Gyla Feranis
From the Galaxy's worst Jedi to the Galaxy's worst Au Pair.
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Scipio (aged 19)
191 ED
In many ways, Scipio was a much nicer planet than Coruscant – the huge windows overlooked snow-covered peaks and frozen waterfalls, rather than a grubby urban jungle. The sky was bright and crisp and blue, not murky pollution-tinged grey. Gyla might have preferred it, despite Coruscant being the closest thing she had to a home, but she couldn’t shake her unease at sharing the space with Separatists. The idea of a neutral zone in the midst of full-fledged war was bizarre.
But duty was duty, and she was a member of the Jedi Order; whatever unease she felt needed to be suppressed, disregarded. Master Rancisis was very firm on that. Then again, he was very firm on a lot of things.
Gyla moved through the corridor purposefully; eyes straight ahead, posture straight. She nodded respectfully to any Republic representatives she caught sight of, but mostly avoided eye contact. Too many Seps. And they were the enemy. Sometimes, she thought, or felt, that they were looking at her. The Jedi. The Padawan.
She took a moment to calm herself. Scipio was the home of the banks, and their neutrality in the war was vital if the Republic wanted to be victorious. And if that neutrality was to be preserved, then both the Republic and the Separatists needed to have people stationed there to oversee everything. It was Gyla’s duty – to the Order, to the Republic – to monitor and oversee the banks, and move alongside her hated enemy with civility, and without provocation. It wasn’t easy, not when they were at war, not when Gyla had lost peers to the Clankers.
She stepped into the Turbolift, and pressed the button for her floor. But just as the door hissed and started to close, another figure hastened inside. Her fingers jammed the button for another floor as the door clicked shut and the lift started to rise.
Gyla stared straight ahead, fighting to quell her feelings.
The young woman who had joined her in the lift glanced up, finally, and upon catching sight of Gyla raised her eyebrows. Only the slightest widening of her eyes betrayed the fact she wasn’t the most comfortable with sharing a lift alone with a Jedi.
“Morning,” said the Separatist, with the shadow of a smirk across her lips. A bureaucrat, whom Gyla recognised only vaguely.
Gyla didn’t react; she took a breath, trying to achieve a meditative state even with her eyes open.
“Come now, there’s no need to be rude,” said the Separatist. “Just because we’re on different sides of the war, doesn’t mean we can’t be civil.”
Still, Gyla stared on. She wasn’t going to let herself be engaged by the enemy. Neutral zone or not, this woman’s people were fighting against the Republic that Gyla was loyal to, and had killed untold innocents.
The lift was gliding smoothly, gaining height and nearing their floors, when there was a slight shudder, and it slowed to a halt.
Gyla looked about, unnerved. Briefly, the Separatist met her eyes and shrugged before Gyla tore her gaze away.
Then, on cue, the mechanical voice of a droid rebounded within the lift;
“Apologies to any passengers for the temporary cessation of service. Due to scheduled maintenance on the upper levels, there is increased traffic, resulting in minor delays. This elevator will recommence service in approximately four minutes.”
Four minutes? Gyla winced as she fought against the wave of irritation at her predicament. Four minutes trapped with a Separatist in a lift was hardly an attractive prospect.
And yet, after the announcement, the silence between the two enemies felt especially heavy. And awkward.
The Separatist kept looking at her, and then finally said; “It’s Gyla, isn’t it? You’re the Padawan.” Her eyes settled on the Lightsaber at Gyla’s waist, and Gyla rested her hand on it protectively.
Unable to hold back, Gyla responded; “How do you know my name?”
The Separatist smiled indulgently. “I make it my business to know the names of anyone of note.” She watched Gyla’s expression carefully. “And as you are one of the only two Jedi on this planet – I’d say you are… of note.”
Gyla snapped her eyes away, unsettled. She didn’t much like the thought of any Separatist taking note of her. But it was of little surprise – how they must fear the Jedi, she thought with a certain satisfaction.
Unfortunately her silence had the opposite effect to that which she intended– it seemed to spur the Separatist on to want a reaction.
“You’re not very talkative, are you?”
Gyla’s eyes flickered over, then away. She cleared her throat. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“How charming.”
Gyla allowed herself to enjoy a moment’s peace.
Then – “You know, after everything I heard about the Jedi, you don’t half fit the bill.”
She’s just trying to get to you. Don’t rise to it. Keep calm. Remember your teachings…
“Of course – what I’ve heard,” the Separatist continued. “is that not only are the Jedi emotionally stunted, they’re all incredibly sexually repressed. Which is what happens I suppose when you’re banned from screwing anyone.”
Well. That wasn’t something Gyla had expected to hear. Her eyebrows shot up as her carefully controlled neutral expression broke.
“That’s – that’s – wait, no –” The words of indignation spilled from her mouth in no particular order.
The Separatist clocked it, and clearly enjoying herself, added; “So, are Jedi allowed to masturbate, or is that off-limits too? You seem pretty up-tight to me – god knows you’d benefit from the release…”
Gyla’s cheeks burned; feeling utterly mortified. Her brain forgot how to function as she was seized by a paralysing embarrassment. She fought to be calm, to regain control of her emotions. She cleared her throat. She commanded; “Stop.”
…
“Did you just try and use a Jedi mind trick on me?”
Gyla flushed deeply. Then composed herself.
“Your attempts to bait me will not succeed,” she said, firmly. Trying to emulate the authority of her Master, and not entirely convinced she was succeeding.
“Perhaps you’re right. Worth a try in any case.” The Separatist shrugged, barely concealing her grin. She certainly seemed more amused than angry. “But we’re going to have to pass the time somehow. What do you do for fun in the Jedi Temple?”
Gyla stared at her, utterly vexed by the sudden change in conversation.
“You Jedi do know what fun is, right?” prompted the Separatist.
Gyla blinked. She gritted her teeth. She did not rise to it.
“I’ll take that as a no.” The woman shook her head, mockingly. “Tell you what – I know a great game to play, and I think you’d like it. Shag, Marry, Kill. You ever played that one? We used to all the time as teenagers on the Legislative Youth Programme. But why don’t we spice it up… how about, hmm… Jedi Council Edition?”
