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This is one of my favorite parts, with all original characters. It's still a little new, and subject to editing. Let me know if you see any holes...
-pek
~*~*~*~*~*~
She chewed her lips and stared at the terminal and the blinking screen that greeted her and offered its assistance. She was worried about the information it held and what she could learn from it. This was suicide; this was walking into the line of fire. She closed her tired eyes and inhaled deeply. It was just information; they were only facts. More than likely, the machine knew less than she did. No machine would ever know more about her life than she did, information terminal or no. And so, with a determined nod, she opened her eyes and began her search.
It was at the Admiral's urging that they came here to learn their histories. Dantooine was a world fraught with conflict and Jedi lore. It had seen more Force-related wars than many of the larger, more populated worlds. The Jedi Enclave was destroyed and rebuilt so there were hardly those who remembered where old ended and new began; it was decorated with signs of battle and destruction and the decay of time. But, it was where the records were held. And so they were here.
Though he knew it was so, the Admiral did not let on that the place was dangerous. It held scores of records that could not be forgotten, though they should never again see the light of day. Most of the students were kept from those dark knowledges, able to find their family lines and histories in the public archives near the Enclave entrance. There were a few, however, whose darker histories were stored deeper within and nearer to the core of the Enclave, away from the sunny eyes of the public knowledge. The trio was lead down there with a handful of others who all shared equally tragic pasts. And while the others searched for answers, Pekmae stalled.
"Ellesiim," she keyed in at last, and watched the column of names stream passed. Ren. Ren Ellesiim. There it was; her father's name staring at her, taunting her. She'd never seen it written. She felt the tears pooling under her eyes and blinked to stash them away. She selected the name and the screen shifted to a biographical sketch, complete with a photo. He had a strong jaw and straight, dark hair that was close cut and back from his face. He had dark blue eyes that were stern and kind and had just a hint of the violet he'd passed on to Pekmae. She bit her lip and read about his birthday, his height and his weight. Then came the part about family. It said he married Jara and showed a small image of the two, laughing into each other's faces. Her mother was petite, hardly standing up to her father's chest. Her hair was just past her shoulders and hung in thick, fat curls, and her dark eyes held a keen edge that made Pekmae feel at home. She swiped at her misty eyes and stopped focusing on the words, and skimmed for more images. She was startled to see her child-face scowling from the terminal, though it made her smile. She'd never liked to sit still for holos. Next to her face was the smaller, wide-eyed one of her brother, hardly a toddler then. He had curly hair and dark eyes like their mother, and his face was broad and smooth and curious, just like all babies his age. She read past their birthdays and heights and weights and eye colors and down to the important stuff.
Force affinity: Lightside affiliates
Pekmae blinked. She'd known her parents were not Jedi, but she'd never remembered them to be Force-sensitive. It was a surprise. If they were sensitive, why weren't they Jedi, then? Why had she gone most of her life with her only knowledge of Jedi being what she heard muttered in spaceports and cantinas? "Because they weren't wanted," the voice answered, and Pekmae looked over her shoulder. There was no one, and she slit her eyes back to the screen.
Ren Ellesiim: Deceased. Killed in raid of village; suspect Sith involvement.
Jara Ellesiim: Deceased. Succumbed to injuries sustained during raid of village.
Pekmae Ellesiim: Unknown. Missing since time of raid; presumed dead.
Garrett Ellesiim: Unkown. Missing since time of raid; presumed dead.
Pekmae couldn't believe it. She lost control of her muscles and felt her mouth fell open and her body swayed. She gripped the terminal to stay upright and stared at the words, unable to believe them. Five years she'd been with the Jedi, in some form or fashion. They'd found her floating in the dead ship, picked her up and saved her life. They'd given her a Master and sent her on missions. Sure, she'd then disappeared for a time, but they found her again and she'd been with them for another year, at least. Why wasn't she in the records? "Because they don't want you either," she heard in answer but did not turn to look. "They did not want your parents, and they do not want you. You are not good enough," the voice dripped like honey over her ears. Lids met quickly and clamped over the flowing tears that continued to leak through and plop on the terminal. She felt something warm and subtle pressed against the small of her back. It was odd, but she was more curious than startled. The gentle warmth crept up her spine then trickled back down and settled in the pit of her belly. It felt comforting, soothing, and she wondered where it was coming from. When it climbed up to her heart, she did not care. It was nice, wrapping her like a blanket and she felt no wrong could come of it.
