PART III: DUALITY OF MAN
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VIII: Blade Withheld
Two blades whipped at Anakin. One at chest height, one reaching to sweep his ankles. Both his assailants pressed close, cutting off the vista of Coruscant through the far transparisteel windows with their bulking muscles and thick armor. The lower blade he caught on the tip of his lightsaber, cracking sparks into the air as he deflected it away. His swing shifted his weight just enough that the second blade slid right past him, nearly close enough to crease his jumpsuit. Off-balance, that attacker stumbled, trying to pull their strike before it overextended.
Anakin wouldn’t give them the chance. Whipping his lightsaber back up, the blade lanced right into the exposed under-arm between overlapping plates of armor. Down they went to the floor with a flat bang that rattled the windows: a marionette with strings cut. One left.
Already spinning their blade in response, Anakin’s last enemy circled left, gaining distance from the impediment of their fallen ally. Anakin kept pace, ‘saber held low in a guard, ready, totally focused on center mass. That was what told the truth, that was what revealed the lie of a feint or the truth of a thrust. He saw it - a momentary shift of weight from heel to toe, the start of a sharp chop and he acted. Sparks flew again as his ‘saber skimmed across carapace, failing to penetrate, but he connected with all the strength the Force could give him. His foe lurched back, stumbled and Anakin pressed on, closing the gap, knocking aside their two sharp attempts to interpose their blade. He knew this part like the end of a favorite holovid: come low, use the height difference to his advantage instead of as a fault. Spring high, leading with his ‘saber, right for -
Again his lightsaber found the joint of the shoulder and again a body fell, limp.
“Phew,” he whistled, exhaling and running a hand through his mop of sweaty brown hair, thumbing off his lightsaber. The low-power containment field clicked off with a much more mournful and half-hearted click than he was used to, and he hooked the practice blade back to his belt alongside his actual lightsaber.
“Reset,” he commanded, and the two droids dutifully came back to their feet. They both stood stock-still as Anakin circled them, rubbing his chin. Both were older duelist droids, shipped to the new HQ from Yavin and then left to collect dust. Most of the Jedi stationed at the Headquarters or passed through it preferred to train against each other, honing their talents against another Force-sensitive. Droids simply couldn’t compare to a peer’s intuition and advice.
First order of business was setting the droids up to only record strikes to particular locations. Yuuzhan Vong warriors in their crab armor were proof against a lightsaber - only prolonged contact could start to hack through the biont, which in a duel you just didn’t have. You had to go for joints. Underarm was best, Uncle Luke agreed that it was probably the ‘gills’ of the creature. It made them extremely unhappy and sometimes seemed to kill the crab even if the warrior was only injured. Dead armor took them out of the fight just as much as a dead warrior would.
Other joints worked too, like behind the knee and at the groin. Those were tougher, because you had to get behind a Vong, and they really didn’t like you doing that. Or you had to get right through their guard and avoid skipping your ‘saber off their armored skirts. Underarm was the best.
He rummaged up scraps of stormtrooper armor, vehicle plating, you name it, cutting it to size with his saber and bending it sometimes with a bit of the Force. Then it was all welded in place, turning the droids from the lithe, spinning duelists they used to be into clomping, broad and unfortunately much slower monsters. The droid’s programming couldn’t really account for it though, which kept leading to the result moments ago.
Anakin was taking them down without either droid ever landing a single blow.
He could still feel the sting of cold rain on slices along his arms and legs. A Yuuzhan Vong warrior snarled down at him, backlit by lightning that crackled through the midnight sky, shining in the rain and seeming as tall as any of Coruscant’s towers. Anakin grimaced, shaking his head, kicking Dantooine away.
Fighting a Yuuzhan Vong and making it out without a scratch meant he’d really messed up in his design. He’d have to work on that.
“And these just aren’t amphistaves either,” he muttered, poking at one of the stun-blades clutched in the droid’s hands. They weren’t smart enough to know how to respond to anything but a command, so they simply didn’t. ‘A real amphistaff is bendy,’ he mused, considering. They could go from whip to blade in moments, catching a Jedi off guard by switching combat styles on the fly. How to recreate that?
