XXI: Repayment

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For as heavy as their armor seemed, the Ultramarines were deadly quiet. They loped alongside the Wraiths and the Jedi as they jogged through the quiet nighttime forest, somehow managing to be barely louder than the jumpsuit-clad agents and Jedi. Anakin was on alert, open to the Force, feeling the life all around them in the foliage, in the skittering creatures that froze and peered at the nocturnal interlopers. Uncle Luke had reminded them - mostly Mei, who had yet to face the Yuuzhan Vong - that while the aliens couldn’t be felt in the Force, everything else could. A Yuuzhan Vong patrol would disturb the local wildlife, and by feeling the alarm in the animals could be a useful enough sense on its own.

The Ultramarines Sergeant, Ascratus, had what he called an auspex, but no one knew exactly how capable it was. The Force was always the ally of a Jedi and Anakin leaned into that.

“Uncle Luke,” Anakin whispered. “Do you sense any survivors?”

His uncle took a moment to reply, frowning a little as he focused.

“In the city. Good point, Anakin. Face, the mission called for avoiding all contact, but what if we could contact survivors on the ground?”

The Wraith held up a hand and everyone slowed. He pushed up night-vision goggles to his forehead, rubbing his chin and tweaking at his goatee in thought.

“Maybe. Intel reports that the vong put some kind of living restraining bolt into their slaves, though. We still don’t know exactly what that does.”

His uncle grimaced and Anakin shivered. Jacen’s story about the coral seed implanted into his cheek had Anakin’s stomach turn and he thanked the Force that Uncle Luke had been there in time to remove it before it could sprout. There was no telling what might have happened to his brother if it had.

“If any survivors worked at the Institute, they could give us better directions. The Director’s maps are probably out of date with the damage the city took and I wouldn’t bet on being able to download any local guides.” Bhindi Drayson unslung a canteen from her shoulder, taking a quick drink, wiping her mouth before continuing. “It’s a risk but if we just had one of the Jedi do the meet-up, you guys can sense danger, right?”

“From the slave, yes. Not any vong hiding in wait.”

“Yeah, but if the slave knows it's a trap…”

Luke pursed his lips, but nodded.

“Then we would know.”

Ascratus rested his right hand on the massive stock of his rifle, magnetically clamped to his hip.

“Theoretical is that a survivor could offer assistance or guidance. The practical is that this world fell weeks ago, and any survivor is likely to be delirious and untrustworthy. We continue as planned.”

“You’re not wrong, Sergeant, but the LT makes a good point. We’ve got a general idea of where the Director said the Institute archives astrographic data, but we might need to hit a backup server or an offsite dump. Bhindi can’t slice into databanks that are a crater in the ground.”

“I mean, I could try sir…”

Face clapped her on her shoulder.

“A true Wraith, never turning down the impossible. Luke, Anakin, Mei - what if you kept an eye - no, wait, what would you call it-”

“Mind’s eye, I suppose,” Luke said.

“Right, mind’s eye, keep a mind’s eye out for any survivors you sense away from others. Probably less of a chance they’d be a slave or implanted and could just be hiding out.”

“We can do that.”

“I submit this is ill-advised, but I am to follow your lead,” Ascratus ground out, helmet failing to filter out his disapproval.

“Right, we try to make contact with the locals. Jedi, Jedis, Jedises?”

“It’s Jedi. You had one in the Wraithen, Face, how did you not learn all this?”

“Wraithen? And Tyria had - ah. Oh. Haha, ha. Ha.”

Zev snorted and Bhindi looked between Face and Luke and back again.

“Wait, Colonel, you didn’t tell me you knew Master Skywalker-”

“We just met on Coruscant before the meeting,” Luke said with a shrug.

“Actually, we ran into each other a while ago. You probably don’t remember.”

Anakin felt his Uncle’s surprise, then confusion.

“We did? When was -”

“Oh, look at that. We’re burning moonlight. Time to go!”

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One dagger sat alone in the gallery, in its own transparisteel case. Its plinth was positioned away from all the others, lonely and ominous in its singularity. Roboute led Luke towards it, crouching and gently depressing several buttons hidden beneath the plinth with surprising dexterity. The case hissed and popped, lid hinging open and with a gentleness that belied his size, the Primarch reached in and lifted out the blade without touching it, gingerly extracting the thin wire rack it rested on. Then he placed the lid back down, setting the rack atop it and gestured Luke closer.

