scum does to each other, believing if they wanted things to be better, they should do it themselves instead of relying on others.”

That. . . didn’t help. However, the Knight likely knew that, which is why he’d answered. If this was his first week away from the Temple, Jorel would’ve chosen option two. If he was Anaïs, he’d pick option one, his friend always deferring to the wisdom of the Temple’s teachers. As for him, he knew his choice. “Option three. If the system is that bad, it needs to collapse. If another Jedi wants to help them build back up, they can, but I’m sick of Delle, and I’ve only just got here.”

Er’izma nodded, and looked to the back of the room. Suddenly, something shifted, the light bending as six figures stepped forward, the refractions outlining their forms showing them to be humanoid. Their presence in the Force, like the Cathar, had been so low that Jorel hadn’t even realized they were there.

There was a ripple in the Force, and the warped light faded, showing the squadron clearly. Three men and three women, they removed their helmets. One of the men and two of the women were Chiss, and the others were human. No, one of the men was Miralukan, blind but able to see through the Force, the slightest pressure coming from him distinctive.

“Geist Squadron, you have your targets,” Er’izma ordered, tossing the Chiss man a datastick. “We leave in three days. Meet us at the edge of the system in four.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier nodded, his voice sliding on the edge of Jorel’s perception, forcing him to pay attention, lest his mind ignore the armed men right in front of him. The Chiss noted Jorel’s struggle, and nodded at the Padawan. “See you around, newbie.”

Putting his helmet back on, the leader tapped something on his belt, and the light bent around him once more, the others following suit. The Force rippled, in a way reminiscent of Jorel’s own veil, but now that he knew they were there, he was able to concentrate, the subtle push against his mind sliding off, and he tracked them as they walked to the door. One of the two Chiss women, seeing him watching turned and gave him a cheery wave before they walked out.

Turning back to his Master, he had to ask, “How many Force Sensitive Chiss are in the Flock, sir.”

Er’izma just smiled. “A few. Now, you’ll be returning back to the Dove on the next shuttle. I shudder to think of what you’d get up to if I allowed you another day for the Force to direct your actions, especially without young Hisku’biatha’pusi to reign you in.”

Jorel couldn’t really argue with that.