"The Jedi did not save your family," it said to her and Pekmae knew it was right. Accounts of the raid mentioned the Jedi sweeping in and routing the invaders, though not before heavy villager casualties. History also mentioned other events happening on other worlds led the Jedi to be spread thin, unable to stop the raids before they became massacres. But Pekmae trusted the honey-like voice and the warm it dripped over her. "The Jedi are the reason you are alone." Pekmae opened her eyes and felt the anger stirring under her ribs. It pulsed alongside her heart, each beat carrying it farther from the origin and out through her body. "They could have saved your family but didn't, because you aren't one of them." It spread across her shoulders and up her neck and down her back. "It was an accident they found you. Once they realized who you were, they didn't keep you, remember? You were alone again." Down her arms, down her legs she felt the anger forming, stronger with each pulse, and the back of her neck began to tingle. She agreed with the warmth and with the voice, then felt a hint of cool doubt. What about now? "They do not want you to succeed," it answered her doubt and smoothed it away. "They placed you with an impossible Master and sent you on a suicide mission. They told everyone you were dead, and you were rescued only because of him." Pekmae realized she was staring at Jacen's back and narrowed her eyes. "They were not going to save you. They do not want you." The warmth swirled through her belly and tingled in the bottoms of her feet, making her boots feel too hot. She couldn't breathe and was moving forward, fueled by the anger that was building into a rage. She stalked toward the young Knight, her fists rapidly opening and closing. She was not thinking, clearly or otherwise. She was acting on the warmth and the voice.
Jacen stared at the screen as the words scrolled by. This was not his first time with the history logs in the secret terminals. He read the words until they lost their edge; perhaps this time would be his last. He closed his eyes and and ran his fingers through his hair and around the back of his head. He was considering whether to read the account again or to go back to the surface when he became aware of the energy behind him. It was dark and cold, then raged white hot. There was a millisecond of warning and reaction before the lightsaber hilt struck his head. There was an explosion of color then darkness and he clutched at the terminal but found the gritty stone floors instead.
The upper levels of the enclave were darker and cooler than when she'd passed through before, but Pekmae did not notice. Her scoundrel's sense told her they were empty, changed in tone and temperature. The sense told her she was alone and wondered where the other students were, and then it only focused on the dull roar on the roofing and the sudden waterfalls pouring through the skylights. Pekmae let her sense inform her, but did not listen to it actively. She was focused on the honey-dripping voice. 'You are better than they are,' the voice murmured. 'Leave them before they leave you again.' She emerged from the Temple and was surprised. Everything was different. The air was thick and dark; torrents of rain fell from the sky and lightsabers hissed and crackled against each other in the rain. Lightsabers? Her scoundrel's sense questioned the weapons and sent red waves of alarm through her mind, but only the voice mattered. 'Destroy them...' Pekmae squinted in the rain that fell in sheets. She was soaked clear through in a matter of seconds and could not make out the shapes of the Jedi students or their Sith assailants. She could only see the glowing sabers forming the image of murder and war, and it boiled her blood. The slaying of her parents burned in her heart and the loss of her brother stung in her eyes. 'They died and were forgotten,' the voiced whispered and Pekmae screamed and charged at the dueling students and the voice encouraged her. 'That's it,' it murmured in her ear. 'Destroy them. Cut them down as they cut down your family.' She felt confined by her body and the robes she didn't remember wearing and irritated by the voice that spoke her darkest thoughts in her ears. But it made sense. She saw a blur of red and charged in with her saber ignited, attacking two of her peers before they realized she was there. Then she rushed their assailants and cut them down also. 'No!' the voice hissed in her ear. 'Not them.'
