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newt-the-newt · 5 years ago

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The Mandalorian’s Everything - Chapter 2

Story Masterlist

Word Count: 3000ish

Warnings: mentions of sex and abuse, some extreme violent occurrences that happen to children (all of this happens in the reader's past, and I put that part in italics so you can skip if needed).

When the Mandalorian followed you into your house, he was quite surprised to find how homey and warm it really felt (warm as in comfortable, because obviously it's warm in the house, it's Tatooine.)

He gave a sweep of the small house, something he had to do at every place he went. He noticed that the kitchen was small, with no fridge, a faucet coming out of the wall as a water source, a stove with only one burner.

Down the one hallway there were 3 rooms. The first on the left was a bathroom with a toilet, a single sink and a small bathtub. The second room looked to be your bedroom. It was simple, with only a made bed, a small nightstand holding one picture of you and an elderly woman, and a closet with only 2 outfits in it. In the very last room he noticed the same elderly woman from the picture laying in the bed asleep.

"That's my Grandma." You whispered from behind him. "Well, technically a friend of my actual Grandma, but I've known this woman all my life. Practically raised me. So, I just call her Grandma. Or, more commonly 'Ancient, yet wise' as a joke we came up with a long time ago. She's the fossil, I'm the flower."

The Mandalorian nodded as he looked between you and your "Grandma". He had some questions, but he felt rude to ask. Clearly you had sensed his questioning and told him to follow you.

You lead him to a table with 2 apples that were starting to go bad, and started boiling some water on the stove. You gestured for him to sit, and when he complied, you began.

"I live in the town where the infamous Shmi and Anakin Skywalker used to live when the boy was just a boy, so this place seems to be some sort of local attraction on this dump of a planet.

"Local attraction to whom, you may ask, since Tatooine is not a place anyone in their right mind would go to for a vacation? Local attraction to Imperial Officers, Stormtroopers, and anyone who is part of the Empire. I have a feeling Darth Vader doesn't exactly like this place and wants it to be gone.

"So, what would you do if you were a Sith Lord and absolutely despised something? Destroy it, of course. And that's exactly what he did.

"My parents were slaves, just like I am now, but they abused me. Abused me and my baby sister Alora. Beat us till we were little pieces of pulp, then go have angry sex in their room, and not so quiet either. That was basically every night of our lives.

"Until one day.

"I had finished my duties, and instead of going straight home, I went to go visit my Grandma, who had been the only real parental figure in our lives.

"Alora wasn't with me, since she was still too young to do any work. I was helping the Fossil clean some of her pots and pans, and some of the vegetables she managed to grow, which still confuses me because we're in the middle of a desert, how the hell can you grow vegetables in sand... Where was I?

"Oh right. So I was washing some lettuce when we heard some sirens go off. I had never heard sirens before, ever, I didn't even know our town could afford sirens, so I didn't know what they meant, but my Grandma did.

"Immediately she went and shut everything off, all the droids, all the power, everything. She grabbed any recent garbage and the food we were making and dumped them down a hole she uncovered from one of the paintings on the wall. She went around every single room making sure it was perfectly clean and look like it hadn't been lived in in years (my Grandma was a big neat freak so it only took like 10 minutes.) She swept the floors to rid of any footprints in the sand and walked over to me.

"Then she picked me up and somehow pulled out the fridge and it started floating (I don't even know this woman was insane), went behind it, swept the last of the footprints then put the fridge back in front of us.

"And we waited.

"By this point I was so confused as to what was going on, and I was crying quite a lot because it had to be something bad. And Alora, she was back at home with our parents, and I wasn't there for her. I wasn't there to protect her from the bad like I always did.

"As we sat in darkness my Grandma just held me in her lap and shushed me, told me it would all be over soon.

"To help calm me down she told me stories, and it worked quite well. When we heard the Stormtroopers come into my Grandma's little farm we were dead silent.

"The Ancient One held a gun in one hand and me in the other, and we sat in the floor listening. Turns out her plan was genious because I actually heard one of the dummies say that it looked like no had lived here for years, and then left.

"We waited for another hour after we thought they were gone because you can never be too careful.

"Then we heard what had to have been one of the biggest explosions ever. Grandma's farm was a good 5 minute ride in a speeder, which is like at least an hour walk, from town, and we heard this explosion like it was right next to us.

"I cried some more. We were sitting in pitch black for the next, oh it had to be at least 2 and a half hours before the both of us (or at least my Grandma) got the courage to get out.

"When we did, my Grandma and I walked to the town to let any of the straggling Stormtroopers leave.

"When we did get to town, bodies were everywhere. Blood was sprayed over every surface, and the smell was rotten and musty. I saw many faces of children I played with burned and bashed in, their bodies twisted in awkward angles.

"My Grandma and I walked to my house. And it was a disaster. The two joining houses on either had completely collapsed, and it looked like ours was about to as well. But I still ran in. Screaming for Alora. I ran to her room, Grandma trying to get me to come back inside because the roof could cave at any moment.

"And when I got to her room, she was there. Lying on the floor. Laying in a puddle of blood with 2 bullet wounds in her back."

You wiped a tear that began falling down your face and continued.

"Oh my god, the look on her face. It'll be burned into my brain for the rest of my life. Her once cute little brown eyes had this look of a haunting death no one should ever see. Her room was destroyed, but I paid no mind to the mess as I cried next to her body.

"I left my sister that day. I could have saved her, I could have at least been there and died with her so she didn't have to suffer alone.

"Our parents had obviously done nothing to help her, we found their bodies hiding in their bedroom closet. Shows how much we really meant to them.

"But I could've been there. Maybe I couldn't have stopped her death, but I could have just been there.

"I was 7 years old. She was 2. And I failed her. I was really the only one she had. And I left her.

"My Grandma picked up my screaming body and dragged me back to her farm. We lived there for the next, oh 10 years at least until the town was rebuilt to be the same again, and when my Grandma fell ill, I became a slave and now work to keep us alive.

"Though I wish I was there with Alora, or had taken Alora to go visit Grandma with me, not once has Grandma ever failed to let me know that she could not be more grateful that I felt comfortable enough to go visit and spend time with her, because if I hadn't, I would be dead.

"She never fails to let me know that it was not my fault, and she's so happy that one of her girls made it out alive.

"She misses Alora as terribly as I do, but Grandma was much better at hiding it for my sake. She said that there was nothing we could have done, and for that we must move on with the few happy memories we have of her."

The Mandalorian was speechless, though he did get a sense of deja vu. His story was not that far off. But he wasn't going to tell you that.

The table was silent for a few more minutes before you spoke up again.