The dagger was crude, looking like something from a museum rather than a real weapon. Its blade was short and made of chipped stone, hilt wrapped in wire and leather. Raising an eyebrow, Luke looked between it and the Primarch.

“What is it?”

“I would ask your impression first. What does your Force say of it?”

He took a breath and wrested his attention away from the Primarch, physically stepping so that he couldn’t see the man. It seemed to help, somehow. Reaching out, he examined the dagger, drawing closer to it and looking it over. It didn’t look like much, but the way it was sealed away in stasis, like the other trophies in the gallery, spoke of deeper danger. It didn’t pass him by how Roboute pointedly didn’t touch it with his bare skin.

That kind of precaution Luke had only ever seen with Sith artifacts.

There was no real sense of the Dark side at first, as he extended his sense, gently probing and prodding. He felt a similar strangeness about it, like he felt from Roboute, a sort of otherness that he couldn’t name, a flavor that his tastebuds couldn’t make heads or tails of. Feeling little exuding from the dagger, Luke pressed deeper, reaching out toward the material of the blade itself, eyes sliding shut as he focused, the Force glowing within him, reaching out -

He inhaled hard, taking a step back and swallowed acid in the back of his throat.

A sudden, shocking, looming scream of danger had gooseflesh rippling up his neck and arms and he nearly reached for his lightsaber, turning to see Roboute looming just behind him, eyes narrowed, emotionless.

“What did you sense?”

Threat laced the Primarch’s tone.

“Step back,” Luke said.

The Primarch’s eyes widened a fraction.

“Step back,” Luke said again, setting his chin.

Roboute Guilliman stepped back.

Luke looked back to the blade, his ephemeral sense of the Force ringing. Whatever was in that blade, it bit. It was utterly unlike the Dark side, unlike the alchemical inventions of the Sith he had found and destroyed. Those had intention and emotion locked in them, a tide held at bay, malicious and focused, but this - it was hostility, complete and utter hostility, so stark and so fierce it felt like a rancor snapping at his fingers. Mindless and thoughtless, pure viciousness.

“That,” Luke said slowly, “needs to be destroyed.”

“And it will be, now. I would like an answer, Luke Skywalker. What did your Force tell you of it?”

“This isn’t the Dark side.” Carefully, Luke reached out a hand, close to the dagger, sensing Roboute tense behind him, feeling the threat of danger swell again, but he didn’t touch it, merely kept his palm a finger width above the hilt. He felt nothing, only the slightest of strange pressure, now that he was not reaching into it. “I’m not sure what this is. I think others might see it as Dark, but I don’t sense the Force was part of whatever made this knife. What is it? You wouldn’t have asked me if you didn’t already know.”

“This is a ritual blade, called an athame.” Roboute rubbed at his throat and Luke caught a glimpse of a white creased line, running horizontally across his neck. “It was found on Eboracum, several weeks ago, abandoned in an empty hab. I have seen its like in my own galaxy and it is a tool of the Warp.”

“The Warp,” Luke echoed.

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“The Warp.” Roboute gestured, encompassing the entire gallery. “All of these are tools of those who we call psykers. Witches and witchminds, sorcerers, magicians; whatever word their culture uses. A psyker is a channel to the Warp itself, a realm beyond reality that is hostile to life. It was mentioned to your Senator Shesh.”

“I read the report.”

“Psykers drove humanity to the edge of extinction. Their corruption on Terra brought the homeworld to its knees in an ocean of blood. My Father warned my brothers and I of its corrosive influence. Your Galaxy claims no knowledge of the warp, but this athame was found on the planet below.”

Reaching out with the Force, Luke levitated the rack, dagger still in place, and opened the casket, lowering it back within.

“The Force is not your Warp, Primarch Guilliman.”

“That remains to be seen,” said the Primarch, keying the stasis active again, sealing away the cursed athame once more.

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They all felt it, just as the horizon was beginning to lighten. Mei stumbled, gasped, and Bhindi went to help the Jedi, looking around for hidden roots. Anakin grit his teeth and shut his eyes, coming to a stop and planting his hand on the trunk of a tree. Luke looked up into the sky, his age showing on his face and closed his eyes.

