V: Simple Tasks
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From hyperspace emerged a spindle of stone, as long on its axis as the greatest triangle ships of the infidels. Its surface was a spiral, twisted longitudinally from prow to aft, it seemed, from liquid rock, until it was a rippling surface of grooves that caught and drew the eye. Glossy, obsidian black veins flecked alongside bold crimson and azure coral that sprouted seemingly at random. These fronds of coral seemed delicate, lace-like, until scale was realized and their thready filaments revealed themselves to be festooned with yorik-et and yorik-trema in their thousands. She was Yammka, chariot of the Supreme Commander, and she came from the edge of this heathen galaxy to greet Malik Carr.
Ritual drums thundered and wailing lungs filled the air with a heptatone, rousing chorus. Biots were squeezed or prodded, induced by whip and talon and their cries were rich and supplicative to the gods who ordained their creation. As was right - all from the hand of Yun-Yuuzhan, back to the hand of Yun-Yuuzhan. Menageries of avians and insects and trumpetters whistled and droned and barked and Malik Carr held his shoulders back and spine straight, commanding his claw to stay still and quiescent for once.
Villip-choirs slaved to illuminant lichen created a star-studded sweep across one bulkhead of Blood Spat in Wrath's primary receiving grotto. Revealed was the distant Hutt world 'Runaway Prince', seeded now for the sowing of yorik coral, the fruiting of villip shrubs, the yields of amphistaff groves. A field of artificial asteroids stretched beyond mortal sight, each with its own aspect: smooth or grooved, painted or barren, faceted or encrusted. Starlight slithered along coral arms and glinted from mica-canopies. Yammka loomed close, the sister flagship bonded to Blood's own dovin basals, holding both grand cruisers in a gravitic embrace. Even a single, lapidary orb was visible, from which spiraled a dozen arms in mimicry of the galaxy the Chosen People were destined to conquer. Domain Choka, a worldship, vanguard of so many more.
Supreme Commander Nas Choka and his closest commanders, foremost subalterns, most pious of priesthoods and most cunning of shapers, were conveyed by dovin basal cushions ranked in tiers above the deck. Before them came serried ranks of flutters: each living creature that resembled trailing banners of patterned cloth. To either side of the arriving Hand of the Warmaster were arrayed five thousand warriors, dressed in fine battle tunics and bearing amphistaves and coufee wrapped about bicep and forearm.
The only ugly accompaniment was a small space set aside for two hundred prisoners from Gyndine, Tynna and Kalarba. Though wretched, they were the pick of the harvest, already purified by incense, cleansed by sound and implanted with bony growths at voice box and jaw so that they might not pollute the moment.
Behind Choka's precession marched his own command, lockstep footfalls crushing an ankle-deep carpet of velvet and perfumed flowers, whose petals gave up sweet aromas and lured in fluttering insects whose wings wafted further the scents.
"My absence will be noted."
Malik Carr's jaw tightened but he gave no other outward sign of his displeasure. Nom Anor, Executor Nom Anor, beside and behind him, spoke so modulated that only Carr was sure to have heard him. If he had had his way, the meddling Executor would still lurk in whatever hole he had been drug from, but these moments had an order and a ritual that was demanded.
His Eminence Harrar, his turban tall, stood at Malik Carr's right. Master Shaper Qesud Qesh, in her twitching, living robe and tendrils headdress, to his left. Behind him were his own subalterns and attendants and Harrar's priesthood coven; Qesh's acolytes and a handful of Nom Anor's Intendants. All were revealed in their modified, tattooed, scarified glory.
Falling to his knees as Nas Choka arrived, the Supreme Commander stepping lightly from cushion to dais, Malik Carr and his command cadre pressed forehead to coral deck. He twitched his head as he did so, to better bare the nape of his neck to his superior, tassels of his skullcap sliding aside.
The drumming, hissing and shrieking trailed off, solemn, mournful, into the silence of baited breath. On the broader deck, every warrior took to one knee, head bowed in respect. Face still pressed to coral, Malik Carr spoke loudly, voice echoing from repeating tympanic membranes that lined the vaulted ceiling.