“Maybe some kind of whip? No, a collapsible baton? Do people even make those?”
Worst was that he could sense the droids, of course. Even when he meditated beforehand, sucking in as much of his sense of the Force as possible, trying to keep it all bundled up in what he imagined was a big box shaped like his body, he could still feel them. The Force was almost insulted, like it wanted to whisper to him hints of danger, snippets and afterimages of where the droids would be.
You couldn’t sense Vong! He’d been around ysalamiri before, every Jedi had. After how much Thrawn and his Remnant had used them and how much of a pain they’d been to Uncle Luke, the Praxeum kept a few off in the jungle. They lived in a secluded clearing just close enough for Jedi to experience the shock of losing all their senses but far enough away not to bother trainees. Vong didn’t feel like ysalamiri. Ysalamiri left a hollow in the world. You could feel around them and you could know they were there by the very fact of the hollow in the force.
Yuuzhan Vong just didn’t exist. They weren’t a hole in the force or a void, they just…weren’t there. Ysalamiri kept the Force at bay, but it almost seemed like the Force just ignored Vong. Like it flowed right through them without even noticing.
Maybe he could get a ysalamiri or two to block off the Force while training against these droids. He’d have to ask Jacen. Jacen could help. And he had to get the droids right first or else it still wouldn’t matter, Force or no Force, because he would still beat them every time. That wasn’t useful training in that case, that was just venting coolant off. Actually, he could probably ask Jaina. Anakin knew how to make things work, but Jaina could make things.
Except she was halfway across the Galaxy with Rogue Squadron. Not really a lot of time to spare on mechanical projects with her little brother.
Right.
“Guess it’s you and me then,” he said to the droids. One of them interpreted this in its narrow sense of inputs and shivered to a readiness stance, cocking its stout head in question.
“No no, stand down.” It shifted back into a flat stance. ‘We’re done for today. Go ahead and recharge.’ Both droids ambled away toward docking stations in the corner of the room, lining themselves up and powering down.
The Coruscant Headquarters was still relatively new, sitting atop the Ministry of Justice building. It was a pleasant sort of home-away-from-home, somewhere that didn’t have the lingering memories of hooting laughter and growling jokes. Not like the apartments did.
Echoes of Chewie’s amused shyriiwook vanished at the sound of the door behind him hissing open. He felt another Jedi’s presence immediately, brushing up against him as she peered inside.
“I thought I heard someone in here.” Mei Taral leaned on the frame, running her finger around the emitter of one of her lightsabers. “There’s a crowd this morning. Hope you’re warmed up.”
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The Jedi Headquarters at Coruscant were no cloistered and dusty old archives, keeping close any secrets they might jealously hoard. Sunlight streamed in through transparisteel walls soaring a half dozen stories in height. The whole arboretum at the apex of the Ministry of Justice tower felt as free as the air outside, sweetened by flowers from Yavin, J’t’p’tan, Susevfi and other worlds rich in traditions of the Force. Squat little buildings were scattered around the meandering pathways and planters, built to blend ancestral architectural stylings from across the galaxy. There were training rooms, meditation chambers, conference rooms with full suites of holonet connections and holotanks and, of course, dormitories.
Oh, and it was open to the public.
Mostly.
Roughly a trillion sapients called Coruscant home and most of them didn’t just know about the Jedi - the Jedi to them were legendary. If even a fraction of a fraction of a fraction decided to make the mythical real, then the Jedi of the new Order would be swamped day in and day out. The fact of the Headquarters’ open door policy wasn’t publicized and was politely requested to remain that way. A being had to book a time slot, too, with a limited number ever open. It was drawn by lots, to be as fair as possible.
Most visitors merely wandered the gardens and tried meditation, or viewed artifacts from famous Jedi. The real draw, though, was the daily exhibition.
