Chapter Twenty-Five
Returning to the Dove, Jorel had mixed feelings. One component of the twisting mass of emotions in his chest was relief, at being away from a place where people might attack you just for trying to help others, one component was trepidation, at how Sergeant Hisku would react given how she took his discovery of her Force sensitivity, and one component was confusion, as he was coming to realize just how little he knew about his master, and the ship he’d spent over a month on already.
The shuttle that took him up, loaded with crewman coming off leave, had quieted when he’d gotten on-board. From the familiar looks, what he’d done had spread around, but thankfully no one talked to him about it, just watching. He’d like to know what people were saying about him, but he was also thankful he could just close his eyes, lean back into his seat, and try to center himself in the Force.
I’m meditating without being told to. Anaïs would never let me live this down, he thought, bringing the hint of a smile to his face, which helped. Extending his senses inwards, he could tell he was still tainted. However it was a fraction of what it should’ve been, given what he’d done. Yet another talent that his Master had pulled out of nowhere. Another thing that the Temple had said was impossible.
Only, they didn’t really outright say it, did they? he thought darkly, remembering sleepless nights as the Dark called to him, and he tried to ignore its many, many offers. No, the Temple Masters implied a great deal, but they very rarely outright said something wasn’t possible. In a way, it gave a bit more weight to the outright declarations they had made, like his never truly coming back if he Fell. Only, those pronouncements weren’t as unimpeachably true as he’d once thought.
He’d fallen to the Dark again, to save another, again, and come out, again, but he did not want to do so a third time, even as he knew he might. In a way, he could almost see the Temple’s position, as a fear of Falling, if that meant a fate worse than death, might stop others from believing that they were the special ones, the ones who could tip a toe into evil and be fine for it, when in reality it stained your very soul, if only for a while.
But Jorel had long since learned he wasn’t special. A lesson the Temple Masters had ground into him, over and over again.
But, thinking about that didn’t help, and the same fear, ironically, made Falling that much easier, that anxiety opening the door for. . . worse things. Turning his gaze outwards instead of inward, he could feel the other members of the Judiciary Legion, Er’izma’s Flock. They stood out in the Force, more. . . real than most people, and Jorel didn’t know enough to know what that meant. Looking even further out, he could feel his master, the Knight doing something that involved negotiations, but seeming to notice his Padawan’s ephemeral gaze, and almost nodding back in the Force to his student before continuing his task.
In the other direction, was Hisku. Standing, waiting, Jorel could practically feel her annoyance, her anger, but also her. . . fear? What did she have to be worried about? he wondered, as the shuttle left atmosphere, streaking up towards the Dove, waiting in geosynchronous orbit, weapons at rest, but able to rain death and destruction the second they chose to.
Whoever was piloting the Shuttle was good, very good, lifting and spinning the craft smoothly, so the shift of the transport’s artificial gravity to the capital ship’s generator was only noticeable because he knew the exact moment it happened, senses heightened with the Force and able to use his attaché as a positional reference.
With the doors swinging open, the soldiers filed out, while the padawan waited, following them and smiling to a hard-faced Sergeant Hisku. “Hey, long time, no see!”
“Padawan Drettz,” she nodded, not even using his first name. “Please follow me. General Er’izma has decided that, given your proclivities towards stumbling into live-fire situations, you are to be fitted for armor.”
“Um, okay?” he replied, not having expected that, trailing after her as she turned and started to stride away with stiff, regular steps. If anything, the negative emotions he was feeling from her deepened, and he frowned, trying to figure out why. “By the way, thanks for saving my life,” he offered, a bit lamely.
Her stride faltered, before she sped up, leaving the hanger, and only muttering firmly in the empty hallway, “I said I did not wish to discuss that, Padawan Drettz.”
“I’m not just talking about you using the Force,” he disagreed, honestly, and she turned to look at him, face still kept in check, but eyes searching. “I mean all of it. Without you there, I couldn’t’ve saved as many people from that building. Or made it as far as I did. Or gotten away,” he finished quietly.