"Be welcome, Supreme Commander Choka. Blood Spat in Wrath and all here are yours to command. Our lives are yours."
The insects spoke as one: five heroic bursts of noise that quietened, taken up by another cluster of insects, again and again. Nas Choka raised his baton of command and they fell to a background hum, anticipation curling in Malik Carr's gut.
"I bring salutations from Warmaster Tsavong Lah, in whose hands my life is held. He commends you on the work you have done in preparing the way, and he looks forward with joy to the time he may join you in battle."
Nas Choka lowered himself into provided throne, hewn of carved and polished coral, where black-and-grey feathered avians perched, wafting scented air with broad wings. His coterie surrounded him, all standing.
"Rise."
As one with his own subordinates, Malik Carr rocked up to his knees, then his feet. Nas Choka's stature was modest, but welled nevertheless with power and authority. Muscular legs braced him and he sat rigidly erect on the throne as if a statue himself. Facial tattoos, a flattened nose, decurved eyes above large, blued sacs, marked him out with regal demeanour. A bloodred command cloak fell from the tops of his shoulders and innumerable golden rings grew from fingers and banded his wrists, his forearms, his biceps. Black throughout, his long, fine hair was braided and combed back from sloped forehead to fall to his waist.
"And to you, I offer my own congratulations on your successful harvest. Gyndine, Tynna, Obroa-skai, Kalarba, Druckenwell: these worlds are well timed. Their captives will bloody your nomination. But before we attend sacrifice or learn from Commander Malik Carr the status of our crusade, we will reward some of you for the measure of your commitment."
Nas Choka waved forward his high priest, who spoke with a high-pitched and atonal voice.
"We thank the Gods for delivering us to this promised domain. May the blood you shed purify and cleanse these worlds for the coming of Supreme Overlord Shimrra. We honor the gods with the nurturing sap whose font is in ourselves, that they might thrive and grant that we might continue to caretake in their creations. All we do, we do in emulation and veneration of them."
Shrouded cushions that followed Nas Choka were now maneuvered to the fore, and the flutters that hid them lifted away. Five meter-high statues were exposed, many within the hold closing eyes briefly in humility. There was Yun-Yuuzhan, the Cosmic Lord, King of Sacrifice, made marred and lessened by those parts he had cloven away to make all Gods and the Yuuzhan Vong themselves. Here was Yun-Yammka, the Slayer, the Prince of Blood, whose tentacles held every implement of war the Yuuzhan Vong knew and more besides. Beside him was his twin Yun-Harla, the Trickster, Maiden of Betrayal, veiled and suggestive in hip and pose, giving little but alluring promises and certain treachery. The fourth, and most grotesque, was Yun-Shuno, the Pardoner, Caring Mother, covered in unlidded eyes and twisted scarifications, who bore witness to the Shamed. The fifth and final, but no less important, was Yun-ne'Shel, the Modeler, She Who Shapes, bearing a child in her lesser arms.
"For Master Shaper Qesh: a qahsa of ripe secrets, delivered from Domain Choka. For Eminence Harrar: dosain from the gardens of Jamaane, in whose bellies ferment the most sacred incense."
Attendants with bowed heads bustled forward to deliver sealed clamshell containers, placed at the feet of those honored.
"Belek tiu, Supreme Commander. You honor my subordinates, and so honor me."
"I do. What gift have you in return?"
Malik Carr bared his teeth, letting his long claw tik-tak on the deck.
"Supreme Commander, I offer all the spans of this galaxy beneath our sway, I offer worlds beyond count who already bow their necks. I offer sacrifices beyond measure and I offer lastly the way to the Core."
Nas Choka smiled, lipless and thin, hiding his teeth, and Malik Carr knew he had done well.
"A kingly gift indeed, Commander. Subaltern Doshao, come forward. Subaltern Sata'ak, Subaltern Harmae, Subaltern Tugorn."
The four stepped past Malik Carr, lesser-grade officers trembling before the regard of Nas Choka. Implanters scuttled from recesses in the throne, five in total. At first Malik Carr was confused, but the fifth crept unerringly toward him.
"For your actions on the world called Dantooine; Subaltern Doshao, be elevated.
For your actions on the world called Ithor; Subaltern Sata'ak, be elevated.