"One of the Fossil's favourite stories to tell is the one about a Mandalorian."

This made the bounty hunter's interest peak, and he looked up at you embarrassingly quickly.

"She told the tale of the brave man from Mandalore, who was trained to fight, kill, have no sympathy and just simply get the job done. But, he had a weakness. A girl he loved too much for his own good, which unfortunately lead to his downfall."

The Mandalorian gulped beneath his mask. Strangely, this story seemed a bit familiar to his situation.

"She liked to call him 'Lumpy' cause he always wore armour and was never able to hold her properly. It was never comfortable to hold him, because he was so... lumpy. And the nickname was born. "

"It's awful."

You smirked. "All the more reason to use the name. The girl never found out his real name, so, she stuck with Lumpy."

The room became silent again, until there was the sound of coughing. You stood up quickly and ran to the stove where you had your water boiling. You put it into a bowl with some powder, and while it turned into a muffin, you picked up one of the apples from the table and a poured some room temperature water into a cup.

You walked down the hallway with the food in your hands, and the Mandalorian trailing behind you. He watched with admiration as you walked into the room, set the food down onto the nightstand and helped the coughing woman, who the Mandalorian now knows is your Grandma, drink the water.

You really were an amazing person.

As you were feeding her the bread, you spoke to your Grandma. "So, we have a visitor today."

"Oh?" The bounty hunter noticed the elderly woman's voice was very soft and delicate, but still had a certain beauty to it.

"Yes, he saved me in the bar today, and I offered him our home for a night."

"What happened? Are you alright?" He noticed that she spoke slowly, but her words still came out in an almost majestic way.

"All thanks to the visitor. A cruel Twi'lek grabbed me and whispered some disgusting things in my ear. I got a good punch in, but my saviour swooped in and took him out of the bar. He then came back to ask if I was okay."

"How thoughtful."

"Yes, he was very kind to me. Would you like to meet him?"

"Are you sure this is a good man?"

You looked over at him and smiled. "I think so."

"Alright, then yes I would." she answered.

"Now, Grandma, you have to promise me you won't freak out."

"Why would I freak out," she gave a confused glance. "I thought you said this was a good man."

"You'll see." she shrugged, and you gestured for him to come over. He complied right away, and came to stand just a bit behind you. Your Grandma looked up at him and gasped.

"A Mandalorian."

"Yes, Grandma. His ship is quite far away, and there is a terrible sandstorm outside, so I offered him our place for just the night."

The bounty hunter felt a sense of calm around you. He knew that this was more than likely a bad idea, but he couldn't find it in him to say no to you.

"My, my," sighed your Grandma. "A Mandalorian."

You giggled. "Yes, Grandma." You glanced at the nightstand a gasped. "Shoot, I forgot to cut the apple. I'll be right back." You looked over at the Mandalorian. "Can you keep her company for a few minutes?"

The hunter was shocked. Did you really trust him that much? "Of course." He went and sat down in the chair near your Grandma's bed, resting his weapon against the nightstand.

When he looked up and saw you smile, he felt his heart skip a beat for what had to be the millionth time. "Thank you."

He followed you with his eyes out the door, and after another minute, he looked back at your Grandma, only to see her grinning at him.

"She likes you."

"Can't imagine why."

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you helped her without expecting anything in return. That poor girl has not been shown much kindness in her life."

"The man that attacked her was my bounty."

"Doesn't matter. You came back to her after you got rid of him. And that's more than she's gotten from any stranger in a long, long time."

The Mandalorian stayed silent. So the elderly woman spoke up again.

"Thank you."

Just then you came back into the room. "Alright, much better now." You went and sat back on the bed next to your Grandma, and started feeding her the apples. The Mandalorian simply sat, admiring your movements, your actions, your beauty, and the words that came from your lips as you told your Grandma about your day.

After you finished feeding your Grandma, you brought over a bowl and toothbrush (unfortunately with no toothpaste) and brushed her teeth. Then you helped her sit up and sat behind her, taking a hairbrush to her head and gently detangled all the knots. By the time you were done she was exhausted, so you laid her back down, tucked her in to her blankets, gave her a kiss on her head, blew out the candle on her nightstand, grabbed the dishes she ate from and exited the room to head towards the kitchen.

"Goodnight, Ancient One."

Your Grandma smiled and replied, "Goodnight, Flower."

The bounty hunter watched all this from the doorway, and marvelled at your graceful way of fluttering around the room. Every move you made was perfect, and the Mandalorian simply could not do anything but stare in wonder and awe.

You, of course, did not know this, since his face was hidden behind the mask. But that definitely helped make his staring less obvious, which he was thankful for.

As you were walking down the kitchen, the Mandalorian followed in silence, and sat down at the table once more. He observed as you once again began boiling water, sliced up the apples, and made the muffin from the powder.

When you were finished you filled another glass with water, and made a motion with your head for the bounty hunter to follow you. He did, and noticed you lead him to your room.

"I'll leave the food here for you. This room has a curtain, and I swear on my Grandma's life, I will not come in here at all when you are here. I just have to use the bathroom, and then that will also be yours for the rest of the night."

As you went to the bathroom, the Mandalorian sat on the bed and waited for you. When you finished, you waited in the hall and asked "Can I come in?"

"Yes."

So, you walked in to put your clothes on the last hanger in the closet and turned to face the bounty hunter.

"Is the anything else I can get you?"

The bounty hunter shook his head.

"Alright. Well, if you do need anything, I'll just be sleeping in Grandma's room."

He nodded at your smiling form, and said a small "Goodnight."

When your smile got bigger, the Mandalorian knew that he really was in deep, deep trouble.

"Sweet dreams."

And with that, you walked away, leaving the Mandalorian to his own devices in getting ready for bed. He sat for a few minutes, trying to understand what the hell was going on with him. He trusted that you wouldn't come in, and he knew that you knew that he trusted you.

He went to the bathroom, did his business, and went back to his room. He took off his armor and placed it beside the bed on the floor. However, he did keep his helmet on. It wasn't that he didn't trust you; it was everyone else.

He slept upright (a position he had slept in many a time before) with his weapon resting right bedside him, and fell asleep with ease for the first time in a long time.

The Mandalorian had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with you.

#themandalorian #starwars #starwarsxreader #themandalorianxreader #themandalorianimagines #mando #mandoxreader #babyyoda

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transcendragon · 5 years ago

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Clone Outpost

The rumble of the mining bots makes the entire facility tremble, but Inferior Zeytord 4634 is so used to this that it doesn’t even register. ThreeZs (IZ 80090) and DoubleOs (IZ 76001) are monitoring the machines for this darkside shift, so it’s not his problem right now. Or at least it shouldn’t be. 4634 had taught the others carefully when they came, and the still-learning newbie IZ 895601 wasn’t on deck right now. He wouldn’t even be ready to work nightshift for a couple of weeks, until 4634 thought he was ready. It’s been a long while since ThreeZs and DoubleOs needed 4364’s supervision, though.