His words, which he meant as comforting, to show that the skills that she was proud of were valuable as well, only served to send her emotions into a confusing, riotous mess. “I. You. I spent most of my time following you around like a lost Tilk hound! I’d hardly say I was useful in our, your . . . excursion!” she admitted, the particular flavor of anger that indicated self-loathing prominent. Jorel, having felt it enough himself, recognized it easily, and as such knew that telling her that she was wrong would just be dismissed out of hand.
Instead, the jedi merely shrugged. “If you think so, I might be wrong. That’s just how I feel. So, thanks.”
“I. . . let’s just get you in armor,” she sighed, turning and starting to walk again. Knowing he was pushing things, he stayed silent, as doubt spread across the woman’s mind. Normally, doubt was a bad thing, always was a bad thing according to the Temple Masters, but when someone was convinced of something that wasn’t true, like Hisku’s belief that she wasn’t half the reason they’d both survived, a little doubt could be exactly what someone needed.
They were shown to the armorer, an older Chiss woman, who had him strip down to his underclothes and took his measurements, making him stand in all manner of poses as a droid recorded what he was doing. Finally, positioned with his legs so wide he was practically doing a split, he inquired why this was needed, never having to do this with his clothing for the Temple, or even his uniform for the ship.
The Lieutenant just smiled, “Took you long enough. I almost thought you’d never ask. Armor needs to move with you. Your clothing does, a little, but with plastoid plates the tolerances are measured in centimeters. Now, up on one leg, and kick out with the other, while holding your hands above your head please.”
After a couple hours, where Sergeant Hisku watched, at first with frosty indifference, then, as the poses became more and more ridiculous, concealed amusement, they were finally done. “I think that should be everything,” the armorer stated, putting the measuring tape of to the side, as Jorel, doing a one-armed handstand, pushed himself off with just a touch of the Force, landing on his feet with a long sigh.
“How long until it’s ready?” he asked, getting a single arched eyebrow over deep red eyes. “No rush, but, well, with how much work that’s going into this, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good recovery,” the older woman noted blandly, turning her back on him to head towards a desk in the corner. “It’ll be a week, maybe a little more. The base construction for it is the same as ours, but the General is very particular about several aspects of his Padawan’s armor. I’ll have to build it from the ground up.” She glanced up, smiling slightly, continuing before he could apologize for the extra work, “I have the time. We’re between recruitments, and it’s been a while since the last firefight. Now get, and let me work.”
“Thanks,” he smiled, feeling as, behind him, Hisku’s amusement dropped back under her mask of professionalism. Following her once more, she didn’t say a word, and soon enough they were back at his room.
“This concludes our tasks for the day,” she announced, turning to leave, but paused at his hurried “Wait!” Turning back, she asked, voice cold, “Yes, Padawan Drettz?”
“I just have one question,” he said, having spent his time trying to put what he thought might be the core issue between them into words. “Do you dislike me because I’m ‘cheating’?”
She blinked, her surprise clear, as she tried to answer his question, “I, I don’t understand Padawan. What do you mean?”
That’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, he thought, pressing onward. “You said using the Force was cheating, but, well, using the Force is what I do. Do you think I’m just, I don’t know, cheating all the time?”
Sergeant Hisku paused, visibly working her way through his statement, and sighed. “No, Padawan Drettz. You are not Chiss, and thus to hold you to Chiss standards would not be fair. Chiss are many things, but fair is chief among them. You will never see a Chiss utilizing the Force,” she declared.
Now it was his turn to be confused, frowning. “But, I already have,” he disagreed.
“Who?” she demanded, anger flaring up around her.
“Geist squadron. They used something like my Veil. The thing I pulled around us to let us not be noticed when we snuck around,” he explained, as Hisku just looked confused. “They were better at it than I am, and half of them were Chiss.”
“That’s-” she started to say, before biting back whatever her response was going to be. “I have not heard of any ‘Geist’ squadron,” she admitted. “But this is a large ship, and there are several thousand of us here, so it is possible we haven’t met, at least officially. Though, if that’s true. . . They might be racially Chiss, but they are not Chiss,” she emphasized, and Jorel somewhat understood, the biological classification distinct from something that seemed more philosophical in nature. “Regardless. . . I could see how that might create misunderstandings. No, Pad- Jorel, I do not look down on you for not meeting a standard you didn’t agree to follow. Now, if that is all, good night. Tomorrow is our rest day, and then we will be back to progressing your training.”