For your actions on the world called Obroa-skai; Subaltern Harmae, be elevated.
For your actions on the world called Gyndine, and the sowing of Belkadan; Subaltern Tugorn, be elevated."
Nas Choka's gimlet gaze pierced Malik Carr lastly.
"For his actions against the infidel and his subversion of the Hutts; Commander Malik Carr, be elevated."
The implanters climbed their bodies with glacial slowness. Hooked claws prickled flesh and the six-limbed organisms perched about the upper back and neck of each officer. Malik Carr, who had known the caress of the Implanter before, felt the feather-touch of its long, bladed forelimbs the moment before they struck deep. Cleaving clear to the bone, rasping against the very joint of his shoulder, his blood ran free and thick and he did not even blink. Before him, his Subalterns sweated and trembled but made no sound. Perspiration ran in tracks as the Implanters spread wide the incisions, clipping off lengths of horny growth from their own bodies, tucking it into the wound. Resinous exudate welded it to the bone. Where his subalterns received their first, Malik Carr received a modification: longer, thicker, not replacing the existing hooks at his shoulders for the command cape that even now darkened with his vitae, but rather anchors for trailing pennants.
Sluglike ngdin wound about their feet, sopping up the blood offered while hooded acolytes attended with shallow bowls to catch the fluids. Harrar himself caught Malik Carr's sanguine offering, the old priest's eyes bright with shared humor. Their star continued to rise, ever upwards.
Pleased with their sangfroid, Nas Choka gestured and four neatly folded and differently colored cloaks were produced. The Supreme Commander gestured to Malik Carr, who attended him at his throne, kneeling.
The blood-filled bowls were conveyed to the statues, Harrar handing off Malik Carr's, where the High Priest then drizzled the offering over the dark-stained idols. Cloaks were shaken out and hung from newly-sprouted shoulder-spikes.
"You are each escalated and remade. Now that you wear the cloak of command, you will be given ships, made sector chiefs, and tasked with overseeing and reeducating the populace of those worlds that make up your domain. Malik Carr, you are Commander no longer."
Choka accepted a tightly wound roll of squirming silk and held it aloft. In one swift motion, he spiked the loose end of it upon Malik Carr's new right shoulder-spike, letting the biot unspool and flutter in the avian breeze.
"To your feet, Warleader Malik Carr. Your honor is known; your campaign praised."
"For the glory of the Gods!" shouted ten-thousand throats.
"One final matter. Executor Nom Anor."
With some surprise, the flamboyantly dressed Intendent joined Malik Carr before Nas Choka. He only inclined his head in respect: though of low rank within his caste, he was not obligated to offer true genuflection to the Supreme Commander save in ceremony.
"I am not entitled to escalate you. Nor would I, if given the chance. Know this, Executor: I would instead be inclined to demote you."
With some pleasure, Malik Carr watched the other Yuuzhan Vong's mouth work several times. He prayed that Nom Anor would speak foolishly or out of turn, dreaming to be able to strike him down, but the canny spy had not made it this far by being a true fool.
"Your actions, Executor, have been monitored and discussed, even so far as Shimrra - glory to Him - and his court. It is the opinion of many that you have strayed from your course. First you ally with the Praetorite Vong, who believed against portents that they could establish a pioneering invasion without suffering tragic consequences."
"It was not of my invention," Nom Anor offered, as Nas Choka paused. "My assignment was to destabilize the New Republic as I saw fit. Like the Imperial Moffs or the worlds that I undermined - dozens of them - the Praetorite Vong were a tool."
"Yet they were able to obtain a yammosk, albeit an imperfect one."
Nom Anor paled, throat working as he swallowed. Malik Carr mused that while his ascension was sweet, this might indeed be yet sweeter.
"I may have mentioned-"
"You facilitated it."
"-from a certain point of view-"
"I do not care for your doublespeak, Executor. You have made distance from Prefect Da'Gara's catastrophe and in so doing escaped the price they paid, but it has not been your only 'miscalculation'. High Priest Jakan's daughter, Elan, and her death, is on your head. I will add he is quite displeased with you, and far from an ally."