Gyla tensed, horrified. Not that she was sexually or emotionally repressed – what a ridiculous notion. As if Jedi, the peacekeepers of the galaxy and wielders of the force, had the luxury or time to dwell on such things. But the Jedi Masters were the wisest beings in the Galaxy. They were owed respect and reverence. Neither of which would apply to a pathetic, childish, vile game. Of course, as a Jedi, it was not for her to let her emotions get the better of her. So she breathed calmly, and tried to let them wash over her.
And then the Separatist said; “Let’s start off with an easy one. What do you reckon – Shag, Marry, Kill: Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Mace Windu.”
“I am not engaging in your childish games,” Gyla said, through gritted teeth. “But I would urge you to show more respect to my Masters…”
“More respect?” The Separatist laughed harshly. “What respect do I owe to those stuffy old Jedi? They’re not my Masters, young Padawan.”
Gyla didn’t respond. A lengthy pause followed.
Then – “You didn’t answer the question. Shag, Marry, Kill. Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace Windu. Go.”
Gyla felt a wave of emotion building and she fought against it with all she had. The Separatist was baiting her, trying to wind her up, get under her skin. A Jedi wouldn’t let that happen, would be strong enough to resist the provocation. But Gyla wasn’t quite a Jedi, not yet.
“Ah, okay,” said the Separatist. “I’ll go first, to teach you how it’s done. Now, this is an easy one, really. Obviously all three are objectively physically attractive, so that makes it easier – Anakin is the youngest, more rash and reckless, yes? Probably good for a night, but not long term. So – I’d shag him. Mace Windu –now, I’m a bit biased, because he’s a war-monger isn’t he? So I’d take great pleasure in taking him out. I’d kill Mace Windu,” she clarified. “Well, that leaves Obi-wan. Probably a bit stuffy, can’t see him being that good in the sack and yet –’
“Shut up.”
The words had left Gyla’s mouth before she could stop them; carrying with them a force that unsettled her.
The Separatist’s eyes sparkled merrily. And she continued with a renewed bounce in her voice; “I mean – can you imagine being railed by Obi-wan–”
Something snapped.
“I told you to shut up.”
Before she was aware of what was happening, Gyla had drawn her Lightsaber and in one movement smashed the Separatist into the back wall of the lift, the fierce green light of the saber held at her throat.
The two of them froze, their rapid breaths inches apart, their eyes interlocked. Fear crept up Gyla’s chest before she could stop it – fear at herself, at how she’d lost control. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t the Jedi way. Lost, confused, she stepped back, pulling her Lightsaber with her but not lowering it.
The green light reflected in the Separatist’s cheeks, making her appear ghoul-like. And then she laughed. Sharply. Gleefully.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Touched a nerve, did I?”
With a familiar shudder, the lift started to move; in the distant background, the droid’s voice thanked them for their patience and said they would be arriving at their designated floors shortly.
Gyla withdrew unsteadily, her eyes a little unfocused. “I… I shouldn’t have… that’s not the Jedi way…”
“No, it’s not, is it?” said the Separatist. Her eyes were bright with curiosity and intrigue.
A heartbeat passed, and then the lift shuddered to a stop, floor number announced by the droid’s voice. Not Gyla’s, but one below. The door hissed behind her, and she quickly flicked her Lightsaber off as the Separatist moved around her.
“Well, this is me,” said the Separatist as she passed. “It was nice meeting you, young Padawan.” Her voice carried a thinly veiled hint of mockery.
Gyla spun around, her eyes tracking the other woman. “I… what? Who…?”
The Separatist stepped out of the lift, but then turned back, eyeing Gyla appraisingly.
“I’m Ali,” she said, with a sly smile. “Ali Santora. See you around, Jedi.”
And then she had the audacity to wink.
***
“I sense unease in you, Padawan,” said Master Oppo Rancisis.
Gyla winced as she stepped further into the central Living Quarters that she and her Master inhabited. Oppo Rancisis was sitting atop a chair; eyes shut, and arms spread out in contemplative meditation.
Of course he could sense her unease.
“I’m fine,” she said hastily. Too hastily.
His eyes flickered open, and he assessed her. “You must keep a better control of yourself, Gyla,” said Rancisis. “What is it that is bothering you?”
She hesitated. But there was little point in hiding things from a Jedi who had mastered the Force, and she still occasionally held out hope that her Master would have sage advice. “I…it is not always easy, Master, being in close quarters with our enemies.”
“Little in life is easy,” Rancisis acknowledged. “Go on…”
“I ended up in an elevator with a Separatist representative,” Gyla finally said, selecting her words carefully. “This representative went out of her way to… to be provocative. To wind me up.”
“Not a tactic that should have any effect on a Jedi,” said Rancisis, his tone heavy with disapproval. “And yet, I sense you did not react as your teachings should have directed you.”
Gyla couldn’t hold back the wave of irritation that rolled over her. “Easier said than done, Master. Given that she said some very rude things… about the Jedi. About us. About the council.”
Oppo Rancisis narrowed his eyes. “This is a Separatist representative, yes? Why would you concern yourself with her opinions? They are surely irrelevant. I don’t need to remind you how vital it is that good relations are maintained to ensure the banks’ continued neutrality.”
“But… how can I stay calm and do nothing, when everything I care about is ripped to shreds and disrespected in front of me – how can I not defend…?”
“Care?” Her Master leapt on the words. “Mind your words, Gyla. That hints at a deeper attachment. I don’t need to remind you of the dangers of attachment for those in the Jedi Order.”
“But I’m referring to the Jedi!” Gyla exclaimed. “I’m talking about me caring about the Jedi, about the Jedi’s reputation… That’s not an attachment, that’s…!”
“Calm yourself,” said Master Rancisis sharply. “Remember your training.”
Gyla took a deep breath. “I let it get to me,” she admitted, finally. “I know I shouldn’t have – I know I need to be better.”