"Yes them," Pekmae said out loud, her eyes glazed with a foggy red glow. "All of them." The voice protested as she surged into battle, slaying both light and dark as they struggled against each other. The disembodied voice commanded her to attack only the Jedi, but she ignored the demand. She ignored her senses and everything but the white-red rage that pulsed beside her heart. The voice seemed regretful of the force it had awakened, if spirits could be such things. The entranced Pekmae whirled through the battling tangle, dealing blows indiscriminately; they were all against her. They would all leave her, or hurt her. She did not kill them all, and she did not kill many. But she distracted or wounded a great number of them that were then killed by their adversaries, and the body count grew. Without a signal or clear reason the battle shifted and Pekmae found herself battling empty rain. She was giving chase, hurdling over the bodies when she heard her name. She turned, shoulders hunched and eyes casting a reddish glow through the rain. The Knight and his padawan were close enough for her to see them, and for them to see the warm mist that surrounded her in the cold rain.
"Pekmae," Jacen called again. He'd followed her through the field and watched her haphazard massacre and felt the darkness emanating from her. The rain had slackened and the errant padawan was stalking toward him, murder still glowing in her eyes. "Pekmae, it's me," he said calmly. "The battle is over. You don't need those lightsabers anymore." She was picking up speed, now, and Jacen heard the whisper of a voice pushing her forward. He waited a moment more then lifted his hands and used the Force to pluck the lightsabers from her hands and toss them over his shoulders. Pekmae stopped short, as though confused. "Pekmae... let's go back, now." She dropped her hands and lowered her gaze and Jacen let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He watched in confusion as the padawan started pulling the suffocating robes away, peeling off the layers until she stood in just the loose britches and a sleeveless tunic. She looked back up at him and pulled the blaster from her pocket. She raised it slowly and the Knight's face fell in surprise. Pekmae pulled the trigger twice and turned her eyes to the padawan.
The rain had slowed the a dreary drizzle when Pekmae killed her childhood friend and dropped the blaster where she stood. She started walking over to Kael, her boots sucking and squishing into the mud and blood and bodies on the field. They were hardly a meter apart when she stopped again. "Pekmae?" She stared wordlessly at him, padawan to padawan. He watched her, with no emotion on his face and only peace in his eyes, as though he'd met his end and was okay with that. He watched her open and close her fists, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. "When you have a son, you promised to name him Kael," he said as the lightsaber unclipped from his belt and flew into her hands. When his words registered she looked confused, and blinked. The blue was returning to her eyes and the saber wavered in her hands. Kael's face did not change. Then the old fire was back, and that stupid, stubborn determination and firm resolve swirled back through her eyes. "They won't leave me," she said. "They won't find me again." And there was only a moment's warning before she ignited the saber and stabbed through his stomach. Her hands were shaking when she dropped the hilt and ran her hands over her face. She stood for a moment until the gravity of the situation was on her, and she ran. She ran and stumbled over the bodies, and slipped in the mud and swiped at the hot, sticky tears on her face.
Just under the wings of the Enclave a boy was carefully sifting through the bodies on the field. Everything was still in the cold, steady rain. The vagrant children were appearing at the fringes of the field, gathering the strength to pick through the pockets of the dead, and the boy did not pay attention to them. He was searching. His job was to find the living and wounded and save them, though no one had yet told them this was his job. He only knew. Secretly he was looking for someone special, though he did not know what she looked like. He had only a thought of an image, but he knew she was here. He'd felt the hint of the presence. It was vague and unfamiliar and strange and wild, and then it was gone. So he was searching through the field of the dead and he hoped he would not find her. He was not startled when the man ran through the field, though he was surprised when he stopped. He was dressed like a Jedi and though his face was hard, it was twisted with concern.
"You," the man pointed at the boy. "Did you see a girl come by?" The boy shook his head. "About this tall, a few years older than you are... Long dark hair and dangerous eyes..." He trailed off for a second, then came back. "No..? No." He turned to leave and swung back to the boy. "There is no one here for you to save... You are searching in vain." He turned to leave again and took a step forward then stopped. "No," he said softly, still facing forward. "There is one you may find. Two, if you hurry." And then he was gone in a flurry of black robe and flutter of feathers. The boy stood and watched him leave, then hurried through his searching. There were two for him to find.