“See you then. And, again, thanks,” the Jedi smiled. “I might not agree with you on the Force, but, I can kind of understand where you’re coming from. We’re still going to spar, though. Right?”
“Padawan Jorel,” Sergeant Hisku chided him, though there was an undercurrent of teasing humor in her formal words, a little bit of the tension she’d held taught across her frame easing, “I do not need magic to challenge you in combat. I’ll see you in thirty-six hours.”
And with that, she turned and walked away.
It was several days later that he saw his Master again. Jorel had started to wonder if the Knight’s absence was another form of punishment. He’d been told he wasn’t going to be sent to the agricorps, but there was still a wide range of ‘trouble’ that he could be in. However, the man’s greeting eased those fears.
“Ahh,” the large Jedi sighed, as the Padawan was seated, twisting the two iron bars through the air, trying to make them move independently of each other, but usually failing, Sergeant Hisku watching from her position against the wall. “While necessary, negotiations take far too much time, as does preparing things for what is to come. I let you escape that tedium this time, young man, due to your injuries, but next time I’ll be dragging you along,” he smiled, bright white teeth contrasting with his dark skin.
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Him ignoring me was him being nice? Why didn’t he just say so! Jorel thought, one of the bars dipping as his focus slipped. He caught them, and put them away as smoothly as he could, though they still clanked a little. Standing, the younger man echoed, “Preparations?”
Er’izma smiled, nodding. “Yes. I do not have my Master’s talent for finding the. . . specific points that need to be pressed to cause the change I desire, but I’ve learned to make do with my meager skills.”
The padawan looked at the Jedi General, who was nothing like he’d been told a Knight should be, not buying the man’s humility in the slightest. Still a bit annoyed at being kept in the dark, and wondering what was going on here, as sometimes Er’izma liked to. . . take his time explaining things instead of getting right to the point, Jorel slowly nodded, “Uh-huh. What with you being so inexperienced and all.” His sarcastic agreement just caused the Knight to smile wider.
“I bring my own military, and do not rely solely in the Force,” the older man argued, obviously not meaning a word of it, and just as obviously trying to lead Jorel to some sort of conclusion. “That must mean that I am weaker. After all, does a Jedi not work alone? Or with a Padawan learner, at most?”
Jorel exaggeratedly looked around at the ship, returning to his Master with a disbelieving look. “But, with others, aren’t you able to do more?”
Er’izma laughed, “And thus you find the core of the disagreement I have with my Master, and those of the Temple. The core of one of my disagreements, but the history of the Jedi Lords can wait for another day,” he deferred, as the padawan thought, The What? “But I realize that our debriefing was somewhat one-sided. With the events you went through, I’m sure you had questions, and while I addressed some, others might remain.”
The statement was left, an invitation to ask, and Jorel took it. “I, why did it even happen in the first place?” he questioned, something that’d bothered him for a while. “I know, the Force told me to, but, why?”
“Starting with an easy question, I see,” the Knight teased, causing Jorel to flush. “But a good one nonetheless. Tell me, what did the Temple teach you about the Force?”
Expecting the question, his master having repeatedly asked Jorel about what he’d learned previously, to examine it and build up from it, the Padawan instantly replied, “It’s an energy field, that binds and penetrates everything. It has a will, which is to help, and can assist us when we call us. And, if you follow the code, it will do so.”
“And the code?” Er’izma prompted.
Jorel knew it by heart. Every Initiate did, as reciting it was one of the Trials needed to become eligible for being accepted as a Padawan. “There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”
“Absolute load of bantha poodoo, isn’t it?” the Jedi smiled, causing Jorel to look at him, shocked, and a little off kilter by the casual dismissal, coming out of nowhere as it seemed to.
“I, um, what?” the young man sputtered, not having expected such a thing to come from a Knight of the Order.
Despite the complete, well, heresy of his statement, the general looked unperturbed by his apprentice’s reaction. “There is no emotion? What kind of statement is that?” Er’izma questioned, as if discussing a bad joke. “How can there be ‘no emotion’?”
“I, um, I think they mean not to let emotions control you,” Jorel explained, repeating the Temple’s lessons. “And, um, be at peace?”