“Good. Now you can learn from this, and ensure it is not repeated.”
Gyla nodded, slowly. “Yes, Master. I keep thinking how I should have reacted differently…”
“Dwelling on your mistakes will not help matters,” said Oppo Rancisis. “May I firmly suggest you study harder and devote more time to meditation?”
His eyelids dropped shut and he took a deep breath, as if at one with the force.
Gyla observed her Master for a moment, wondering whether he could sense her conflicted feelings. Then she went to make herself a cup of tea.
***
Previously, Gyla had had a feeling that people were watching her, their eyes following her down hallways and around corners. She had never engaged, keeping her eyes down and averted. She had no time for acknowledging the enemy.
And yet… why was it that she found her eyes flickering around more than usual? Her encounter with Ali Santora in the lift had spooked her – so much as a Jedi could allow oneself to be spooked. Perhaps a part of her sought out a rematch. A rematch where she would keep her cool, and meditate like a good Jedi, and let all those horrid, inappropriate things wash over her, and just not react. Yes, perhaps that’s what it was. A desire to undo what had happened.
Gyla’s thoughts definitely did not linger on that moment where they had stood nose to nose, only a Lightsaber between them. On the dark, inquisitive eyes, resting below eyebrows cocked with amusement. On the curve of her smirk. Definitely not.
And then, as the next day was drawing to a close, and Gyla found herself hurrying back to her quarters from the Archival Library, she found herself skirting around a small cluster of Separatists and their Muun Liaison.
Gyla couldn’t help it; she glanced up. And found one of the delegation was looking directly at her. Her stomach lurched as she recognised Ali Santora.
Ali’s mouth twitched. She nodded at Gyla, acknowledging her.
But the look didn’t seem threatening, or mocking, even. It could have been mistaken for respect.
Gyla tore her eyes away. But a part of her was turning their previous conversation over in her mind, and examining it – less in disgust at what had been said, but in awe at the nerve of it… From a certain point of view, she suspected, the whole conversation could have been hilarious. If only her loyalty hadn’t belonged to the very Jedi Order that had been the subject of such mockery.
***
“Hey, Jedi.”
The blood froze in Gyla’s veins. She hammered the button on the Turbolift to close the door, but the droid must have had it in for her. Several days had passed since their encounter, giving Gyla enough time to decide she had no desire to encounter this particular Separatist ever again. Or any Separatist for that matter.
And yet Gyla was helpless as Ali Santora slipped into the lift, the doors closing instantly once she’d pressed the button. “Not so happy to see me, then?” She seemed to be in a good mood, which was a bit unsettling considering she was on the opposite side of the war.
Gyla eyed her suspiciously, then looked away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Ali’s expression soften, just a fraction. “You know – I’m actually rather impressed with how well you handled our last conversation. I got a lot further than I was expecting before I had a Lightsaber at my throat. And you didn’t even stab me with it. That must have taken a lot of self-control.” She grinned amiably.
Gyla couldn’t help it; the shadow of a smile crossed her lips. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky Jedi are so peaceful.”
There was a pause. A mixture of emotions crossed Ali’s face. And then she coughed and spluttered; it wasn’t clear whether genuine or put on for theatrical effect. “Sorry – did you just say the Jedi are peaceful?” The coughing henceforth evolved into a full-fledged laugh.
Gyla’s brow furrowed, irked. “Of course. We’re the Peacekeepers in the Galaxy,” she said, with utmost sincerity. “It’s our job to keep every citizen of the Republic – and the wider Galaxy –safe.” She held back from adding; From the likes of you. But it was heavily implied, and Ali clearly picked up on that.
The Separatist opened her mouth to retort, but just as she did so, the lift slowed and dinged to announce their arrival at her floor. As the door started to hiss open, Ali jammed the button to close it again. The lift held steady. Gyla’s eyes widened.
“See,” Ali Santora said. “You talk of Peacekeepers and keeping the Galaxy safe – and yet these are the very people leading an army of Clones on the battlefield. And self-styling themselves as Generals. That doesn’t sound very peaceful to me.” Her eyebrows edged up; Gyla read the challenge. The invitation.
“You talk as if it wasn’t you Separatists who started this war.” Gyla retorted.
Ali feigned surprise. “Was it? As far as I’m aware, if the Republic had just accepted our secession, we wouldn’t be in this mess. And you still haven’t answered the Great Jedi Paradox of Peacekeepers calling themselves Generals.”
Gyla shifted uncomfortably. “That wasn’t a choice, so much as a necessity.”
“And you’re honestly telling me your Masters don’t get off on being called General?”
Gyla flinched at the wording. “I have somewhere to be,” she said, stepping forward and pressing the button. “I don’t have time to have political discussions with the enemy.”
The lift started to move again, and reached Gyla’s floor just a moment later.
“Yes, I’m sure you have some very important meditation to be getting on with,” Ali smirked. “Just try not to threaten anyone with that Lightsaber of yours on the way out.”
Gyla paused, unnerved. “Look – about that. I need you to not–”
“Not tell anyone?”
Gyla nodded, and stepped out of the lift.
“Don’t worry, Jedi,” said Ali Santora with one of her apparently customary winks. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
***
Gyla tried to tell herself there was absolutely nothing wrong with her increasingly frequent interactions with Ali Santora. They talked, that’s all, and never dealt in more than hypotheticals. Gyla would never have compromised the Republic, and Ali would never have compromised her Separatists. Their conversations, therefore, were harmless. If anything, Gyla thought it helpful to understand her enemy on this more personal level.
Or perhaps she was only telling herself that to quell the rising discomfort that, aside from the fact she was actively fraternising with the enemy she’d sworn not to even acknowledge in passing, she was enjoying it all a bit too much. In part the discussions themselves – the sport of it, of verbally sparring with an opponent diametrically opposed – but also… as Separatists went, Ali Santora was quick-witted and fierce and unapologetic. And most of all, in stark contrast to Gyla’s upbringing in the severity of the Jedi Temple, she knew how to have fun, how to laugh. In her own words, how to live.