-pek
~*~*~*~*~*~
She chewed her lips and stared at the terminal and the blinking screen that greeted her and offered its assistance. She was worried about the information it held and what she could learn from it. This was suicide; this was walking into the line of fire. She closed her tired eyes and inhaled deeply. It was just information; they were only facts. More than likely, the machine knew less than she did. No machine would ever know more about her life than she did, information terminal or no. And so, with a determined nod, she opened her eyes and began her search.
It was at the Admiral's urging that they came here to learn their histories. Dantooine was a world fraught with conflict and Jedi lore. It had seen more Force-related wars than many of the larger, more populated worlds. The Jedi Enclave was destroyed and rebuilt so there were hardly those who remembered where old ended and new began; it was decorated with signs of battle and destruction and the decay of time. But, it was where the records were held. And so they were here.
Though he knew it was so, the Admiral did not let on that the place was dangerous. It held scores of records that could not be forgotten, though they should never again see the light of day. Most of the students were kept from those dark knowledges, able to find their family lines and histories in the public archives near the Enclave entrance. There were a few, however, whose darker histories were stored deeper within and nearer to the core of the Enclave, away from the sunny eyes of the public knowledge. The trio was lead down there with a handful of others who all shared equally tragic pasts. And while the others searched for answers, Pekmae stalled.
"Ellesiim," she keyed in at last, and watched the column of names stream passed. Ren. Ren Ellesiim. There it was; her father's name staring at her, taunting her. She'd never seen it written. She felt the tears pooling under her eyes and blinked to stash them away. She selected the name and the screen shifted to a biographical sketch, complete with a photo. He had a strong jaw and straight, dark hair that was close cut and back from his face. He had dark blue eyes that were stern and kind and had just a hint of the violet he'd passed on to Pekmae. She bit her lip and read about his birthday, his height and his weight. Then came the part about family. It said he married Jara and showed a small image of the two, laughing into each other's faces. Her mother was petite, hardly standing up to her father's chest. Her hair was just past her shoulders and hung in thick, fat curls, and her dark eyes held a keen edge that made Pekmae feel at home. She swiped at her misty eyes and stopped focusing on the words, and skimmed for more images. She was startled to see her child-face scowling from the terminal, though it made her smile. She'd never liked to sit still for holos. Next to her face was the smaller, wide-eyed one of her brother, hardly a toddler then. He had curly hair and dark eyes like their mother, and his face was broad and smooth and curious, just like all babies his age. She read past their birthdays and heights and weights and eye colors and down to the important stuff.
Force affinity: Lightside affiliates
Pekmae blinked. She'd known her parents were not Jedi, but she'd never remembered them to be Force-sensitive. It was a surprise. If they were sensitive, why weren't they Jedi, then? Why had she gone most of her life with her only knowledge of Jedi being what she heard muttered in spaceports and cantinas? "Because they weren't wanted," the voice answered, and Pekmae looked over her shoulder. There was no one, and she slit her eyes back to the screen.
Ren Ellesiim: Deceased. Killed in raid of village; suspect Sith involvement.
Jara Ellesiim: Deceased. Succumbed to injuries sustained during raid of village.
Pekmae Ellesiim: Unknown. Missing since time of raid; presumed dead.
Garrett Ellesiim: Unkown. Missing since time of raid; presumed dead.
Pekmae couldn't believe it. She lost control of her muscles and felt her mouth fell open and her body swayed. She gripped the terminal to stay upright and stared at the words, unable to believe them. Five years she'd been with the Jedi, in some form or fashion. They'd found her floating in the dead ship, picked her up and saved her life. They'd given her a Master and sent her on missions. Sure, she'd then disappeared for a time, but they found her again and she'd been with them for another year, at least. Why wasn't she in the records? "Because they don't want you either," she heard in answer but did not turn to look. "They did not want your parents, and they do not want you. You are not good enough," the voice dripped like honey over her ears. Lids met quickly and clamped over the flowing tears that continued to leak through and plop on the terminal. She felt something warm and subtle pressed against the small of her back. It was odd, but she was more curious than startled. The gentle warmth crept up her spine then trickled back down and settled in the pit of her belly. It felt comforting, soothing, and she wondered where it was coming from. When it climbed up to her heart, she did not care. It was nice, wrapping her like a blanket and she felt no wrong could come of it.