Brilliant sapphire crossed rich cobalt with a humming crackle, filling the air with the sharp stink of ozone. Neither Jedi pressed advantage, the moment hanging as their audience, various beings of all stripe and size, watched with bright eyes. Both Knights inclined their heads as they slowly circled each other, keeping their shimmering blades in contact. Anakin had only ever seen Mei spar - he’d never crossed ‘sabers with the Jensaarai. Usually she paired her own deep blue saber with her brother’s crimson one, adopting a formidable Jar Kai pattern, but today she was limiting herself to one blade.
She’d asked if Anakin had a preference. He’d never met a Yuuzhan Vong that used two blades and he said as much to her. She’d just nodded, as if the answer made perfect sense. It did, Anakin thought. Why else would they be training?
They split apart, pacing around each other. Mei wore a smile freely, blue eyes bright under her messy fringe of shiny black hair. Anakin, by contrast, kept himself calm and centered, as stoic as could be. Mei was twice his age and had much more experience than he did - she’d fought Master Horn and Uncle Luke when she was barely older than Anakin and while she hadn’t exactly put up much of a fight, it was still impressive to go against two Masters in anger. She spun her ‘saber, her eyes flicking left and right and Anakin sunk into the Force, feeling the excitement of their audience and the Jensaarai’s eager anticipation.
He knew almost before she did when she committed - azure met cobalt again as he deflected one, two, three rapid slices in less than a second.
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Gasps filtered from the crowd. They were probably more used to sedate training expos.
The Jensaarai woman came at him again and this time Anakin did not stay on defense.
Defense, defense, always defense. Take the blows, redirect them. Absorb them or avoid them. The Force was for defense, never attack. He wasn’t much shorter than Mei and Anakin drove her across the arena with his initiative, both ‘sabers blurred and spitting, faster than the eye could track. Wait for the foe. Wait for the sith. Wait for the vong. Let them make the first attack. Give them the initiative.
Anakin only realized he was scowling when his forehead started to ache.
Mei leapt over a low slash and then kept on rising, boosting herself upwards with a twist of telekinesis until she was atop one of the many standing stones scattered through the gardens. Anakin leapt after her without a thought, clashing again and drawing back, clashing again and drawing back. Though she sparred in her armor, Mei was quick, the sculpted plate far from an impediment. And she laughed.
When she caught the tip of Anakin’s blade and swept it wide, she laughed. When she was forced back hard, heels over the very edge of the standing stone, she laughed.
Even though this was for an audience, it seemed a little much.
Anakin kept his silence and for the next dozen minutes, the two Knights worked up a sweat as they swept back and forth across the arboretum. The demarcated sandy training ring was only a suggestion, both entirely sure of their own self-control and aware of the beings around them. If there were quiet exclamations from the few dozen watching, it washed past them without note.
“You have really good form,” Mei panted, hands on her knees. Anakin sunk into a cross legged rest, taking long, deep breaths carefully. “Reminds me of Master Skywalker.”
He couldn’t help but flush a little at the praise. His Uncle was so far beyond any of them, even some of the best duelists among the Masters like Master Durron. Watching his uncle train, really train, against two, sometimes three, of the other Masters when the opportunity arose was always spellbinding. Luke Skywalker made it effortless. Like art.
“Intense, too.”
Anakin shrugged. “It’s serious.”
“That’s true,” Mei agreed. “I know about Tenel Ka.” Everyone did. The young woman still wore her truncated arm with pride, blaming neither Jacen nor the Academy for the accident. Anakin wasn’t quite as sure he’d be so easily accepting if he lost a limb like that. Or that he would deny a replacement like Uncle Luke’s. She misunderstood, though. It wasn’t serious because of the inherent danger of a lightsaber, it was something else entirely. He took a minute, deciding what he wanted to say.
“No, it’s - more like, well -”
“You’re thinking of the Vong.”