If Gyla sensed the beginnings of the dreaded, Jedi-forbidden “attachment”, she brushed her concerns aside. Ali was still a Separatist, no matter how many times they spoke. They had nothing in common.
But perhaps Gyla knew there was more to it than that, because it was she who moved their conversations to a more private locale.
A month had passed. Another encounter in an empty hallway; barbed words passed between them.
Then -
“We can’t talk here,” Gyla said, glancing back over her shoulder. She could sense the corridors and public spaces beyond crawling with people.
Ali tilted her head to the side.
Gyla tensed; someone was about to come around the corner. She eyed an uninteresting looking door, one that she knew was just a supply closet. A wave of her hand, the door hissed open and she pushed Ali inside.
A grimy light flickered, casting the room in a dim glow as Ali arched her eyebrows and folded her arms.
“I hope this isn’t a Republic plot to kidnap a Separatist politician,” she said.
Gyla looked at Ali helplessly, wondering what the hell she was doing.
***
It was a glorified store room, but at least the view was nice. They sat opposite each other with their knees drawn to their chins, passing a container of whiskey between them and staring out the small window at the snowy wilderness beyond.
They bounced off each other; jabbed and jibed. Several meetings along, their conversation had started to occasionally swerve into more personal territory, so much as either was willing to allow.
Then, after a lengthy pause, Ali asked, curiously; “Where are you from?”
Gyla answered automatically; “Coruscant, of course.”
“I mean originally,” Ali clarified. “Before the Jedi. Unless, you mean you were born on Coruscant…?”
Gyla hesitated, her brow furrowing. “No,” she said slowly. “I was born on Chandrila. But I wouldn’t say that’s where I’m from. I’m a Jedi. I grew up in the Temple on Coruscant.”
She’d also spent a lot more time on Coruscant than most Padawans; prowling the lower levels for criminals rather than fighting in the earliest battles of the Clone Wars, thanks to her Master’s posting.
“But surely, the planet you’re from has a lot to do with your identity?”
Gyla turned away, irritated. “I’m a Jedi,” she repeated. “What more should there be to my identity?”
Ali was watching her closely. “And you wonder why people think the Jedi are fucked up.”
Gyla visibly tensed. “I think I preferred it when we were talking about politics,” she said curtly.
“Said no one ever,” returned Ali with a grin. But of course she loved to talk politics – and the more her opponent disagreed with her the better.
Gyla couldn’t help but smile.
“Can I ask one final question…?” said Ali, somewhat tentatively.
“If you must.”
“How old were you when you came to the Jedi Temple?”
For some reason the question, simple as it seemed, unsettled Gyla. Since her arrival they’d been taught to let go – of everything, and especially the past. “Older than most,” she acknowledged. “I mean, most are toddlers, less than five, certainly.”
“And you?”
“I’d just turned six.”
Surprise reflected in Ali’s face. “Really? You must remember your parents, then? And your home? I know I have a lot of memories from that age…”
Gyla shrugged, nonplussed. “Not really,” she said bluntly. “Why would I want to?”
“Why would you want to?” echoed Ali, aghast. “They’re your parents, aren’t they?”
“Like I said,” said Gyla coldly. “I’d prefer it if we stuck to politics.”
“Okay, okay. Sorry I asked.”
***
Ali cut a glance at her companion. “You’re not even going to ask me where I’m from…?”
Gyla frowned, then shrugged. “Okay, fine. Where are you from?”
Ali grinned broadly. “Raxus,” she said with a jubilant flourish. “Born and bred.”
Gyla tutted. “Of course you are,” she muttered disparagingly. Where else would Ali Santora be from but the founding planet of the Separatist Alliance?
“Not a fan of Raxus, then?” said Ali with a gentle tease in her voice.
Gyla shot her a look. “I’m not a fan of Separatists, no.”
“And yet here you are, fraternising with your hated enemy.”
Gyla scowled at her. “Hardly fraternising. We’ve talked, that’s all.”
Ali shrugged. “And yet, why do I feel your precious Master remains none the wiser?”
“There’s a lot of things my Master doesn’t know,” said Gyla, without thinking.
Ali looked intrigued, but didn’t press the point. Instead, her gaze drifted and she leaned back into the wall. “It’s actually a really nice planet, Raxus. Raxulon City… the landscape. It’s beautiful. You’d like it.”
“I highly doubt that.”
***
“We’re all out,” Ali said, mournfully, holding up her flask, from which a final, solitary dreg fell onto her outstretched tongue. Their evening, store-room encounters (and the accompanying whiskey) had become a habit, a routine, over the last few weeks.
“Oh,” uttered Gyla. She wasn’t exactly fond of Corellian whiskey, but a part of her was willing to acknowledge that she just didn’t want their evening to end. Drinking and arguing with Ali was undeniably more fun than meditating with Master Rancisis.
Ali eyed Gyla’s reaction. “It’s a shame,” she said, carefully. “There’s a really nice bar in my living room. And a lot more on offer than this Corellian whiskey.”
In the silence, rested a question. An invitation. An improper proposal.
But it was up to Gyla to spell out the words, up to her to make the leap. She swallowed. She said; “Maybe I could come check it out…?”
Ali’s eyes lit up. Her mouth stretched into a wide smile.
It was unclear whether this was at the prospect of Gyla’s company, or at more alcohol.
Coruscant (aged 14)
184 ED
Gyla was concentrating hard as she brought the speeder level and merged into the streams of traffic filtering between Coruscant’s towering skyscrapers. A horn blared but she could only edge forward against the impending gridlock.
“Is this really necessary?” she uttered.
In the passenger seat beside her, Anakin Skywalker stretched back, resting his hands behind his head. “Everyone learning to fly has to be able to navigate the sky-lanes. And hey, if you can crack Coruscant, you can crack anywhere.”
“It’s hardly the sort of flying that’ll be useful when I’m off fighting crime across the Galaxy. Anyway, weren’t you Podracing at ten?”
“Ah, you heard about that.”