"The Jedi did not save your family," it said to her and Pekmae knew it was right. Accounts of the raid mentioned the Jedi sweeping in and routing the invaders, though not before heavy villager casualties. History also mentioned other events happening on other worlds led the Jedi to be spread thin, unable to stop the raids before they became massacres. But Pekmae trusted the honey-like voice and the warm it dripped over her. "The Jedi are the reason you are alone." Pekmae opened her eyes and felt the anger stirring under her ribs. It pulsed alongside her heart, each beat carrying it farther from the origin and out through her body. "They could have saved your family but didn't, because you aren't one of them." It spread across her shoulders and up her neck and down her back. "It was an accident they found you. Once they realized who you were, they didn't keep you, remember? You were alone again." Down her arms, down her legs she felt the anger forming, stronger with each pulse, and the back of her neck began to tingle. She agreed with the warmth and with the voice, then felt a hint of cool doubt. What about now? "They do not want you to succeed," it answered her doubt and smoothed it away. "They placed you with an impossible Master and sent you on a suicide mission. They told everyone you were dead, and you were rescued only because of him." Pekmae realized she was staring at Jacen's back and narrowed her eyes. "They were not going to save you. They do not want you." The warmth swirled through her belly and tingled in the bottoms of her feet, making her boots feel too hot. She couldn't breathe and was moving forward, fueled by the anger that was building into a rage. She stalked toward the young Knight, her fists rapidly opening and closing. She was not thinking, clearly or otherwise. She was acting on the warmth and the voice.
Jacen stared at the screen as the words scrolled by. This was not his first time with the history logs in the secret terminals. He read the words until they lost their edge; perhaps this time would be his last. He closed his eyes and and ran his fingers through his hair and around the back of his head. He was considering whether to read the account again or to go back to the surface when he became aware of the energy behind him. It was dark and cold, then raged white hot. There was a millisecond of warning and reaction before the lightsaber hilt struck his head. There was an explosion of color then darkness and he clutched at the terminal but found the gritty stone floors instead.
The upper levels of the enclave were darker and cooler than when she'd passed through before, but Pekmae did not notice. Her scoundrel's sense told her they were empty, changed in tone and temperature. The sense told her she was alone and wondered where the other students were, and then it only focused on the dull roar on the roofing and the sudden waterfalls pouring through the skylights. Pekmae let her sense inform her, but did not listen to it actively. She was focused on the honey-dripping voice. 'You are better than they are,' the voice murmured. 'Leave them before they leave you again.' She emerged from the Temple and was surprised. Everything was different. The air was thick and dark; torrents of rain fell from the sky and lightsabers hissed and crackled against each other in the rain. Lightsabers? Her scoundrel's sense questioned the weapons and sent red waves of alarm through her mind, but only the voice mattered. 'Destroy them...' Pekmae squinted in the rain that fell in sheets. She was soaked clear through in a matter of seconds and could not make out the shapes of the Jedi students or their Sith assailants. She could only see the glowing sabers forming the image of murder and war, and it boiled her blood. The slaying of her parents burned in her heart and the loss of her brother stung in her eyes. 'They died and were forgotten,' the voiced whispered and Pekmae screamed and charged at the dueling students and the voice encouraged her. 'That's it,' it murmured in her ear. 'Destroy them. Cut them down as they cut down your family.' She felt confined by her body and the robes she didn't remember wearing and irritated by the voice that spoke her darkest thoughts in her ears. But it made sense. She saw a blur of red and charged in with her saber ignited, attacking two of her peers before they realized she was there. Then she rushed their assailants and cut them down also. 'No!' the voice hissed in her ear. 'Not them.'