Anakin kicked at the sand of the ring with the toe of his boot. Draw a line, scuff it out. Every time he spoke about it, he heard Kyp and other’s words coming out of his mouth. They were the lightning rods on the skyhood and he agreed, but didn’t agree. Just like he sometimes felt like Uncle Luke was too extreme on his view of the Force (a thought that Anakin didn’t like to prod too much, because did he have the right-?) he knew Kyp and his cohort were too far swung on their side of the problem.
“I just think it’s a good idea to be ready.” It was a very diplomatic answer and Anakin was proud of phrasing it that way until he caught the smirk on the other Knight’s face. “What?”
“Be ready? Buddy, you have more experience against the Vong than anyone else.”
Daeshara’cor managed a faint smile as her eyes turned glassy. A burning moon filled the sky.
“I guess.”
Mei plopped down next to him, resting elbows on her knees and peering at him from beneath the fringe of her hair. The gentle breeze through the arboretum, fed by air cyclers, gently ruffled the soft down of her armor’s mantle. The pale cream fuzz came from some animal of the world the Jensaarai hailed from, just like the etchings in her personalized armor spoke of creatures he’d never seen.
“You know how my brother died, right?”
Anakin glanced away, watching the observers slowly disperse out into the gardens again, a few tentatively waving digits of varied morphology at the two Knights. Mei cheerily waved back, beaming, apparently unfazed by her chosen topic. Anakin hadn’t been at the Academy then - but just a short two years later he was caught up in the end of that chaos, abducted by other elements of the Empire Reborn. While the Solos had been occupied with the Dark Jedi Hethrir, it had been the apprentice, Desann, who’d attacked the Praxeum. More than a few Jedi died then, Mei’s brother among them.
“Ten years ago, just last year. You know, I was pissed.” Mei laughed, shaking her head. “Not very ‘Jedi’, but very Jensaarai.”
And then she listened to the Force, she meditated, and she learned how to forgive and find peace in the ways of the Galaxy. That’s how it always went. He could hear the words already, the same ones he’d heard his whole life.
“I’m still pissed sometimes.” The Knight shrugged, leaning up on one hip to detach another ‘saber, flicking it on. With a snap-hiss, a bar of shimmering crimson sprouted from her fist. “I’ll see something that I know Niko would love. Or maybe like today. I just sparred with Anakin freakin’ Solo. The grandson of Anakin Skywalker.” Unconsciously, Anakin clenched his teeth until his jaw popped. “Crazy, right? I wish I could’ve talked with him about it.”
She shrugged.
“Not gonna happen. So I get mad. I’m still gonna see him again. Everyone who’s gone before us. They’re all part of the Force. Still sucks that they’re gone.”
Anakin wiped a tear off his cheek, thinking about Chewie’s survival tool, somewhere out there in his dad’s pocket. Mei squeezed his shoulder and he swallowed hard, bobbing his head in agreement.
“Yeah. Yeah. It hurts.”
“It does. It’ll always hurt, you know. Ten years, I still miss him. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I hated your Uncle too, you know.”
“Wait, but he didn’t have anything to do with that.”
“Not with Desann, no. But he and Master Horn showed up and just the two of them showed us that everything we thought we knew, we’d been wrong about. I wanted to beat them both into the dirt. You imagine? Someone shows up at Yavin and tells you you’ve been doing the Force wrong, and then rubs your nose in it. That sucks too.” Mei’s expression was distant, the Knight peering off into memory as she spoke. “I think I’m a pretty good duelist. I held my own with you, right? I guess I could’ve gone off and held onto that and came at Master Skywalker and Master Horn again some other time. I imagined it, you know.”
Anakin pictured Mei in her armor, anger twisting her features, standing in shadow. Then he thought of her form in their duel, the openings he’d seen, ones that maybe he couldn’t quite exploit, but ones he’d still noticed.
“My Uncle wouldn’t even blink.”
Mei smirked, deactivating her brother’s lightsaber.