4634 wouldn’t even be awake right now if the supply shipment weren’t running so late.

He’s tapped into the system interface on the cargo deck, writing reports as he waits. He figures he might as well get something productive done. The Newbie was going to help him unpack the supplies, but 4634 sent him to bed an hour ago, so now unpacking was going to have to wait until tomorrow. 4634 might as well get something productive done.

An alert on the monitor popped up in front of the atmospheric conditions report 4634 had been working. The cargo vessel was finally here, flashing its Zeyfficial Certificate and this week’s security code through communications.

4634 sighed. He sent off the responding codes and pressed the button to open the transport bay as usual, ready to get this over with so he could sleep.

4634’s interface showed the cargo vessel as it pulled into the airlock, and 4634 frowned. It was a different ship than the standard long haul Zeycraft. It didn’t even look like a Zeytoidian military vehicle at all. The vessel was sleeker than the usual bulky style, and it had an insignia on the side that 4634 didn’t recognize at all.

He checked for his gun in his side pocket. The vessel had a Zefficial Certificate, and those were very hard to check, but it was better to be sure. It had been a long time since 4634 had used his weapon, but he was sure he still could.

With the affirmation that his gun was ready at his side 4634 went out to meet the cargo ship and it emerged from the airlock.

The ship’s door opened down with a thunk and a figure stumbled out of it. 4634 blinked. It’s been a long time since he’d seen one of them.

It was a single person. A human person, 4634 could still tell, though he hadn’t seen any of those since his time on the front lines. The human’s eyes were distinctively brown instead of red, his skin and hair were dark, and in general his features different from 4634’s own in both obvious and subtle ways.

“I’m really sorry about the delay,” the human said. He wore a grey and blue uniform much less dramatic that of the green and black style of the Zeytoidian military. The human drew one hand through his hair as he stared down at a notepad in his hand.

The human gave 4634 an apologetic smile, but got only a blank stare in response. Shifting uncomfortably, the human continued: ““My navigational system does not have a good time working this far out from colonized space. I mean,” the man gestured, “not that this isn’t colonized, you’ve obviously got something going out here, but man. The farthest cargo hub is so far- I mean this place doesn’t even show up on the map-”

“You are not a Zeytord Clone,” 4634 inturrupted. “You aren’t any part of the Zeytoidian military.”

“Uh, yeah, no.” The human shook his head. “No, I don’t have any Zeytord in me, no. I work for a communications and cargo company, actually. The Space Frontiers.” The human gestures again, this time specifically to the emblem on his ship. The logo.

4634’s hand strayed to his weapon.

“Why are you delivering the cargo here?” 4634 demands.

“Woah!” The human’s hands shoot up with palms outstretched. “I’m just working a job, dude! We have some good contracts with the Zeytoidian Empire! We’re a neutral, third-party business or whatever you want to call it. We just do basic supply runs.”

4634 took his hand off his holster and shook his head. Everything seemed to check out, and if this man was going to attack he probably would have already.

“We’ve just always gotten our supply from other Zeytoidian ships,” 4634 said, “and you were very late.”

“Yeah,” the human rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I’ll get here quicker next time! You want your cargo?”

After the cargo was securely dumped 4634 had to sign the proper forms that said that he got it. Double the amount of forms as usual, for both the contractor and the Empire. 4634 still felt slightly off-balance.

“There was no announcement about a third-party contractor coming in,” 4634 commented as he skimmed the paperwork.

“Yeah, well, you know the empire, almost as bureaucratic as the Republic,” the human shrugged as if 4634 knew anything of the bureaucracy of the Republic. “Anyway, it’s a bit embarrassing, isn’t it? They probably don’t have enough troops for this kind of non-combat grunt work anymore.”

“What do you mean?” 4634 asked. “Why not?”

“Not after those recent battles, the ones the Republic won,” the human said. “You haven’t heard? They don’t announce these things?”

“They announce victories,” 4634 said, with a shrug of his own, “sometimes.” And when they did announce those victories this mining facility was often some of the last to know, being isolated and far from any Zeyloidian, Republic, or even fragment colony space.

“Huh,” the human said. He didn’t appear to have any words after that, and for a moment they shared an awkward silence. The human cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” he said, “gotta be going. You’re my last delivery for this run, but I’m running late enough as it is.” He began to turn back toward his ship, but gave 4634 a little wave. “Nice to meet you, though. Stoic as you are, you’re a lot nicer than the other Zeytord clones I’ve met!”

4634 acknowledged this with a nod. Unsurprising. Uncloned humans were considered even lowlier than the Inferior Clones, at the bottom of the Zeytord hierarchy.

“Goodbye,” he told the human.

The human lingered in his mind, though probably because it was the first person he’d seen in over two decades without the same face as his own.

. . .

The next supply run was on time, and Newbie was there to see it. Newbie, of course, had never met a human before.

“You look so weird!” Was the first thing Newbie said upon seeing the human. 4364 shook his head slightly, but the human just laughed.

Newbie was very curious.

“What’s your name?” Newbie asked.

“Xaviera Thresh,” the human replied, handing Newbie a box to unload and pack away.

“What kind of name is that?” Newbie asked, crinkling his face into a frown. “Where did you even get that? I mean, Thresh comes from 3, right? Does Xaviera come from 6?”

The human looked amused. “You know humans don’t get assigned numbers, right?”

“What!?” Newbie exclaimed. “How do you keep track?”

“Through their name, mostly,” Thresh shrugged. “I think the numbers are even more confusing. How do you remember them all?” “How do you remember all the names? How do you even name things?” Newbie asked in return. “What qualities made you an Xaviera? Or a Thresh?”

“Well, you keep track through families, kind of,” Thresh began to launch into an explanation of names. “That’s where the last name comes from, it’s usually shared by at least one of the parents who raised or made the child. The first name is chosen individually, and many first names are associated with different cultures or genders.”

“What’s a gender?” Newbie asked. Xaviera opened his mouth to explain, but 4634 had to interrupt to give Newbie his next job.

Newbie scampered off to follow instructions. Thresh shook his head, but there was a smile on his face.

“You know, before this I’d say that all Zeytords were stoic, cold even,” he said. “I’d say it’s coded into your DNA, a feature gifted from Emperor Zeytord himself. Now I’m not sure what to think, because there isn’t a bone of stoicism in that kid.”