“And what does that mean? What does it mean to be ‘at peace?’” the Knight pressed. “And, ‘There is no ignorance, there is knowledge?’ Does that mean to be a Jedi is to know all things?”
Feeling increasingly confused, Jorel tried to argue, “It means to not let ignorance dictate one’s actions, and to seek knowledge. Or, um, something like that,” he added, realizing he was correcting a centuries old Jedi.
Noting his apprentice’s confusion, Er’izma nodded, but then asked, “And how is the third line different than the first? Isn’t lacking passion lacking emotion, and aren’t peace and serenity synonymous? It’s only five lines long, why is twenty percent of it redundant? Did they think a four-line code wouldn’t be accepted, but a five line one would be?”
“I don’t kriffing know!” Jorel shot back, wanting the Knight to get to the point, not liking at all the feeling that he was being made fun of for reasons he didn’t understand. “Maybe my Master could tell me?”
“Why do you think I would know?” Er’izma parried, in good humor.
Throwing his hands up, the padawan sarcastically exclaimed, “I don’t know. Because you’re a Knight? Because your my master so it’s your job to tell me? Because you’ve been doing this for literally hundreds of years? And because maybe, just maybe, the hundreds of generations of Jedi before me might’ve known something I didn’t?”
Rather than be offended, said Jedi just laughed. “And that makes them correct?”
“It means there’s a good chance they might be!” Jorel practically yelled, embarrassed and annoyed at the constant, circling, useless questions. “And maybe, if you just told me whatever it is you’re trying to teach me, I’d know if they were or not!”
“They were, but they also were not,” Er’izma stated with authority.
“Oh! That explains everything!” the padawan retorted acidly, noting as Hisku shifted uncomfortably in the corner, drawing back his own anger. Why was he so angry? He thought, before realizing that he still was not better from his dip into the Dark. Taking a calming breath, he saw Eri’zma’s smile widen a fraction. Understood, I’m not better yet, he realized, but he also wanted to know where the older man was going with this. “Yes, Master, it makes no sense as it is. And it takes a lot of explanations to make them make sense. What’s your point?”
The Knight regarded the younger man, “My point, is that the Code is so vague that it’s practically meaningless. I’ve been training Padawans for quite a while, and have personally seen the ‘correct’ interpretation shift several times. Even something so simple as ‘What is the Force?’ is still uncertain, so how could a code detailing it be so unquestionably correct as the Temple pretends it is, let alone their ever-shifting interpretations, all of which are presented to younglings as if the current version were the one, true reading?”
“It isn’t, I guess,” Jorel sighed. “So, what, it’s all druk?” Er’izma just gave him a look, that said ‘you know that isn’t true’. “Fine. Okay, I really have no idea. As far as I can tell: Death bad, helping good?” the young man shrugged.
“But is killing those who wish to harm others not a good and righteous act?” the Knight asked, and laughed at the unamused look his student sent him. “Let us start at the basics, padawan. The Force is alive. It can sense us, just as we sense it, and it does have a will. It is an organism, but one of a galactic, possibly universal, size. It does want to help, and it cares, but it has a different sense of. . . scale then you or I, given its reach.”
Jorel’s brow furrowed, not quite following. “What do you mean, ‘given its reach’?”
“You are aware that moving your muscles damages them, on a very, very small level?” Er’izma asked in turn, and his student nodded. “And how you can hurt yourself pushing your limits, but sometimes that is needed?”
“Are. . . are you saying we’re the Force’s muscles?” the younger man asked, his master giving a slow nod. “But, we have a will of our own. Muscles don’t,” he argued.
The Knight nodded once more. “We do. Now, with that in mind, consider the Code.”
Jorel did so, but, from that perspective, what he saw wasn’t good. “It’s. . .” he paused. “It’s about submission, isn’t it? No emotions, no passions, just doing what the Force is telling you? And the ignorance line, it’s not about you knowing things, but trusting in the Force, which is supposed to know everything.” And something about that rankled the Padawan, disturbed him, deeply, in ways he hadn’t really thought about in a long time.