Rhonabeq’s panic bled through the Force, suddenly squashed by forceful calm, the distant Jedi’s mind gleaming like a beacon. She was scared, she was angry, she was indignant. It wasn’t supposed to end this way. It wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be there, waiting for them. She was supposed to redeem her honor. She was supposed to make Master Skywalker proud.

“There is nothing to redeem, Rhonabeq the Younger. I will always be proud of you.” his uncle murmured to the wind. The Muugari Jedi’s emotions surged, swelling with a strange peace, and then the light went out.

“May the Force be with you,” Luke whispered.

Anakin blinked back tears. Mei swore.

Face winced, realizing what it meant.

“The vong got to her.”

Mute, Anakin nodded.

“Well, shit. I’m so sorry.” Bhindi and Zev echoed his sentiments, while the Imperials traded uncertain looks.

“What is this?” Ascratus questioned.

“Rhonabeq,” Mei spat, kicking at the dirt. “Paarswuai vong killed her.” The Sergeant doffed his helmet, revealing his weathered face. His perpetual frown only deepened his scars and creases.

“This is certain?”

“We felt it in the Force, Sergeant. There’s no mistaking it.” Luke heaved a sigh. “We knew this could happen and she did her best.”

“We’ll need another exfiltration option. Looks like we’ll have to check the starport after all.”

Bhindi patted Mei on the shoulder one more time. The Jensaarai nodded to the Wraith.

Anakin found a stump and dropped onto it, cradling his head in his hands. Rhonabeq’s last moments filled his mind, the peacefulness that burned in her right before she winked out, like a star in the sky. Another life gone, snuffed out by the vong. Another Jedi dead. Just like Daeshara’cor, just like Miko, just like-

Vaguely, he heard everyone else discussing their options. Things like investigating the starport were thrown out, setting up a beacon for the New Republic, the Imperials claiming they had plans for this eventuality. Anakin tuned it out.

He still hadn’t replied to Tahiri and Sannah’s emails. He had a draft, saved, unsent, but he never pressed the key. Why wasn’t he talking to them? Why was it so hard to just connect to the Praxeum? Master Solusar or Tionne would have Tahiri there in an instant. He could talk to her, even from across the galaxy. See his best friend’s face. Hear her voice, as she lit into him for ignoring her.

Why didn’t he?

Mei dropped into a squat next to him, patting him on the leg.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Anakin mumbled.

“Paarswuai vong,” she swore again. He’d never heard the profanity, which was saying something given he knew far more spacers and fringers than a normal sixteen year old should. Probably from her homeworld, he guessed.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Kinda makes me hope our cover gets blown. I could do with some violence right about now.”

Startled, Anakin looked over to his uncle, who was still deep in discussion with Face and the Ultramarines Sergeant.

“Mei, we shouldn’t look for a fight-” the words felt rote, even as he said them and Anakin trailed off, feeling the weight of Mei’s sardonic amusement in the Force. “Alright, fine.”

“Fine, what?”

“Fine,” Anakin admitted. “I - I - No, Mei, no.” He shoved off the stump, needing to be moving, needing to be in motion, but the Jensaarai followed him.

“I get it. Not the Jedi way. Kid, c’mon. Anakin.”

“What? Should I say I want to kill vong too? I wasn’t trained on Sith teachings, Mei.”

Her eyes narrowed and red touched her cheeks, but Anakin flinched, horrified at what slipped out.

“Wait, that’s not what I meant. I’m sorry-”

Oddly, she smiled.

“It was though. Anakin, listen to what I said. I said it kinda makes me hope our cover is blown. I don’t actually. We have a mission and if we’re found out, well, that’s dangerous for everyone. I’m not that stupid.” Still a little red in the face, Mei picked at her chin. “I don’t want you to say that you want to kill vong, like you have to or something. It’s just - you do, though. Rhonabeq died and it sucks and yeah, who wouldn’t want vengeance?”

“But that’s just it, I don’t want vengeance. I can’t want it. Everything Uncle Luke teaches us - everything Master Yoda - what Master Ikrit says too-”

“No, they’re all right.”

They wandered away from the others, still in eyesight, but far enough away that they could talk in privacy. When Rhonabeq’s life went out, he felt like he had when Daeshara’cor died. Or - he swallowed hard - or when Chewie died. Like he wanted to kill every last vong in the galaxy. But it wasn’t right, it wasn’t what the Jedi did. It wasn’t anything Uncle Luke would do, or Master Ikrit, or Master Yoday, or Obi-wan.