“He’s a child,” 4364 said.

“Yeah. Too young to be working on a mining facility in most places,” Thresh commented.

“I was on the front lines of the war even younger,” 4364 said. “The facility is safe. It’s a good job.”

Not that Newbie ever believed 4364 when he said that. No, Newbie wanted the glory of battle! To fight for his Emperor, his country, himself! That’s practically the slogan of the learning facilities for Inferior Zeytord. The other four had been all for it too, playing at it all the time when they were younger and first sent to the facility. It’s only Four-Four got sent off and failed to come back that they stopped being quite so enamored with the idea.

4364 hoped that Newbie just grew out of it.

“Oh,” Thresh said softly. Even without his constant gesturing the man was expressive, and 4364 could read the emotions in wide brown eyes. Surprise, some, but mostly anger. And sadness. Perhaps a touch of pity, but small enough for 4364 to ignore. “I didn’t realize they had Clone troops that young.”

“It’s part of why helmets are regulation,” 4364 said. “Children are not intimidating opponents.” The information wasn’t a secret. They didn’t know any Empire secrets, the Inferior Zeytord crew of an isolated planet. Thresh probably knew more of empire affairs than they did.

“Huh,” Thresh said. He sighed. “Well, it’s a nasty world out there.”

There was a sadness in his eyes that made 4364 look away.

Their conversation ended as Newbie came rushing back in.

Newbie went off to deal with the last of the boxes as Thresh and 4364 went through the forms.

“You can really tell he’s yours, the kid,” Thresh said with a small smile, looking after Newbie.

“He’s not,” 4364 said without looking at the man. “There are no Inferior Zeytord fathers, and we are simply both clones of the Emperor Zeytord. There is obviously a resemblance as we are genetically identical, but it doesn’t represent a human biological relation.”

“The resemblance might not represent a ‘human biological relation’,” Thresh said, “but I wasn’t talking about a physical resemblance anyway.”

. . .

Emperor Zeytord decided to make the ranks of his army out of the one person he truly trusted and believed in: himself. There were roughly three ranks of Zeytord clones, though some of them may have subdivisions: Royal Zeytords, Middle Zeytords, and Inferior Zeytords. Royalty was his closest advisors and potential heirs, all based on the Emperor but specifically customized for excellence at their roles. They’re often given incredibly strength, dexterity, healing, intelligence, slow-aging, and resilience. Almost all the most powerful people in the Empire were Royal Zeytords. These Zeytords had one blue eye, like the Emperor himself, and then one green to be clearly differentiated.

Middle Zeytords filled all the rest of the leadership positions and professional military jobs. They were the officers. There are non-Zeytords civilians in the Empire who may hold professional positions, the conquered masses of humans who require Zeytord leadership, but never in military positions. Few even in any government positions, either. Many Middle Zeytords may move on to a comfortable civilian life after successful careers in the military or government. They’re differentiable by their yellow eyes. The standard Middle Zeytord was modeled after the Emperor, but without the same boosts in intelligence and strength favored to the Royal Zeytords. Still some booths to strength, healing, and slow-aging, but nothing like the superhumans that the Royalty often ends up being.

And then there’s Inferior Zeytords. They are pretty much all the same. They are almost all footsoldiers in the millitary, and though there are stories of heroic Inferiors making officer status you never actually see any of this happening and trying to verify the names in those stories will get you nowhere. The only customized line of Inferior Zeytords are the ones that serve as servants to the Emperor, who are given decreased strength. All other Inferior Zeytords get increased strenth and healing, but take a hit to intelligence somewhat. They’re not made stupid, certainly, but they aren’t meant to be all that smart, either. All Inferior Zeytords share the same red eyes and low status, but they may at least count themselves as better than humans.

The Emperor himself is the original of all of these strains. He designed the cloning technology used and is known as a strategic genius even to his enemies, if an amoral one. He certainly uses biotech and nanotechnology to upgrade himself, though exactly how is a secret privy to only a trusted few. It’s certainly true that he hasn’t aged since 30, leaving him looking younger than many clones made decades after his birth.

Especially the Inferior Zeytord.

Targets to the Republic, cannon fodder to the Empire, the veterans that 4364 served with would often say, when they weren’t being watched. When they were being polite.

4364 was lucky, for an Inferior Zeytord. He was reassigned.

. . .

“Do all humans look like Thresh?” Newbie asked 4364 once, as they all lingered in the small dining area before lights out. The mining station was off, as a break for the machinery more for the clones staffing it. The place felt empty without the constant hum of the machines, and they all instinctively gathered together to combat the loneliness the silence threatened to bring in. It was already lonely, here on the outer edge of colonized space, where all real human civilizations were nothing but points of light in the sky if they were visible at all.

It was nice in its way, though. The empty expanse of the planet. The few opportunities they had to all gather together, when the machines were turned off.

There was no lounge area built into the mining facility. There were cramped sleeping quarters, an exercise room to fight the effects of low-gravity, and a make-shift kitchen with a dining area attached. So when they gathered, they gathered in the kitchen, turning a couple of crates into chairs so that they could all sit at the table.

“Don’t be stupid,” Sixes (543666) said. “Humans all look different, they’re not clones.”

“Yeah, silly,” Sevens agreed. “Didn’t you learn anything before you came here?” Sevens only had two sevens in his number, 678973, but he and Sixes came from the same IZ educational facility and were inseparable. From shifts to names they were together.

“Yeah, I know, but they never actually said what was different!” Newbie protested. “Like, they still all have the same amount of limbs, right? And Thresh was a different color, are they all different colors? And why’s Thresh a different shape?”

“Thresh is a different shape because he’s female,” ThreeZs explained. He had a soft spot for Newbie. Well, all of them did really, though Sixes and Sevens showed theirs in odd ways. ThreeZs frowned.“Or she’s female, maybe I should say? I’m not sure.”

“It’s hard to be sure, I don’t know what culture Thresh is from and some of them use pronouns to differentiate and refer to females with she and her.” 4364 said from the kitchen, as the only one of them who had ever been around humans before. He was finishing preparing the food. “Some of them use pronouns in more complicated ways, and often they have more pronouns, though, they often have categories called genders that are associated with but don’t always match up with physical sex.”

“Sex?” Newbie asked, nose wrinkling. “Isn’t that how they make humans?”

“No, he means sex as in the charictaristics that Thresh has that you don’t,” ThreeZs said patiently as Sixes snorted. “That’s because your physical sex is male. All of our physical sexes are male, because Emperor Zeytord is male.”