"Elan's death was her own doing, if it even happened. We have no tell of the fate of her or her mascot Vergere. I cannot be accountable for what may have been."
"You deny spinning the plot?"
"I deny masterminding. I offered assistance, nothing more. Elan's plot was her own."
"Is it true that Elan was to assassinate many Jeedai knights?"
"It is."
Nas Choka's voice filled with false curiosity.
"How strange this fascination with the Jeedai. I am not convinced they pose a serious threat to our conquest. Warleader Carr, did you not entrap and slay a Jeedai who thought to act on Obroa-skai?"
Though grateful to the Supreme Commander for downplaying the shocking death toll, they both knew that two other Jeedai escaped unharmed. For each that Yuuzhan Vong slew, yet more eluded their grasp.
"I did."
"It is not a threat that the Jedi pose, but rather the Force they worship. A mystical power, it is said-"
"And is this power greater than the Gods?"
Nom Anor chewed his lip.
"No, Supreme Commander."
"Then it will be extinguished as we bring a better way and a better idea to this galaxy. I will hear no more of the Jeedai. I am more concerned with this subversion of the Hutts and the plans I hear you have spun to salvage your reputation. Warleader Malik Carr, you shall have business elsewhere. To you, I task the discovery and destruction of the faction known as 'Imperials' and the Aistarteez they command. Though a minor concern, I will brook no distractions or unexpected factors before the Warmaster's arrival. All must be in order."
Eager to finally divest himself of the meddling Executor, Malik Carr saluted, stepping back from the dais where Nom Anor still remained in the Supreme Commander's full attention. Harrar came beside him, voice tempered low, while the Executor was interrogated again. The priests Nas Choka brought began to make way down to the captives. The sacrifice would commence shortly, then all would disperse and more private deliberations had.
"You are ordered to do as your heart desires, Warleader," Harrar murmured. "To chase the aistarteez, who have insulted you."
Tik-tak, went Malik Carr's claw, gouging coral.
"They will be as nothing," he dismissed. "Few in number, simple in tactic, weakened by reliance on dead machines. When the Warmaster comes, we will have a number of unique sacrifices in his name, little more."
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Giggling up a storm, Sannah stayed two steps ahead of Anakin; the Melodie girl bounced nimbly back and forth. Pausing a moment, she stuck out her tongue, poised on the balls of one foot.
"Come on, hero, cantcha catch a girl?"
Anakin wobbled left, right, left again. The Force was right there, just begging to answer - he threw a lopsided smirk to Tahiri, circling behind Sannah. The blonde Jedi bit her lower lip and nodded.
He lunged right, landing on one narrow wooden platform and Sannah, just as he expected, darted back and away from him. Right into Tahiri.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
"Hutt-" A resounding splash cut off the rest of Sannah's exclamation, the girl vanishing into the calm waters of the oxbow lake before she burst back to the surface, spluttering and glaring vibroblades. Her webbed fingers made treading water easy and she spat a spout of water up, falling far short of Anakin.
"Come on Sannah, don't be a sore loser. This is your game, after all."
"Please, you two cheated. No Force!"
Tahiri crouched down like a Balmorran hedge frog, grabbing onto the edge of the wooden pole she perched on. She peered down at Sannah, treading water a meter below and made finger-blasters.
"Didn't need it, did we Anakin?"
He shrugged.
"Not really. Gotta watch your six, Sannah."
The Melodie blew a lumberry before vaulting cleanly out of the lake, buoyed by the Force to perch on another post.
It had been Sannah's idea, but Tahiri is who convinced Anakin to go along with it. The Melodie had an idea for a fun way of training (and making up games besides), based on traditions from her homeworld. The idea was to take a dozen or two wooden posts, of different sizes, and drive them vertically into the lakebed. Each one at a slightly different height, each one with a different circumference, some at slight angles - Sannah said that it was a way for young Melodies to hone their agility and reflexes, as defense against the vicious predators of Yavin 8.
It was also fun, so there was that.
They worked together to make it happen - Anakin had his lightsaber to take down old snags and prune away branches. Sannah judged where to put the poles and how to arrange them, and then, well…it was just like how Anakin remembered it. The young Melodie didn't have the talent or the strength to help with the massive Massassi logs, but with Tahiri, he didn't even break a sweat.