“Everyone knows about that,” Gyla said, trying not to sound too awe-struck. “Anyway. That’s beside the point. I’m a better pilot than this.” She gestured empathetically at the traffic around them. “You know that, right?” She glanced sideways at him, eyeing the profile of his face.
“Sure, I know,” he grinned back at her. That infamous grin which might have melted many a young heart, had the Jedi not conditioned all their young charges to reject even the most remote of attachments. Young Jedi certainly didn’t have crushes.
Gyla bit back a smile. She was at an awkward stage; nearing fifteen, but yet to be assigned to a Master. In the meantime, she concentrated on her studies, honed her craft, and fell in love with flying, whilst trying not to feel too impatient. Impatience was the complete opposite of Jedi teachings, and it took a lot of willpower not to succumb to it. Perhaps that was another reason she so enjoyed having Anakin Skywalker teach her to fly - if any Jedi she was meant to look up to could understand, it was he. Anakin was several years older than Gyla, and still a Padawan himself. But he was also the Wunderkind of the Jedi Order.
“All right, then,” said Anakin. “Show me what you’ve got - let’s head down to the Lower Levels. See if we can find some underworld elements to chase.”
Gyla grinned broadly. “Yes, sir.”
She dipped the speeder down, and manoeuvred her way through the various levels, swinging between other ships with a lazy arrogance. The lower down they travelled, the darker and dingier it became.
It didn’t take long for a particularly dilapidated speeder to clunkily pull out in front of them.
“Broken tail light,” said Gyla with a flourish. “Shall I…?”
“Yeah, might as well. Good for target practice.”
Gyla was already pressing the accelerator, gaining ground. The speeder caught wind of their tail, and with a sudden burst of speed and a sharply-taken corner, disappeared out of sight.
Gyla swerved around, but there was no sign of their quarry.
“Unlucky,” Anakin said with a shrug. “You might as well start heading back.”
Gyla sank back in her seat, feeling irked. Not that it had been anything serious, but she didn’t enjoy feeling like a failure in front of Anakin Skywalker. Especially when it involved piloting. Still, what else could she do? She started to move the speeder upwards, away from the dismal griminess of the lower levels. As she brought the speeder level, not quite half way through her ascent, she glanced down, looking back where they’d come. Then she spied it; a glimmer of reflection, many many stories below.
Gyla’s eyes locked on.
“I see it!” she exclaimed, then plunged them downwards, weaving past the traffic. She built speed, accelerating faster and faster.
At first Anakin laughed, probably thinking he’d taught her well.
But then Gyla realised she’d lost sight of her target again, and said; “I’ll pull in there,” she said, nodding towards a platform some way below.
“Wait -” Anakin started to say.
Gyla didn’t ease up on the throttle. It didn’t cross her mind that she couldn’t make it - she’d seen Anakin do this before. And if he could do it, she could too - she only needed to prove it, to impress him. To make him remember her, not just another initiate he pitied with the occasional flying lesson.
“Gyla, you need to slow down and pull up,” Anakin told her.
“It’s fine,” she responded, her eyes squinting in concentration.
“No, it’s -” His voice garnered more urgency. “Pull up - pull up!”
He was right, she was coming in too steep, too fast. Gyla yanked the joystick up as hard as she could, and swerved hard to the left. The speeder almost overturned in the process, but she just about missed colliding with the platform at great speed. Unfortunately, as the speeder spun out of her control, the rear bumper caught the edge of the platform, and the whole thing flipped upwards. Hurtling them towards the wall. Anakin’s hands were out, using the force to cushion the impact as the ship finally ground to a halt.
Gyla sat there, breathing hard.
“You all right?” Anakin asked her.
She nodded mutely.
Anakin looked around at the slightly crumpled and smouldering wreck they were sitting in. “I told you to pull up.”
“But you did it, before.”
He’d been showing off in one of their earliest lessons, demonstrating what he could do. Which was a lot more reckless, dangerous and harder than it looked.
“Do as I say, not as I do,” he said sheepishly. “At least until you’re as good a pilot as me.”
…
“You reckon I could be, one day?”
“Well, you crash landed with some style. So you’re well on your way.”
Gyla sat back in her seat, and grinned. Her hands flicked over some controls, trying to kick start life into the battered machine.
“One more thing,” Anakin added, as the speeder judded to life and Gyla awkwardly maneuvered it. “Maybe let’s not tell anyone about this.”
“How was your flying lesson?”
***
Ahsoka Tano hovered in the doorway of Gyla’s room in the Jedi Temple, wide-eyed and eager. A fellow initiate, a few years younger than Gyla.
Gyla hesitated. “Good. It was… good. I mean I almost crashed and died,” she added. “But other than that, it was great.”
“You almost…? Cool!” Ahsoka grinned. “That’s so cool. Was Padawan Skywalker teaching you some new tricks?”
Gyla’s brow furrowed. “Not exactly.”
Technically, it was a great story. She should have been raring to tell everyone about the adventure of her close brush with disaster.
But the truth was, she was a bit shaken up by the whole thing. It had been reckless, stupid. An unnecessary risk. Now she thought about it, Anakin’s initial encouragement was hardly in keeping with the quiet, peaceful and patient Jedi ways. With hindsight, as much as she loved flying, Gyla decided she preferred the latter. She wouldn’t be racing off to go podracing anytime soon.
Another thought flickered at the edge of her consciousness. Maybe this was the Force’s way of reminding her that even a glimmer of attachment - the glimmer of a teenage crush - was far too dangerous for any Jedi.
Coruscant (aged 15)
186 ED
Gyla slipped into the bar and looked around, scanning the faces for her target. Raucous chatter battled against a heavy bass. It was - to borrow a phrase - a hive of scum and villainy. In other ways, a typical drinking establishment in Corescant’s lower levels.
Gyla’s gaze was momentarily distracted by a hollow-cheeked Twi’lek dancing around a grimy pole. She felt a slither of discomfort mingled with disgust. But she had long since mastered herself; she felt calm wash over her. A deep breath. Patience.