“I heard some of the Royal Zeytords are female,” Sevens said. “Can you imagine? It must be so weird.”

Sixes shook his head. “Royal Zeytords are all kinds of weird.”

“Female like Thresh?” Newbie asked. “Wait, so are he and him the pronouns associated with males, then, if they’re the ones we use?”

ThreeeZs beamed. “Absolutely!”

“So have we been calling Thresh by the wrong pronoun this whole time!?” Newbie exclaimed.

“Nah, Inferior Zeytords always use he, didn’t you hear?” Sixes said.

“Inferior Zeytords don’t have a choice,” DoubleOs muttered at the end of the table. “Just like with everything else.” DoubleOs was usually pretty quiet, so Newbie blinked up at him. 4364 made a note of it in his mind.

“Wait, humans get a choice?” Newbiw asked. “A choice of gender or pronouns or sex?”

For a moment 4364 watched the table as they all blinked and considered the possibility. They may have all been clones of the same person, but they were all having different reactions. Sixes and Sevens looked taken aback. ThreeZs was thoughtful and DoubleOs stared down hard at the table.

“It can be complicated, and there are often pressures in different cultures, but yes to an extent,” 4364 said as he poured out the Foodstuff(™) he’d been preparing from the pot into a large bowl. Foodstuff was never very good, it was designed to last and be shipped in builk more than taste good, but at least it was better cooked.

“They need medical procedures to change sex, often,” 4364 continued as he brought the pot of food to the table. The others shift eagerly in their seats. “But it’s all doable.”

It was times like these that 4364 most treasured the company of the others.

“How do we know Thresh’s pronouns, then?” Newbie asked, as the others started on the meal in front of them.

“You ask,” 4364 said.

. . .

“What’s your pronouns?” Newbie asked the next time Thresh gave a delivery.

Thresh blinked, taken aback for a moment, and then smiled. He seemed to relax.

“I use they/them/theirs pronouns,” Thresh said. “It’s rather old fashioned of me, I know, but I love the history of them.”

“They/them like plural pronouns?” Newbie asked. “What kind of history do they have?”

4364 let them completely unload the ship before sending anything to the store room so that Thresh could continue his- their conversation with Newbie. They piled the supply boxes high on the anti-grav carts used for transport around the facility maybe a little higher than was advisable.

It turned out Thresh was from a planet near the Solar System, the original Solar System, and they were more tied to Terran ways there. That territory was deep in the Republic, and 4364 had to wonder how Thresh ended up delivering cargo as far from the Republic as you could go for company ignoring the war to make as much money as possible. But 4364 himself didn’t press, and Newbie and ThreeZs wouldn’t know the implications of that information.

Thresh seemed happy and patient to explain, but there was something wrong. Not with the discussions or Newbie’s questions, a feeling that began even before Thresh began talking. It was different. 4364 could feel it in the air. Maybe it was the way Thresh stood, or something in their gaze as they chatted while the rest of them unloaded the supplies. A tension. A sadness.

“You know, you could choose your pronouns too, if you wanted to,” Thresh told Newbie.

“But all Zeytords are hes,” Newbie said. “The Emporeror Zeytord’s a ‘he.’”

“He might be, but that doesn’t mean you have to be, not here,” Thresh turned to look over at 4364 as he continued speaking. “There’s no one to keep track of the six of you here. You could basically do what you wanted, regardless of the Empire.”

“That’s not a very Zeytord way to think!” ThreeZs said, shaking his head. Newbie, however, looked intrigued.

4364 was more interested in what laid in Thresh’s gaze at the moment.

“Go take these to the storage area on your own?” 4364 asked ThreeZs. “Take Newbie with you, go over everything with him. I need to chat with Thresh here about something.”

“Well, just make sure you make it clear that that kind of talk doesn’t happen here in the Empire, okay?” ThreeZs said.

“Does this mean I get to drive one of the carts!?” Newbie exclaimed.

4364 nodded absently to both, and they were off.

He and Thresh stood silently for a moment.

“You can call me Xaviera, if you want,” Thresh said.

“What is this about, Thresh?” 4364 asked, and Thresh frowned and looked away.

“You don’t need to be rude,” Thresh said. They were rubbing absently at their arm, as though more nervous than offended.

4364 sighed. “I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just- something’s up. You’re making me tense, Xaviera.”

Xaviera swallowed, and glanced up at 4364. “Yeah. Yeah, something’s up. I’m not just delivering cargo this time.”

“No?” 4364 asked.

“No.” Xaviera said. “I have a message. All of you here are supposed to report to battle.”

4364 is silent for a moment.

“Why are you the one delivering this message?” 4364 asked. “This should be part of the Zeytord command.”

“It’s too important to send through your systems, which may have been compromised, I think,” Xaviera said. “And all of the other Zeytords who may have delivered it are reporting to battle. All of the other Inferior Zeytords.”

4364 paused for a moment, reading between the lines.

“This battle is going to be a bloodbath, isn’t it,” 4364 said. It wasn’t really a question.

Xaviera breathed in shakily. “Yeah. The Republic’s been winning for awhile, and I think the Empire might be going for a desperate strategy.”

“You know what happens to Inferior Zeytords who don’t report to battle, though, don’t you?” 4364 asked.

“I know it’s not good,” Xaviera said. “But that’s for Inferior Zeytrods who chose not to report to battle. Not the ones that never got the message in the first place.”

There’s a pause, between the two of them.

“Wouldn’t that get you in trouble?” 4364 asked. “Failing to deliver a message?”

“I could have gotten into an accident, lost my message and supplies,” Xaviera said. “At worst I’ll lose my job.”

If 4364 and the others reported to battle they’d probably die. They’d in the very least be seperated. Newbie was young, new meat, and if they were going to send him in without training they had to be very desperate. This had to be very dangerous. The Empire might even fall, and Zeytord himself knows what the Republic would do with any leftover Zeytords.

“If you want to go-” Xaviera said, after several moments of silence.

“No,” 4364 said. “No. Please, lose the message.” There’s another moment of silence.

4364 looked Xaviera in the eyes. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” Xaviera said. “Well, I mean, it’s not nothing, but it’s the least I could do. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself otherwise.”

Maybe they would have said more, but at that moment the doors to the transport bay open suddenly and ThreeZs rushed in.

“Newbie-” ThreeZs panted, doubling over for a moment. “Newbie crashed cart.” More panting. “In corridor five. Are you done with your paperwork yet?”

4634 glanced at Xaviera. “Yeah, I’m done here.”

“Wait,” Xaviera held up a piece of paper. “One last thing before I go. Just in case.”