Anakin reduced the weight of a log, and Tahiri lifted it from the ground. Anakin rotated the log, while Tahiri maintained its weightlessness. Then Tahiri aimed it into the lakebed, while Anakin tripled its weight to pound the pointed end deep into the muck. Seamless. Thoughtless. Instinctual. The way they had in the past, from the silliest things like lifting each other up to sneak out of their bedrooms at night to surviving fatal drops in his grandfather's own castle. They didn't even need words.
Sannah wrung out her hair, still scowling, but she was fighting a smile.
Tahiri and Sannah chattered back and forth, taking a break in the midday sun. Anakin lowered himself down to the water, the cool lake banishing the humidity of the jungle. Not far from the Temple, this lake was one of many, carved out millenia ago by the shifting rivers. All three of them knew it well - it was a favorite swimming spot for the Jedi youths. Jacen and Jaina and their friends, when they were still on Yavin, made it a habit and Anakin was happy to see the younger generations following suit.
There were fish in the lake, but small ones, nothing dangerous like the toothy lurkers in the larger lakes and seas of the moon and besides - a Jedi had little to worry about from a nibble or two. Listening to his two friends laughing and joking while their arms windmilled and they danced from foot to foot, playing at balancing…
Cupping his fist, he shot a handful of water at Tahiri, who didn't even look his way, just leaning to the side to avoid it.
Was it so long ago that this was the kind of thing that really was what they got up to, day to day? Sannah hadn't been around as much, but after Anakin left, she and Tahiri grew closer in the months he was gone. Things were simpler. All they did back then was, you know, save the lost souls of Massassi children, infiltrate his grandfather's old castle, fight giant Purella spiders and krayt dragons and run off across the Galaxy alone. So much simpler! Saving Lyric and chasing Uldir - storybook adventures. The kind of things that his Uncle would tell him when he was a kid. Simple and clean, even if at the time, it certainly didn't feel that way.
It didn't feel like it was only three years ago. Sometimes it felt like Sernpidal alone was a lifetime ago.
"Stop being gloomy," Tahiri groused.
"I'm not being gloomy!"
"I saw rainclouds," Sannah said solemnly.
"I was just thinking, that's all."
"You do that too much."
"Yeah, you should stop."
The positive to all the things he'd done, since the war with the Yuuzhan Vong began, was that it took nothing at all to send both his 'friends' splashing into the lake with a veritable tidal wave.
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Later, they lay out in the sun on the shore, basking in the sinking sun and drying off. Sharp barks of runyips foraging echoed across the lake and flocks of gackle bats started to gather in the eaves. Kitehawks shree-d from perches deep in the Massassi canopy. Sannah was dozing, arm thrown across her eyes, mumbling now and then.
Movement caught his eye, and Anakin rolled his head to the side to see Tahiri looking at him. Her hair was a tangled mess, still half damp and sticking to her forehead. Something held his tongue and he just watched her. There was something strange about Tahiri, something he hadn't been able to put his finger on in the few weeks he'd been back to Yavin, when he had time to think about it. It wasn't often - Master Ikrit often wanted to talk and Uncle Luke had him running all over the place helping with repairs in the Temple and working on the starship pool with him. Working with Artoo and Uncle Luke on some of the old mothballed starfighters was some of the best meditation he'd ever had. Then he spent time with Master Katarn, when he was around, refining his lightsaber forms and sharing what he'd learned about fighting the Vong.
Cilghal was holding lessons now, since she didn't have to spend all her time recovering and could actually get around with a little help or with a cane, and considering it was about purging venoms and poisons, Anakin couldn't miss those. It wasn't just Aunt Mara he was thinking of, but the nasty venom the Vong amphistaves spit.
Then the kids always wanted some of his time too, like Valin, saying they wanted stories but he really knew it was reassurance. Especially for Valin: his father was still in seclusion, hiding away after Ithor, and the young Jedi was on shaky ground.