How could Mei just say it like that? Then again, Master Durron was the same way and so were those who followed him. Ganner, Wurth, all of them. Aggressive like they’d never heard that the Force should be only used for defense, never attack. Spoiling for fights, calling themselves the Dozen and Two ‘Avengers’.

“They’re right,” Mei repeated. “A Jedi doesn’t do vengeance. Anakin, kid, I’m not saying you have to go out and pick a fight. I’m saying that it's okay to say that you want to.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

Mei screwed up her face, thinking, cracking her knuckles on her left, then right hand.

“Nah. Uhm, if I said I wanted to buy the latest SoroSuub T4200 speederbike, does that mean I’m going to do it? Even if I don’t have the money, or a place to park it, or even a license to fly it?”

“Not really, then?”

“Exactly. Remember when we talked, back on Coruscant? After our spar?”

Anakin shrugged, not sure where she was going with this.

“Yeah.”

“I said I wanted to fight Master Skywalker and Master Horn, right?”

Anakin huffed a laugh, remembering how she’d admitted right after that she knew she wouldn’t stand a chance. That was Mei, he was learning over the past few weeks. Frank and to the point.

“You did.”

“But I’m not going to. I kind of want to, still, but I wouldn’t for so many reasons. That’s what I mean. It’s fine - nah, it’s probably healthy to admit you want to do something for bad reasons. As long as you don’t do it.”

It made sense, in a fairly obvious sort of way. Sure, people said they’d do all sorts of things and then never did. Good and bad. What that had to do with swearing vengeance as a Jedi didn’t quite click. It meshed with how she talked about her brother, how she told him that the pain wouldn’t go away and that it was okay that he couldn’t just accept that Chewie was gone yet.

“Okay. But buying a racing speeder isn’t like killing another being. I, uhm-’ Anakin rubbed his neck, surprised he was about to admit it. “I guess it’s like how I keep telling myself I’m going to reply to Tahiri’s emails, but I don’t.” He blushed, looking away, but Mei nodded.

“Not a very Jedi thing to avoid, huh. Alright, I’m bad at this. Let’s try this.”

Mei gestured toward a fallen log and they both sat, Anakin leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Mei leaned back, propping herself on her hands and watching the sky brighten.

“I wanna kill some vong right now, because I feel helpless and angry. I liked Rhonabeq and we worked together a few times. Kind of a friend, I guess? Anyway, she was a Jedi and I’m a kind of Jedi so that makes her family and you know what matters the most to us Jensaarai? Family. So she’s dead and the vong killed her and I want them to feel helpless and angry like I am right now.”

Anakin opened his mouth but Mei shushed him.

“Shhh, let me finish. Right. So I want them to hurt like I am right now, yeah? Okay, now I know why I want to beat up a vong. What I mean - what I’m saying - look, there’s a reason I never had an apprentice, okay - I say these things out loud because it helps me figure out why I feel that way. And if I know why I want to do something, especially if that thing is pretty bad, then it's that much easier to well, not do it.”

“Huh,” Anakin said.

“So that’s why I’m saying I want to hunt some vong. It’s like cleaning out a wound, right? Here, try this. Anakin, why aren’t you talking to Tahiri?”

He bristled and bit down anger. They barely knew each other - Mei and him. What’d she know about Tahiri anyway? About their friendship? How could she judge him about-

“Easy,” she said. “I think I get it.”

Anakin flexed his fingers, digging his nails into his jumpsuit.

“I haven’t talked to Tahiri because…”

She never asked why he hadn’t sent an email back. Each one she sent was bright and happy and full of stories about the Praxeum and the stupid things Valin got up to and what Tionne and Kam Solusar had them doing. What she and Sannah saw in the jungle that week. She asked about the war, how Jacen and Jaina were doing, how he was. She just seemed so hopeful, so happy, and he-

Oh, no.

He tried to pull in his presence in the Force, but Mei’s face fell and she rocked forward, reaching over to put an arm around his shoulders.

“I don’t want her to miss me,” Anakin said, chest tight. “When I die.”

“Oh,” Mei said, then under her voice, thinking he couldn’t hear her: “That wasn’t what I thought at all.”