He was many things, but a slave was not one of them, even though he had come close. Letting that indignant anger flow out of him, knowing why he was upset, and in so also knowing it served no purpose, he ignored the whispers, on the edge of his hearing that promised him power, to dominate, to never be controlled again, if only he had the will to take it. “The code, looked at that way, what it’s asking is to. . . just, give up? Do whatever the Force wants? I know it’s supposed to be all knowing but. . . it just seems too. . . easy? If that makes sense?”
In a way, it was a seductive thought, just as much as anything the Dark offered. Not having to worry about making the wrong decision, about making mistakes, just let go of the controls and let something else take over? If it were that simple, well, Jorel had had days that such a choice would’ve been very tempting. All the work learning control, learning how to act without being influenced, only to give oneself up entirely to a different influence? Jorel knew that he would no more do that then he’d willingly submerge himself fully in the Dark instead of the shallow dips he’d done out of necessity.
“That’s because it is,” Er’izma replied simply. “The Force wants to help, but its actions are that of a half-blind Dejarik-master, playing a thousand games, all at once, with pieces that do not listen, and against opponents of a thousand different skill levels. Some matches are easy, some difficult, but it will often sacrifice pieces in the best move if it’s correct about everything, when a lesser move could pay off more if things go awry. I’ve read your report, and Sergeant Hisku’biatha’pusi’s, and found something that needed to be addressed.”
“Master?” Jorel asked, wondering what it could be, though glad they were finally getting to the point. There wasn’t anything in the after-action report he’d had to write that he didn’t already tell the Knight, so it must’ve been something that Hisku mentioned.
The well-built man stepped close, one large hand reaching across, and slightly down, to grasp his apprentice’s shoulder with a firm grip. “Your life is worth more than a building full of civilians,” he stated with absolute certainty, as if declaring that durasteel was hard, or water was wet. “Had you died saving them, it would’ve been a poor trade.”
That. . . was not what Jorel had been expecting, and he didn’t know what to say for a moment. However, when putting that in context with what they’d just been talking about, he had to object. “The Force didn’t make me save them, only the people that were escaping. It didn’t make me do even that, it just kind of, you know, suggested I do so. I could’ve ignored it.”
Not removing his hand, the Knight asked, “Did it tell you not to go in and save them?” Jorel shook his head. “So it brought you to a place where you would help, made sure you saved the high-priority targets, and gave you no warning of the ambush waiting for you? It led you there, Padawan, have no doubt. And that is why the Force is dangerous, even when it seems to help,” he stressed, taking a step back.
“But, it gave me hints after I was captured! And I got out!” the padawan argued. “So the Force must’ve known I woul-”
“The Force did not know you would survive,” the Jedi intoned, deadly serious, all trace of joviality gone. “The Force can give insights, young man, glimpses of likely futures, many times of the future that it wants, but prophecy is not destiny, no matter what some may believe. The stronger the feeling, the higher your chance of succeeding, but also the higher necessity of that action in the Force’s plans and you cannot tell the difference. You had a good chance of surviving. You had a good chance of succeeding. However, by your own admission, you had to use the Dark Side to do so. That means one of two things, padawan. The first is that you failed, and needed to use the Dark Side to survive a situation that would have otherwise led to your death. The second, that the Force itself counted on you using the Dark Side, which is something that it does not do. No, padawan, the Force directs you to what it thinks is the best action, but you have free will, which also means you can fail.”
Jorel blinked, trying to process that, and feeling as if the floor had dropped out from under him, that it had quite a while ago, and it was only when he noticed the void below him that he was going to fall. “You mean, I could’ve died for nothing?” he choked out.
“Not nothing, you would have been attempting to follow the Will of the Force, but the Force, while wise, is not all knowing, or the Dark Side, and its users, would never succeed,” Er’izma corrected. “That family you saved? They were important to the Force. The Force needed them to survive, and without you they almost certainly would not have. You may never see them again. You may never even find out who they were. That is the life of a Jedi, to, for one crucial moment, be there to tip the scales for the benefit of all who are just and good. Then it is your place to move on to do it again somewhere else, and again, and again. Without us, the galaxy would be a much, much darker place, but we are not gods, no matter what some think, and can fail like any other man.”
“So, if I died saving them, the people I was called to save instead of the others that were there, it would’ve been worth it?” the young man asked, trying to hold onto some small bit of what he’d had pounded into his skull by the Temple Masters in general, and Halrol in particular.