Sometimes, though, when he and Tahiri were talking, or doing their Force tricks, or just enjoying each other's company, it came back to him. She looked different, somehow - even though she was still the Tahiri he'd always known. It was like there was something beneath the face of the girl he'd known, like mountains rising, driven by the internal heat of a planet. Something you couldn't stop, even if you wanted to. He couldn't put his finger on it, but Anakin kept finding he'd been staring at Tahiri, when she'd smile and punch his shoulder.
"Do you really have to go?" she whispered, quiet enough not to disturb Sannah.
"I'm the only one who can talk to Centerpoint," Anakin sighed. "It's not really a choice. Admiral Brand is sure about this trap and without Centerpoint, it all falls apart."
Tahiri stuck out her tongue and readjusted herself, looking back up at the sky.
"I thought you said they had all kinds of scientists and technicians."
"They do, but…they said it could take years. We don't have years, Tahiri."
Yavin was just peeking over the far canopy of trees, red-orange orb bloating and eating into the sky. Obroa was just as big, though a totally different color. Chilly, to Yavin's warmth. The big gas world was a constant companion, like a big older brother that always watched over the moon and the Praxeum.
"Yeah," she agreed. "It feels like we did until all of a sudden we just didn't anymore. When you left with Mara…"
It wasn't what he meant, but Anakin didn't correct her.
"You didn't even say goodbye."
"I didn't know I'd be gone that long."
"Does that matter?"
Anakin chewed his lip. Trust Tahiri to know exactly what to say, in a way that just couldn't deny. He should've said goodbye. Just a wave and a hug - because Tahiri liked hugs - and a 'see you later' because he didn't think that the weeks would become months and that's what friends were supposed to do.
The problem was that Tahiri was pretty much the only friend Anakin had, because Jacen and Jaina didn't count. It made it a little hard sometimes, to know what to do. What was right to do.
Sneaking a glance at her, he felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Jacen and Jaina would always be there for him, even with their own lives like Jaina in Rogue Squadron. Tahiri though? She'd found him; that first day at the Praxeum. She didn't have to stick around. She was his best friend, and he hadn't really treated her that well, had he?
"No, it doesn't. I'm sorry, Tahiri, I should've - yeah."
"We sent all those emails, Anakin." Her voice was a little louder, but Sannah still lightly snored on her own towel. "Sannah didn't think anything of it but-"
Tahiri propped herself up on her elbows, looking over at Anakin.
"You never even reached out in the Force. Was - did you forget about us? Me?"
"No, I - I missed you too. Of course I did. No one knows me the way you-" Anakin cut himself off.
"Right," Tahiri agreed. "No one knows you like I do, and you don't want anyone to. You keep all of that stuff tied up inside you, where no one can touch it. Like Chewbacca - last time you were here, you wouldn't even talk about him! Now you're acting like you're past it and you won't even talk about the other things-"
Sannah grumbled and they both froze, but the Melodie's presence in the Force was still muddy and sleepy.
"You're right," Anakin whispered. "I don't really want to talk about that."
"Why?"
She rolled onto her side, chartreuse eyes searching over his face.
"Why," she asked again. "Aren't we friends? Best friends? What are we, Anakin? A year ago, we didn't have any secrets."
"It's not secrets, it's - we're still best friends."
Uncharacteristically, Tahiri didn't have anything to say. He'd always been bad at words, at talking, except to Tahiri. Or, hadn't been except with Tahiri.
So he didn't talk. He just reached out to her and her fingertips in the Force found his. That familiar feeling sunk into him, a kind of rhythm, fast-paced, wordless, like a heart skipping beats as if there was simply too much energy to bother coming up with words. He couldn't help the corner of his mouth quirking up. There was more - and she showed him. That heartbeat went erratic, moody, confused, stuttering away without any counterpart, even though it kept reaching out, kept reaching out, kept hoping - never hearing the echo, never feeling the reflected warmth.
He felt the lonely days, trying to pretend interest in lessons. The lonely nights, when she turned in early with no one to talk to. Researching how to make a lightsaber, all on her own, the ugly feeling of wrongness that she wasn't doing it with him. The hope, bundled into each email, sent with a jolt in the stomach, a spark of excitement that guttered out as hours turned to days and then weeks until she tried again.
She never kept anything from him. She never hid anything, she always let him in.