She moved slowly through the room, eyeing the booths. There! In the corner - two criminal-looking types huddled together, talking in deep, low voices. A rough-shaven, hard looking human, and a Weequay.
Watching the targets from the corner of her eye, Gyla shifted over to the bar. She was doing a good job at staying unnoticed, not unhelped by the force. But then, focusing a little too hard on the objects of her interest, she didn’t clock the slightly drunk Gotal swaying on his stool. His arm flung out, caught Gyla’s shoulder, and something cold and wet flowed down her back. His drink, evidently.
Gyla flinched.
“Watch it! You cost me a drink!” slurred the Gotal, spinning round on his stool to confront Gyla.
And in that moment, Gyla went from unnoticed to highly conspicuous.
“Hey,” said the barman, peering down at her. “Aren’t you a little young to be here?”
“A little too well-dressed too,” muttered a patron sitting further down the bar.
Next to her, an intimidating Blutopian sneered at her; “You lost, little girl?”
“Unless she’s here to replace our Twi’lek friend,” added another patron, leering at her creepily.
Gyla looked around at them. “I don’t want any trouble,” she said firmly, stepping away.
The creepy patron snorted. “Wrong bar if you don’t want trouble, love.”
Gyla sensed the change in atmosphere in the room, the hostility towards her. This reconnaissance mission hadn’t exactly gone as planned. Her eyes flickered to the two targets in the corner. They’d ceased their discussion, their eyes focused on the disturbance around Gyla.
The instinct to draw her Lightsaber was strong, but Gyla held back. Patience.
She backed away, trying to act like a scared little street rat who’d crawled in from the gutters. Wondering what she was going to do next.
She had a tracking beacon in her pocket - if she could just get it out, and attach it somehow to her targets, then this wouldn’t have all been a complete waste. She could still save the mission. She just had to think. Hard to do with so much attention on her.
Slowly, the barebones of an idea formed. She didn’t have time to come up with anything better.
As she moved away from the bar, her foot found the remnants of the drink that had been spilled over her. She let her foot slide out from under her; allowing herself to overbalance and crash to the floor.
As she did so, she slipped her Lightsaber off her belt and rolled it away, giving it a little force push so it rolled even further, unnoticed, to the other side of the room.
“Right, that’s it,” the Bartender yelled over the noise. “You can clear off, kid. Go cause a nuisance somewhere else.”
Gyla glared at him, as she struggled to sit up, feigning injury far more severe than the reality of a slightly bruised tailbone. In her hand she clutched the small tracking beacon. She glanced around her; the targets weren’t looking impressed at the commotion, and were on their feet, ready to vacate.
“Sorry, sorry,” Gyla uttered, trying to fake concussion to explain why she was still sitting on the floor. She went to slip the tracking beacon towards the targets, but there was still too much attention on her.
Here goes nothing. She activated her Lightsaber across the room.
There was a squeal. An exclamation. A rather coarse swear word.
“It’s a Lightsaber!” Gingerly, one of the patrons picked the Lightsaber off the floor and raised it for everyone to see.
“Where did that come from?”
“Are there Jedis here?”
“Could be someone flogging it on the Blackmarket…”
Gyla wasn’t paying attention; instead, she waited until her targets were walking past, and sent the tracking beacon floating after them. It took a stressful second or two to attach it from afar, using the force. But she managed it.
Then she pulled herself to her feet, accessing the situation. Which had got a lot tenser.
The man at the other end of the bar was still holding her Lightsaber aloft. Gyla really needed it back now.
She reached her hand out, and the Lightsaber slipped from the man’s grasp and flew straight to her hand. Several people yelped and ducked as the blade travelled a little too close for comfort.
“I said,” Gyla declared. “I didn’t want trouble.”
The room erupted; a mixture of panic and outrage.
“She’s a Jedi!” someone exclaimed.
“Can’t be - she’s a kid,” another said plainly.
“She’s a Padawan - look I can see the little braid.”
“You walked into the wrong bar, little Padawan.”
“And now I’m walking out,” Gyla responded. She swung her Lightsaber in front of her, clearing space, forcing people back. She moved towards the entrance, but there were still a lot of people in front of her, and not all were keen to move.
Then - a click. A blaster. Pointed at her. But Gyla had a Lightsaber, so what did she have to be scared of?
With a certain arrogance, she grinned at her assailant. Then she swung her Lightsaber up and cut the blaster clean in half. It clattered to the floor in pieces.
Gyla had no reason to linger any longer; she promptly flipped up, catapulted herself over the men standing between her and the door, and hastily removed herself from the premises. A hollowing of aggressive shouts followed her out, as she approached Master Rancisis, who was waiting across the platform by a Speeder.
He narrowed his eyes, no doubt clocking the noise, Gyla’s slightly dishevelled appearance, and most noticeably, the fact she had her Lightsaber out.
***
“It was meant to be reconnaissance only,” he said, sternly. “No causing a scene, and no Lightsabers.”
“It was - until they noticed me.” Gyla shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice, Master. No one got hurt though,” she added.
Master Rancisis didn’t look pleased. “The targets will have escaped. And they will know we are onto them. I would not consider this a success.”
Gyla tried not to feel irked. “Would it help if I told you I managed to tap our target with a tracking device, before I got exposed?”
“You did?”
Gyla nodded. “Yep.” She proceeded to pull out a datapad, and hurriedly keyed away, until it displayed the tracking beacon. A red dot flashing against a map of the underworld. “There they are, Master,” she said, trying to downplay the victorious note in her voice. “Looks to be a residential block not too far away…”
“Good. That’s very good.” Oppo Rancisis regarded her, his mouth carrying the slither of a smile. “Well done, my young Padawan.”
Kuat (aged 15)
185 ED
“We noticed the pattern developing some weeks ago,” the Kuati noble explained solemnly, in the grand dining room of his palace. Several figures were gathered around a table; a handful of noblemen and two individuals dressed in the robes of the Jedi Order. “Since then we’ve narrowed the timeframe down to a four hour window in the middle of the night.”