4364 took it and glanced at it wordlessly. It was extraplanetary coordinates for an area that 4364 estimated feel just outside of Republic space. Above the coordinates was written the word Haven. 4364 shoved it into his pocket.

“Thanks,” he told Xaviera, “for everything.”

“Of course,” Xavier said. “Good luck.”

They both knew he’d need it.

#writing #original writing #science fiction #transgender writing #nonbinary writer #nonbinary writing #short story #science fiction short story #nonbinary science fiction #transcendragon writes

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feynites · 7 years ago

Text

There is a new face in the cantina.

Not uncommon for a spaceport. Deearo takes note of this one, though, and for reason he cannot quite define. The noise of music and talk fills the air, as he peers out from behind the bar. His baba said he could play with his toys there, so long as he was quiet and did not disturb the patrons. He likes this spot. The shine from the back of the bar reflects the door, and lets him see the people who come in. And the cracks in the floor are good for lining up his toy soldiers, making ravines and treacherous quicksand for the intrepid fights to cross. Sometimes gusts from outside blow sand and dust his way, too. Sandstorms, he whispers, and hurries his toy soldiers behind the old model ship that Meero gave him to celebrate his last molting.

But the game is momentarily put aside, as Deearo stares at the reflection of the unfamiliar human. A woman? No, probably a man one, he decides. Even though he is wearing a skirt. There is something about him that looks… glow-y. Bright, like he has a piece of the desert in him. He sits where Deearo can still see him reflected in the glass, and orders a drink from his baba. His hood covers up most of his face, and gloves cover his hands, but somehow Deearo can tell there is machine in him, too. Like some of the space pilots, or the old people who get sick and need parts replaced. He stares, and his gaze flits to the reflection of one of the man’s hands.

There. Probably.

A lost hand… maybe he’s a soldier? Deearo picks up one of his toys, this one missing a hand, too, and goes back to playing for a while. Starting a new game about a battlefield hospital, that abruptly gets attacked by a giant when the old cleaning droid whirs up, and he has to scoop his soldiers into his lap to keep them from losing any more limbs to its rotating innards.

Then some of the customers start to get rowdy. But Baba taps the big blaster over the back of the bar, and they settle down again. Deearo is sent home after that, though, as the evening rush starts and more people trickle over from the docks. It’s not a long ways from the cantina to home. He makes his way across the street, and into the little sheltered hut. Past some of his quarreling hatchmates, down to the cool basement where their bunks all are. He dumps his toys onto his bed, and mostly forgets about the star-bright desert man, because he doesn’t know why he really even noticed him to begin with.

Baba comes home late that night. And the next day there is a family discussion between the adults. And then one where Deearo is called aside, and brought to sit up at the table, even though it’s not mealtime. Mama gives him a treat to snack on, which means he isn’t in trouble, at least. The adults exchange looks and then finally it is Baba who speaks.

“Deearo… there is a school,” Baba says. “A very far away school, for special children. Yesterday a man came to the cantina, to ask if you would be interested in attending this school. He thinks you would be a very good student for him to have.”

Deearo blinks.

School, he is familiar with. There is one in Mos Eisley, though it isn’t big, and only the richer children can afford the fees to attend it. Like most of his siblings, he takes classes on the holonet, that the Republic Network has started sending to the Outer Rim worlds. And he does chores and his parents teach him things, of course, but he has four hatchmates, and that is too many to pay all the schooling fees for.

“But I can’t go to school because school costs credits,” he reminds the adults, in case they have somehow forgotten.

“Well, this is a special school,” Baba tells him, again. Reaching over to brush a crumb away from his mandibles. “There is no cost of credits, because the only people who can attend it are ones who are sensitive to the Force. Like the Jedi. It is a Jedi school.”

Deearo blinks both sets of eyes, and stares up at all the family adults gathered around.

“But then why would I go?” he wonders. “Did the man make a mistake?”

What a mistake to make! Deearo hopes he is not angry.

“No, little clicker. The man did not make a mistake,” Mama says. “He is Luke Skywalker. The same from the holovids. And he says that you are touched by the Force. That you could be a Jedi, if you wanted. If you went to this school and learned how to harness the power inside of you.”

Deearo drops the rest of his snack in shock.

“What?” he chirps, his voice clicking at the edge of the word in a mixture of excitement and disbelief.

Him?

A Jedi?

“I thought Jedi were all humans!” he exclaims.

Mama laughs.

“No!” she says, in a tone that implies that she believed that, too. “Master Skywalker says that the Force runs through all living things, and the Jedi of old counted many species among their ranks, before the Empire destroyed them.”

Excitement bubbles up and over the shock and disbelief, until Deearo is practically vibrating in his carapace. Before he can get too ecstatic, however, Baba raises up a hand, and forces him to still. And looks him in the eye, until his clicking has stopped.

“Before you decide, you must understand. This school is very far away.”

Deearo calms, and the seriousness of the conversation becomes even more apparent.

“How far?” he wonders. “Is it in Anchorhead?”

Baba gestures ‘no’.

“It is on another world, little clicker. Master Skywalker says it would be months between visits. Maybe years, depending on how your training goes. You would have to leave us, little clicker, to go and learn how to be a Jedi. We could not come with you.”

That gives Deearo pause. No family? On a whole different planet? The prospect is so frightening, he nearly sinks into his carapace and goes in entirely the opposite direction. Mama scoops him into her lap, then, and Baba sighs, and goes and get the holovids, while Mama’s clutchmates talk about space travel and Cousin Meedro who has a ship. The rest of the morning is spent explaining to Deearo what all the school might entail, and what Jedi do. There are pictures of the school - which is a temple, too - and recordings of Master Skywalker explaining things.

“It would be your choice,” Baba says, firmly. “For you to decide, to go or stay. We cannot make that decision for you, even though it might be a hard one. To be a Jedi is a very big dream. But I do not think it is an easy one.”

Deearo nearly panics at the weight of the choice laid out before him. But Mama soothes him before he gets too far, and all the adults assure him that he has time to think things over. Master Skywalker has left Mos Eisley, and is coming back in a week, and he says Deearo can have a whole year to decide if he wants to. And if he goes to the school and changes his mind, Mama tells him, he can come home. No one will blame him.

But part of Deearo thinks he knows his choice, already. That he is upset not because he has to make it, but because that choice comes at a cost, and he is sad to pay it. He wishes his family could come with him. When he is released from the meeting, he even goes to the big console, that he and his clutchmates usually have lessons on. And he boots it up, and looks at more pictures of the school, and the students. None of them look like him, but most of them do look different from one another. Except the humans, which there are the most of. The vids say that visitors are allowed, but only at certain times. The months listed are not like the ones on Tatooine, so Deearo has to do lessons to figure out how much time is actually involved.