What are we, Anakin?
So he shared back. He let her feel the dark hours before morning, with his head in his hands and unable to sleep, remembering Chewie and the fireball and the way his Dad looked at him. He let her feel Daeshara'cor's hands in his as she faded away. The way his mouth dried and stomach dropped and the world went cold the first time he had to fight a Yuuzhan Vong warrior half again as tall as he was. How even after fighting hundreds of them - killing hundreds of them - he still was so afraid every time.
Everything he wanted to keep away from her, he let out. Because it was Tahiri and she asked.
A tear leaked down her cheek but she smiled.
"It's not that bad, hero boy. We almost got eaten by a krayt dragon, remember?"
He had to bite down on a knuckle to keep from laughing, the crazy urge bubbling up in a mix of release and shock and the utter incongruity that after he let her feel all that, the first thing Tahiri thinks of is that in the grand scheme of things, a big Tatooine lizard was probably worse.
"Yeah, we almost did."
"And then there were the Reels,"
"-as if I could forget those-"
"I don't think we really knew at the time, but that was all really, really dangerous."
Anakin frowned. "The Tusken Raiders did say they were going to kill your dad if we failed. That was pretty serious."
She rolled her eyes. He was pretty sure if he was asked to, he could animate a holo of that exact look, he'd seen it so many times.
"Of course, but we were kids-"
"We're still 'kids', you know-"
"-we were kids and everything always just worked out. But Anakin, since you brought them up, I was raised by Tusken Raiders. I saw people die before I could even really remember it. You don't have to be afraid to share with me because you think it'll…it'll hurt me, or scare me, or, or make me not care about you."
She sent a warm glow back at him, through their bond, indescribable but full of the kind of feelings memories bring when you catch a certain smell, or hear a song.
"Sorry for being dumb," he murmured.
"Sorry you had to be alone," she whispered back. "I'm not blaming you, dummy. I just want my best friend to be okay."
A breeze rustled from over the lake, chilly enough that Tahiri shivered. The sun was definitely sneaking even lower, heading toward Yavin as it came up. It would be dark enough soon, and Anakin considered their lightweight clothes, still damp.
"Probably should head back before we catch a cold, or something."
"Or get eaten by gackle bats."
They roused Sannah, who steadfastly refused to go anywhere until Anakin hoisted her onto his back, Wokling style, at which point she promptly started to doze again. Tahiri snickered, gathering up their towels.
"Geez," Anakin complained, "Sannah, you're way too old for this."
"Shdup," she said, muffled into his shoulder. "Don't care. 'M pooped."
Dinner was already on the tables when they got back, which woke Sannah up enough for the Melodie to dig in, though still half asleep and propped up on one hand. Anakin and Tahiri ate mostly in silence, lost in thoughts from before. Centerpoint kept rising to the forefront for Anakin: Jacen had said he would meet Anakin there and his Uncle still wanted to talk to him about it before he left. Admiral Brand said it would be a short responsibility. All he had to do was initialize the station, let the scientists and technicians get their readings, maybe do a few diagnostics to help them, then he could come back to Yavin again. After the fall of Kalarba and Tynna, it seemed like the Yuuzhan Vong were taking a pause, especially in the northern range of the Galaxy.
Consolidating their fleets, biding their time, planning a new offensive - who knew, really, but clearly he and Tahiri still had a lot to work out. He resolved to be a better friend and stop acting like he had to protect her. She'd punch him anyway, if he said so, since she was going to be a Jedi Knight like he was, and it wasn't rational anyway. He couldn't keep her away from the Yuuzhan Vong forever, they got their tattooed fingers into everything. And it wasn't fair to pretend like the war wasn't going on, not when her own homeworld was threatened now too. Tatooine wasn't far from the front and she still had her adoptive father, Sliven, living there.
Before they both turned in for the night, they stopped before Anakin's quarters. Tahiri had her own just down the hall, moved from when she was younger.
"Centerpoint, then I'll be back. Okay?"
"I'll steal Qorl's old TIE and hunt you down if you don't," Tahiri promised. "Or just get myself into the worst kind of trouble so you have to come back anyway." She dipped a shrug. "I've got options."