Master Oppo Rancisis nodded thoughtfully. Before them, a holo showed the last slide of a presentation created to bring the newly-arrived Jedi up to speed. The Thississipian said; “And you’re certain that is when the materials are being stolen?”
The Kuati noble, Gregor L’Vila, lifted his hands helplessly. “There are several weak-points in security overnight. Corporate cutbacks, I’m afraid. That’s the only opportunity the criminals could have had. In any case, the concern is not just for the fate of the durasteel and bolts, but for the information that may also have been taken.” He took a deep breath and drew himself up. “After all, Kuat provides many Republic worlds with ships for their system defence fleets. Our various companies have a certain competition… but if it were not a competitor, and criminals got their hands on such sensitive information…”
“Yes, the Republic understands all too well the serious implications of your suspicions of industrial espionage,” Rancisis agreed.
“That is why my Padawan and I have been sent to investigate the matter. We will conduct our own investigation and see what can be unearthed. Starting with this evening.” Rancisis glanced over his shoulder, where just behind stood a short, skinny girl of no more than 15, her lips pressed together in concentration. He turned back to L’Vila. “We shall monitor the situation overnight. In the meantime, it would be useful to review any previous security footage you have available.”
L’Vila nodded. “Of course, Master Rancisis.”
Master Rancisis turned to his Padawan. “Gyla, perhaps it would be best if you had a rest. We have had a long journey and you will need your wits about you tonight. Perhaps you could take our things to our quarters, and we will reconvene a little later?”
Gyla nodded uncertainly. “Yes, Master. Of course.”
“I’ve already had some rooms made up for you both,” L’Vila said. “Perhaps…”
“I’d be more than happy to show the young Padawan the way,” put in one of the other nobles, who wore the uniform of a high-ranking official from Kuat Drive Yards. He was a little younger than L’Vila, though still in his late 40s at least. “Marcus Danilo, at your service,” he added by way of introduction. He certainly seemed a lot more cheery and friendly than the others.
“Very well,” Oppo Rancisis said with a tight nod. “I will see you shortly, my young Padawan.”
“Yes, Master,” Gyla said. A slither of excitement flared up before she quelled it. There hadn’t been many occasions so far where she hadn’t been at his side, and the prospect of representing the Jedi alone amongst the nobles who’d asked for their help was as exciting as it was daunting. As Master Rancisis slithered away, she turned back to Marcus Danilo and smiled respectfully at him.
He met her eyes dead-on. There was a certain intensity, but she didn’t really think anything of it as she followed him out the room, and then down the corridor.
“So,” he said, his tone light and friendly. “How long have you been a Jedi Padawan?”
She blinked, surprised at being asked such a question. But he was clearly only being friendly, and she thought back to their brief mission on Alderaan a couple of months earlier - the first time Gyla had been off-Coruscant since she’d become a Padawan (and before that, there had only really been the journey to find the Kyber Crystal for her lightsaber that had taken off-world beyond the walls of the Jedi Temple). On Alderaan, Gyla, who had just about found her feet and gained a certain amount of confidence in her abilities as a Jedi (even if she had already started to think that maybe her new Jedi Master was a bit overly fond of lectures. But he was, after all, a Jedi Master, so maybe he knew best), anyway, Gyla had turned shockingly shy on Alderaan. Surrounded by these esteemed nobles, she had somehow lost the ability to interact with people who weren’t Jedi. Master Rancisis had been, to his credit, encouraging, and she’d eventually relaxed once conversation had moved beyond smalltalk. Her education in the Jedi Temple meant she kind of knew what she was talking about with regards to politics, and could hold her own. Or at least the nobles pretended to respect her opinion because she was a Jedi. For the first time, she became aware of the curiosity being a Jedi induced; and although she never learnt how to start conversations or partake in smalltalk, she did start to enjoy the flex of being a Jedi. Of knowing things, and being able to answer questions about what the Order was like.
So when Marcus Danilo started to pry, Gyla presumed he was just interested in the opportunity to converse with a Jedi. She also pointedly felt she had something to prove - to herself if not anyone else - that a lifetime being raised in the Jedi temple didn’t hinder her abilities in social interaction.
So -
“Not too long,” Gyla responded cheerfully. “Less than a year.”
“Less than a year? You can’t have been on too many adventures like this then.”
Gyla blinked, suddenly a little uncertain. “This is my second mission off-world - off of Coruscant, I mean - but I’ve been training intensively the whole time-”
“Mission, eh? That’s a very dull way of putting it.”
Gyla’s brow furrowed. “Dull?”
“Seems to me like all you Jedi do is race around the Galaxy in search of fun adventures. Though maybe that’s all to come for one as young as yourself…” As he spoke Danilo paused, and turned back to face Gyla, his expression cocked with amusement. They had reached a grand lobby; all around them were elegant turbolift shafts.
Gyla was merely confused. “The Jedi are guardians of peace across the galaxy…”
“Yes, yes, I see you’ve memorised that old script!” Danilo laughed heartily. He pressed the button to call the elevator. “But don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it all.”
“Well…” Gyla wasn’t sure how to respond, but the memories of how awkward she’d been on Alderaan surfaced, and she thought she better relax a bit. “It has been rather exciting leaving the Jedi Temple, I suppose,” she said carefully, then almost immediately regretted the use of the word exciting. It didn’t sound very Jedi-like.
But Danilo was delighted; “Ah, that’s more like it!” he exclaimed. “I bet it is. I imagine you’ve been cooped up there a long time…” The elevator dinged as it arrived, and Danilo ushered her inside. His hand hovered behind her as he guided her inside. Not contact, but a hair’s breath from her lower back. She didn’t register it. “How old are you, exactly?”
“Oh, I’m fifteen,” Gyla said, thinking nothing of it.
“Fifteen, eh? A fine age indeed…” Danilo’s brow quirked. “I took you for older.”
“You did?” Surprise seeped through Gyla’s words, her cleverly constructed Jedi mask slipping down for just a moment. She always expected to be taken for younger.