However, Er’izma shook his head. “Probably not. There are times when giving up one’s life for others is worth it, but those situations are few, obvious, and very, very far between. Would you helping them allow them to help others? Yes. However, you, who can hear the Will of the Force more clearly than most, are almost certain to do far more good than those who are Force-blind can. It is not fair. It is not equal. It has nothing to do with your merits, only your birth. However, it is what is, and nothing will change that.”
While the Knight didn’t look to Hisku, Jorel could still feel her surprise, though he did his best not to look in her direction either. “So, what,” he asked rhetorically, “I’m better than them?”
“Yes.”
The statement took him back. “But, we were told that all life is equal!”
“Really?” The large man asked. “You think yourself merely equal to any of the pirates we captured? You think you are of comparable value to the cattle that died for your breakfast? No, Jorel, you are not their equal, but far surpass them in every evaluation. Every member of my crew does, but to varying degrees. Have I had Padawans that have had greater value than you? Currently, undoubtably, but you have been with me for less than a year. Have I had Padawans with lesser value? Also yes.”
Jorel held up a forestalling hand, “Wait! How? You just said I’ve barely trained under you.”
“You had the wherewithal to come back from the Dark. Others have not, with several times your training,” Er’izma said simply. “Your ability with the Force is greater than some, less than others, but ultimately it is just a gift, similar to being born taller, or tougher, or faster, if far greater. Do nothing with it, as many often do, and it is of small value, your total worth remaining low, your potential never fulfilled. Train it, enhance it, become skilled with its use, and your value grows. You have shown promise Jorel, and have started the long journey to better yourself. If it is cut short, your value ends there. If that trade is worth all of the value you would continue to accrue, assisting the galaxy, then by all means, make it, but it had better be worth it.”
The old man looked to the side, and the Jedi’s presence in the Force rippled, the normal restrained aura of power suddenly starkly standing where before it was only a small core of strength, even to Jorel’s poorly trained skills. It extended outwards, connecting to every member of the crew of the Dove, uniting them, and the Padawan’s developing senses were able to tap into that shining network in the Force. Each member of the Flock had a clear idea of their capabilities, of their worth, and of the fact that they might be called upon to sacrifice their lives, but with the bone deep knowledge that their commander wouldn’t do so unless the trade was more than equal.
“Jedi assist the Force, carrying out its will, knowing they might die in the process,” the Knight intoned. “But the Force, for all it cares for us, for all it wants to help us. Does. Not. Understand. Us. It is a trusted advisor, a companion that will always support you, but it is a poor master, and the price it demands may very well be more than you are willing to pay, even should you succeed. You are born with a Will of your own, and the intelligence and wisdom to direct it, should you survive that long. It is my task to see that you do.”
Turning back to face Jorel, the man seemed to be made out of steel, his gaze sharp, hard, and determined. “You’ve taken your first steps towards being a true Jedi, but they are only your First steps. You have failed, but survived, and so are able to learn and better yourself so you do not fail again, and lose Everything. Not everyone is skilled enough to do so. To work with the Will of the Force is to walk with danger, and those who grow lax, who stop improving, Always Fall, one way or another, the challenge more than they can handle.”
“Even you?” Jorel asked, waving hands around them, though it felt like he was arguing with the very sort of god Er’izma claimed not to be. “Even with all of this?”
The centuries old Jedi nodded, once, his Presence fading back to what it normally was. “The galaxy is more dangerous than you know, young Jorel, and there are many reasons that most do not leave well-travelled routes. In time, you will learn them. We’ll resume your training tomorrow.” The Knight walked towards the door, and paused. “While you have stumbled here, young Jorel, make no mistake, you have also succeeded. Take pride in your achievements, and use your failures to grow ever stronger, so as to better protect those who deserve it, or to be able to save those you can, should you find yourself faced with trials you could never hope to overcome.”
With that, he exited, leaving Jorel with quite a bit to consider, and with no idea what to do next. The sound of Hisku’s footsteps caught his attention, and he turned to face her. “Spar?” she asked, practice weapon already drawn.
Smiling, grateful for the distraction, he nodded, pulling his lightsaber and dialing down the intensity to training strength. “Sounds good.”