"Yes them," Pekmae said out loud, her eyes glazed with a foggy red glow. "All of them." The voice protested as she surged into battle, slaying both light and dark as they struggled against each other. The disembodied voice commanded her to attack only the Jedi, but she ignored the demand. She ignored her senses and everything but the white-red rage that pulsed beside her heart. The voice seemed regretful of the force it had awakened, if spirits could be such things. The entranced Pekmae whirled through the battling tangle, dealing blows indiscriminately; they were all against her. They would all leave her, or hurt her. She did not kill them all, and she did not kill many. But she distracted or wounded a great number of them that were then killed by their adversaries, and the body count grew. Without a signal or clear reason the battle shifted and Pekmae found herself battling empty rain. She was giving chase, hurdling over the bodies when she heard her name. She turned, shoulders hunched and eyes casting a reddish glow through the rain. The Knight and his padawan were close enough for her to see them, and for them to see the warm mist that surrounded her in the cold rain.
"Pekmae," Jacen called again. He'd followed her through the field and watched her haphazard massacre and felt the darkness emanating from her. The rain had slackened and the errant padawan was stalking toward him, murder still glowing in her eyes. "Pekmae, it's me," he said calmly. "The battle is over. You don't need those lightsabers anymore." She was picking up speed, now, and Jacen heard the whisper of a voice pushing her forward. He waited a moment more then lifted his hands and used the Force to pluck the lightsabers from her hands and toss them over his shoulders. Pekmae stopped short, as though confused. "Pekmae... let's go back, now." She dropped her hands and lowered her gaze and Jacen let himself breathe a sigh of relief. He watched in confusion as the padawan started pulling the suffocating robes away, peeling off the layers until she stood in just the loose britches and a sleeveless tunic. She looked back up at him and pulled the blaster from her pocket. She raised it slowly and the Knight's face fell in surprise. Pekmae pulled the trigger twice and turned her eyes to the padawan.
The rain had slowed the a dreary drizzle when Pekmae killed her childhood friend and dropped the blaster where she stood. She started walking over to Kael, her boots sucking and squishing into the mud and blood and bodies on the field. They were hardly a meter apart when she stopped again. "Pekmae?" She stared wordlessly at him, padawan to padawan. He watched her, with no emotion on his face and only peace in his eyes, as though he'd met his end and was okay with that. He watched her open and close her fists, and a hint of a smile crossed his lips. "When you have a son, you promised to name him Kael," he said as the lightsaber unclipped from his belt and flew into her hands. When his words registered she looked confused, and blinked. The blue was returning to her eyes and the saber wavered in her hands. Kael's face did not change. Then the old fire was back, and that stupid, stubborn determination and firm resolve swirled back through her eyes. "They won't leave me," she said. "They won't find me again." And there was only a moment's warning before she ignited the saber and stabbed through his stomach. Her hands were shaking when she dropped the hilt and ran her hands over her face. She stood for a moment until the gravity of the situation was on her, and she ran. She ran and stumbled over the bodies, and slipped in the mud and swiped at the hot, sticky tears on her face.
Just under the wings of the Enclave a boy was carefully sifting through the bodies on the field. Everything was still in the cold, steady rain. The vagrant children were appearing at the fringes of the field, gathering the strength to pick through the pockets of the dead, and the boy did not pay attention to them. He was searching. His job was to find the living and wounded and save them, though no one had yet told them this was his job. He only knew. Secretly he was looking for someone special, though he did not know what she looked like. He had only a thought of an image, but he knew she was here. He'd felt the hint of the presence. It was vague and unfamiliar and strange and wild, and then it was gone. So he was searching through the field of the dead and he hoped he would not find her. He was not startled when the man ran through the field, though he was surprised when he stopped. He was dressed like a Jedi and though his face was hard, it was twisted with concern.
"You," the man pointed at the boy. "Did you see a girl come by?" The boy shook his head. "About this tall, a few years older than you are... Long dark hair and dangerous eyes..." He trailed off for a second, then came back. "No..? No." He turned to leave and swung back to the boy. "There is no one here for you to save... You are searching in vain." He turned to leave again and took a step forward then stopped. "No," he said softly, still facing forward. "There is one you may find. Two, if you hurry." And then he was gone in a flurry of black robe and flutter of feathers. The boy stood and watched him leave, then hurried through his searching. There were two for him to find.
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