Lots, he finds.

But… but, there would be other students. And so much to learn. Jedi are charged with protecting people, and Deearo likes that idea very much. He wants to be soldier - or maybe now, he wanted to be a soldier. To join the Republic Guard and to be a brave hero. Jedi seem even better at it. Even more like a great story, or dream.

And besides, his hatchmates are all twitching with jealousy when they find out. It seems almost a shame not to make them change colours with full envy.

“I am special!” Deearo brags.

“Ugh,” Jebebe complains, clacking her mandibles. “You just have so much fluff in your brain that there was room for weird magic to get in there. Like birds making a nest.”

“That’s not how it works!” he protests.

“I want to be a Jedi!” Aboro whines. “How come you get all the good stuff? It’s not fair!”

“You get good stuff!” Deearo protests. “Baba gives you pickled eggs all the time, no one else ever gets to sneak them!”

“That’s not the same!”

They break into quarreling, then, but even though there is a lot of complaining and whining and protests of unfairness, they don’t actually fight, either. Deearo has to endure a fair few pranks at his expense, though, because his hatchmates don’t even bother to ask what he will decide. They know as well as he does, in the end. And they might be jealous, but he can see the same sort of uncertainty he feels in himself reflected in their own eyes.

Humans, Deearo knows, usually grow up and leave their families. That is what they expect, because there is a certain coldness to them. Or at least, he thinks there must be. They think it is normal to leave hatchmates behind, and to stop seeing parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins so often. To not live with the same family you grew up with. And sometimes they even hate their family. Luke Skywalker fought his own sire, and was raised apart from his hatchmate.

That seems so lonely.

But when he finally comes for Deearo, he doesn’t seem like a lonely man. There is that star-brightness to him. And now that Deearo is not behind the bar, he looks at him more plainly. A human of the desert, most definitely, for all that he has been flying among the stars. It is comforting, in a way - Deearo knows desert things. And the human seems to know Deearo, too, with a sense of understanding that he cannot quite explain.

He stares at the model ship that Deearo is holding. It would not fit so well in his bag.

He smiles, and for a moment, he does look sad. But it is an old sad. Like the scars on Mama’s carapace.

“Want to see my ship?” he offers.

Deearo clicks in excitement, and bounds eagerly towards him.

The excitement takes over, after that. Even through his goodbyes, it keeps him going, as Master Skywalker - “Master Luke is okay” - lets him ride in the cockpit, and answers all of his questions about how the ship flies and how things work. He looks at Deearo’s model ship, too, and says he had one just like it when he was younger. Just like! And when Deearo asks about the war, he answers those questions, too, although soon enough that just turns into a conversation about X-wings and TIE fighters, and if General Organa really did throw people into garbage chutes.

She did.

It’s only when the excitement wears off that Deearo begins to feel afraid. The stars outside the ship are vast, and everything gets colder than he is used to. When he has been quiet for a while, Master Luke takes him from the cockpit, and sets him onto a big ship bunk with a heated blanket.

“Scared?” he asks.

Deearo gestures ‘no’, to be brave. But Master Luke hums and does not seem convinced.

“I can sense it,” he says. “It’s alright. Anyone would be scared, leaving home for the first time. I was.”

“You?” Deearo blurts, stunned. “But you are a Jedi!”

Master Luke laughs.

“Well, I wasn’t then,” he says. “But even as a Jedi, I still get scared. I just deal with it differently now.”

Deearo clicks softly, in interest.

“How?”

Master Luke lets out a long breath, and settles down cross-legged onto the floor beside the bunk. After a moment, Deearo takes his blanket, and slides down next to him. He tries to sit the same way, but Master Luke only has two legs, and his own don’t want to go like that. After a few minutes he gives up, and settles into a folded position that is more natural for him. But Master Luke nods in approval, at it.

"Every fear is different. Just like other emotions, you feel things because something has happened, that brought this feeling to you. For this one… you are afraid of facing the unknown. Of leaving behind people who love you. But if you reach for the Force, you can feel the connection you still have to your family. It isn’t gone, and neither are they. Reach out, and you feel them.”

This is a lesson, Deearo can tell. He nods, and sits, and thinks for a long while about what he was just told. Of course, he still loves his family… but they are not here right now? And the Force cannot make them be here, because they are not. Right?

After a few minutes, Master Luke chuckles.

“You’re just thinking very hard,” he says.

“Well… yes?”

Again, Master Luke chuckles.

“You need to feel it,” he says. “Clear your mind. Don’t think about anything.”

Don’t think about anything?

Deearo is not sure he can do that. Does not being able to do that mean he is not really a Jedi? Did Master Luke make a mistake? No, but wait, thinking about that is thinking. He needs to stop thinking. But if he can’t, will he go back home before he even gets to the school? That would be embarrassing…

“Okay, wrong approach,” Master Luke murmurs, lips twitching as he settles a hand on the back of Deearo’s carapace. Somehow, though, he makes things feel much calmer. And Deearo gets the distinct impression that he is doing it, on purpose; not just with comforting gestures, but with something else, too.

With the Force?

“Focus on one thing,” Master Luke instructs.

One thing. Okay. Deearo can focus on one thing. He resettles himself, and taps the points of his digits against the floor, and makes a few clicks before he settles on one thing. The feeling, he decides. The calm feeling he doesn’t entirely understand, that Master Luke is making. He focuses on how it is soothing the air, and making him feel like he has just come from Mama’s arms, or a sleepy pile of napping hatchmates. How is Master Luke doing it? And how does Deearo know he is doing it? It is like a sound, he thinks. A sound too low to hear, but that sings a soothing song, with vibrations he can feel anyway.

“Good,” Master Luke murmurs, quietly. “Follow the feeling. Like you are an explorer, out on the dunes. Watching for the weather. Looking for signs of life. Not really seeking anything specific, but just seeing what’s out there. What’s around you.”

Deearo can do that! He imagines the dunes, and that is easy. Master Luke’s calm becomes a soothing breeze, and after a while, the sands turn dark. Like the space outside the ship. Not scary, just dark, like at night. The stars come out, and at first they are just in the sky above. Like usual. But they spread, like glittering gems, into the space beneath him, too. And it all feels like it is moving. Heading towards something… something green. Somewhere green.

“What do you see?” Master Luke asks.

Deearo clicks.

“Stars,” he says. “Space. A green place, we are going to.”

“Good. Now what is behind that? If you look to where we have come from, what do you see?”