“Right? Master Skywalker is something else. And what would I have wasted anyway? All that time, all those friends I made here. You Jedi - you’re not Jensaarai, but you’ve got a good thing going. I like it here.” She flopped back, spreading her arms and looking up through the distant ceiling above. “And here I am! Coruscant! Crazy! So if I turned down the invite like some of my cousins and stayed stewing on Susevfi, woof, that wouldn’t be good. And if I took Niko’s ‘saber and decided to go beat up every Imp I could find? Wasn’t gonna bring him back, either.”
The words were different. She wasn’t preaching like some of the other Jedi, but he was hearing the same underlying meaning. Let it go. Trust in the Force. Move on. He was. He was. Chewie died months ago. How fast was he supposed to do this? Dad still couldn’t even stay in the same room with him. Mei had ten - eleven - years to come to terms with her brother. Uncle Luke had decades now with Obi-wan and…his father. They all had so much time. Why couldn’t he have time?
He kept quiet. People needed this. They wanted to help. He could feel it. The Force whispered it to him, the sensation of their sorrow and their sympathy. It was more about them than him. It made them feel better to tell their own stories. None of them were about Chewie. They couldn’t be.
“But you know, buddy?” Mei turned her head, looking up from the sand. Anakin glanced over, catching her eye.
“I still watch Master Skywalker. Master Horn too, when he’s around. I got Master Solusar to spar with me like Master Skywalker would one time. Yeah, that’s not something I’m gonna forget. Cause you know what? I still kind of want to beat them. It’s never gonna happen, but you know, I can dream. Well. Maybe Master Horn. I still think that was luck.”
Anakin cleared his throat, swallowing down the knot that had grown.
“Huh.”
“You don’t have to let go. You don’t have to put it all away. Just don’t…just don’t let it take up everything. Vong don’t use two blades, but Jar’Kai is fun.”
Mutely, Anakin nodded in agreement.
“It’s pretty different, yeah? Took me years to get comfortable with it. There’s always more to learn. Wanna go again?”
She bounced to her feet, subtly helping herself with the Force. Two silvery handles spun in both hands as she peered down at him.
“I think we’ve got enough time before Master Durron and Master Skywalker come by.”
Anakin accepted a hand, hauled to his feet, just about the same height as the Jensaarai woman. She beamed at him, brushing sand off the thighs of her armor and paced back, shaking out her arms and legs.
“The Galaxy is gonna be there after the vong. You gotta want to be there afterward, too.”
Anakin brushed his thumb across the emitter of his own blade, turning it left and right in his hands. Mei waited patiently, rocking on the balls of her feet. Jaina was off with Rogue Squadron, right on the front. Jacen was…wherever Jacen was right now. Dad was off trying to forget Chewie. Mom was lost in some new Senate projects. And he was building vong droids and running routines and filling up every day from the moment he woke up to the moment he collapsed back into bed.
Snap-hiss and Anakin gazed into shining blue.
Mei readied herself, red and blue in both hands, lips quirked.
They danced around the training pit again and beyond, up along the rocks and promontories, along the roofs of the facilities, through the winding paths of the gardens. She was right. Jar’kai was fun. Blue and blue and red, flashy and demonstrative, clashing and humming and whirling wide. For a while, Anakin didn’t feel like a warrior, he felt like a Jedi.
When his uncle showed up, Master Durron in tow, they learned that Harlan Ysanna had bowed out of the coming summit, citing an unexpected lead she had to chase down. It would be just the three of them to represent the Jedi with Senator Shesh’s office. After that all was said and done, Uncle Luke suggested Anakin come back with him to the Praxeum for a few weeks while he met with Masters Solusar and Tionne and others. With a warm arm around Anakin’s shoulders, his uncle offered time, one on one, to practice bladework and maybe show him some of the techniques Anakin had picked up against the Yuuzhan Vong.
Anakin thought about it. If there was going to be a Galaxy after the Vong indeed, they had to get through the Vong first. Then he thought of the dozen unreplied-to mails from Sannah and Tahiri and suddenly wondered if maybe going to the Praxeum wasn’t the best idea after all.