Deearo turns, in his mind’s eye, and stares backwards. The stars are making trails, he realizes. Like bright strips of light. And behind them, he sees silhouettes. Familiar ones, with familiar sentiments. Thoughts that reach out towards him, just like the reverse of the trailing stars.

“My family,” he murmurs.

“Yes! There they are,” Master Luke encourages.

They are! Deearo can feel them! Far away, but, right where he left them, too.

He manages to hold into it for a minute more, but then his concentration slips. And he blinks, and he finds himself back on the ship. Sitting next to Master Luke, with walls between them and all of the stars.

Master Luke is smiling.

“That was wonderfully done,” he says. “How do you feel?”

Deearo considers himself, tapping the front of his carapace as he blinks.

“A little dizzy?” he admits.

“Mm. Yeah, that can happen,” Master Luke tells him. “Give it a minute before you get up.”

“I’m not scared so much though,” Deearo adds, forgetting, for a moment, that he had claimed to now be scared at all. Master Luke doesn’t point that out, though. He just pats him and tells him it’s a good job, and sits with Deearo for a while longer. Letting him just quietly think about things, until Deearo gets tired enough to climb back onto the bunk.

“I’m going to meditate here,” Master Luke says. “Artoo can fly us for now. That is, if you don’t mind the company?”

Deearo has never slept in an empty room in his life. He feels a rush of relief.

“No, I don’t mind at all.”

Years later, Deearo thinks of that first flight, as the temple burns. His limbs ache. His grip is steady as he can make it, though, as he holds his training staff. No match for a lightsaber, but better than nothing. The night sky feels dark in the wrong way, as he draws in heavy breaths, and tries to swallow back his clicks. He digs at the place where the rubble has collapsed, and buried Master Luke beneath it.

The deaths of the students who are fighting stab at him like knives. No, no, Sedal. Not Sedal. And Jyga! Some of the older students are fighting with Ben and his friends, trying to keep them from killing the younger ones. Deearo does not have his lightsaber yet. But he has his wings, now. He was the only one who could make it out to where Master Luke is, fighting his way out, but Sedal and Jyga’s deaths rattle through him with such shocks that he nearly falls over. Slipping in the rain.

Don’t feel it!

Deearo cannot block it out, but he can think. He can think it all, over-think it all. What had even happened? Yesterday. Yesterday, at training. Ben was angry. He fought angry. Master Luke had to stop him, it had looked like he was about to kill Sedal, the whole school had been talking about it. But that had only been the latest in a long string of incidents. Deearo had gone to bed hoping it would be the last, but not like this. Waking in the night to fire and screams, to someone shouting that Ben had tried to kill Master Luke.

Master Luke!

He takes in a deep breath, and uses what focus he can muster, and shifts the biggest portion of rubble away. Master Luke always says that if you can move a twig, you can move a tree, but Deearo isn’t… he hasn’t really figured it out yet, not as good as some of the others…

“STOP!”

A wave of force crashes against Deearo’s back, and sends him spinning away from his desperate excavation. His carapace smacks into nearby stone, and alarmed clicks escape him as he sees the gleam of lightsabers in the night. The silhouettes of humans. Older students.

Ben.

“Which one is it?” one of his friends asks.

“The bug,” Ben replies.

Deearo flares his mandibles. Always ‘the bug’, to Ben Solo. For some reason the man had hated him from the moment when Master Luke announced that he was from Tatooine.

No. Not for ‘some reason’. Deearo figured it out, of course. Ben hated that he was from the same place as his uncle. As his grandfather. That he had something in common with them that Ben didn’t, and that Master Luke was fond of him for it. He hated him in a way that surpassed the rivalries of hatchmates or normal jealousy. In a way that made Deearo skitter away from him, for years.

“I’ll do it,” one of the others offers.

“No,” Ben says. Deearo hesitates, as the man looks down at him. But he cannot feel anything except anger and fear pouring off of him waves. Impenetrable and deep. His expression twists, and he gestures at one of his friends.

“Give him a lightsaber.”

“What?! But-”

“Just do it!”

His voice rises in a shriek of anger, that ripples through the air. Deearo cannot hold back his clicks of distress as a lighstaber is thrown to the ground next to him, skittering towards the hand he still has clenched around his practice staff. He stares at it, until he hears the hum of Ben’s blade. The light from it spills over his training robes, as the man’s mouth clenches with emotions, and he looks at Deearo with purest contempt.

“Take it,” he says. “I’ll give you one chance. Since you’re his favourite, since he thought so highly of you. You can prove why - or you can die in the dirt.”

Deearo’s digits shake. He hasn’t practiced with a real lightsaber before. He’s only held one a few times while it was lit, Master Luke was still trying to figure out how to help him with his form, since he has so many limbs…

But Ben knows that. Ben’s killing them all.

He picks up the lightsaber. Green light spills over him as he ignites it, and gets to his feet.

He barely has time to lift his own weapon before Ben is swinging at him. Rain sizzles where it strikes the beams of their blades. Deearo veers backwards, managing to counter the first strike, and then the second, but he slips and the third comes down in a vicious arc that he cannot meet. Ben’s blade strikes his shoulder, and he screams as he feels it rend through his carapace, and flesh. It is a dizzying shock to hear his own arm hit the ground. The borrowed lightsaber blade deactivates, barely used. Deearo trembles, and does not know if he can fight back his terror.

No. You can.

Breathe.

Focus.

He puts away the sickening feeling of the limb lost. It is gone now. He reaches his senses backwards, instead. Anchoring himself in the feel of distant family, like stars. In the sound of the rain, and the feeling of Master Luke’s heart. Buried but still beating. Past the hatred and fear and anger in the air, past the pain, there is still the Force.

Ben’s chest heaves as he stares down at him.

“Just what I thought. Pathetic,” he says. “Weak. Unworthy.”

Deearo knows, then.

He is not going to make it out of here alive.

“All he saw in you was what he wanted to see.”

“I am a Jedi,” he says. Without clicks. “That is what he saw. I am a Jedi.”

Ben’s face trembles. He he raises a lightsaber.

“Well. Probably. Since you’re going to die. Jedi are good at that,” he spits.

The Force takes the pain as the blade of his lightsaber splits through Deearo’s chest. Around him is the cracked ground, the broken temple. The bodies strewn in the rain, as the enemies stand among them. Like the old games, he thinks, that he used to play. With his toy soldiers, on the cantina floor.

Being a Jedi was a big dream.

Before the Force takes him, Deearo’s last dream is a small dream. Of home.

#star wars #just a thing i had to get out #been rattling around in my brain on and off since tfa #star wars fanfic

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