Danilo shrugged heartily. The elevator was rising speedily, the lobby disappearing beneath them through the glass sides. “Perhaps it’s a Jedi thing. You just seem more… mature.”
“I expect that’s the case,” Gyla found herself replying off-handedly. “We are trained from a young age to forgo individual wants and needs for the collective good. I imagine that automatically makes us seem older than the average teenager.”
Danilo raised his eyebrows. “Indeed,” he said. The elevator reached their floor, and once again he ushered her out with a hand that didn’t make contact - thankfully, because it had slid down from her lower back. And again, Gyla didn’t notice. Danilo gestured down the corridor before continuing - “I doubt the average teenager would be so… self-assured.”
Gyla blinked. And then laughed awkwardly. “Well, I wouldn’t know about that.”
“What, you’ve never met an average teenager?”
Gyla hesitated uncertainly. “I…”
Danilo tilted his head to the side, those intense eyes drilling into her. A curious smirk upon his face. “You mean you’ve never even met a teenager, never met someone your own age, outside of the Jedi Order.”
“Well, no,” Gyla admitted. “I don’t suppose I have.”
There was a moment of silence between them. Gyla couldn’t read it, and it made her a bit uncomfortable. But then Danilo smiled broadly, and she relaxed.
“Ah, it’s no great loss, I can assure you,” said the Kuat nobleman. As he spoke, he halted outside a grand door, and keyed the pad to open it. “Fifteen year olds - boys especially - are terrors. Speaking from experience of my own misspent youth. Nothing but girls on the brain.” He laughed freely as he stepped inside what turned out to be an extravagant suite of rooms.
As she trailed after him into the centre of the room, Gyla just smiled, feeling terribly awkward but not wanting to appear rude.
“Oh look, you’ve gone red! I’ve made you embarrassed!” Danilo snorted. “But of course - Jedi teenagers don’t go chasing after their crushes, do they?”
“Jedi don’t have any attachments,” Gyla said briskly.
“Not even crushes?” Danilo said, teasingly. “You all grow up together in the Jedi Temple, and there’s not been a single person you’ve fancied?”
For a moment, Gyla’s very brief slightly-more-than-appropriate affection/awe for Anakin Skywalker flashed in her mind.
“No,” she said stonily. “That’s not the Jedi way.”
“Right, right. Yes, of course… A serious bunch, aren’t you?”
“The Jedi Code is strictly adhered to by all Jedi. It’s an important part of belonging to the Order-”
“Okay, okay. Understood.” Danilo laughed heartily. He laughed a lot… Then he took a step closer to her, and planted a hand on her shoulder. “You know kid, you should really loosen up.”
Gyla’s breath caught in her throat. She stiffened. She wasn’t used to people touching her, not like that, not with that level of familiarity.
“I…?”
Danilo laughed glibly again. He patted her shoulder playfully before removing it. “Relax, seriously. A bit of banter never hurt anyone.”
He was just being nice, she realised. A bit unorthodox, but nice. And he was a Kuati nobleman. They had a different culture here; it wasn’t his fault if he didn’t know that patting a Jedi Padawan’s shoulder wasn’t the done thing.
Gyla took a deep breath, and let herself relax.
“I know that,” she said, feigning a light-hearted tone in a vague attempt to not appear like the uptight Jedi she was. “Believe it or not… we do have fun in the Jedi Temple. Sometimes.”
“Oh, really? Well you’ll have to tell me all about that…” Danilo trailed off. His eyes finally left Gyla and travelled about the room. “I should probably give you a brief tour, though.” He proceeded to lead her through the suite of rooms; the central living area, with a selection of regal looking sofas and chairs and tables, two small bedrooms (he suggested she take the one with the slightly nicer view and she obliged - though on Kuat there were few views that didn’t have at least the corner of a partially-built star destroyer so maybe nice view is a little optimistic), and then the bathroom.
“You must have had a long and tiring journey,” Danilo said off-handedly.
“It could have been worse,” Gyla responded with a shrug. “At least with the Jedi we’re accustomed to not having the finest of things - I know how to rough it!” Yes, she’d relaxed enough to speak more familiarly. And her ability to not complain when the outside world didn’t live up to the grand yet sparse reality of the Jedi Temple was a source of pride for her - even though in reality so far she’d not seen much beyond some of the shinier nicer corners of the Galaxy.
“Rather you than me,” Danilo smirked. They were looking over a huge, deep bathtub, set against a pretty window. “But you must be exhausted?”
“I…” Gyla wasn’t sure she was overly tired but she thought it’d be a bit rude to argue. “I am a little,” she said finally.
“You’ll probably want a nice, hot bath before this evening’s little soiree with that Master of yours.”
Gyla blinked. “Yes, I suppose.” Then she worried that would seem rude or dismissive, so clarified; “That sounds lovely.”
Danilo smiled, though something about it seemed slightly off. “Indeed,” he said. Then yawned. “I have to say… I’m feeling quite tired myself.” He glanced around, and then spired a wooden bench opposite the bath. He planted himself on it.
Gyla glanced at him.
Danilo tapped the seat next to him. “Come on, have a sit down.”
If she’d had any sense she might have questioned why they would sit on the wooden bench in the bathroom (that basically doubled as a storage crate for towels) rather than the living area on the other side of the door with its vast array of chairs. But it just didn’t occur to her to question him. Because he was a Kuati nobleman who’d been sent to show her to her rooms, and she was a Jedi Padawan. And he was just a nice, friendly man.
So she sat.
Awkwardly, it has to be said. It wasn’t the widest bench, and Danilo wasn’t making much of an effort to move over. Their legs weren’t touching but there wasn’t much in it.
And yet, to Gyla’s surprise, Danilo didn’t say anything, just glanced at her. Gyla regretted sitting down, but she could hardly stand now, for fear of appearing rude.
“The architecture on Kuat is… interesting,” Gyla said into the silence, purely for something to say. How she hated smalltalk. It brought back unpleasant memories of certain awkward memories on Alderaan. “I read something about it in the Archives at the Temple…”
“Mhmm,” Danilo murmured softly.
Why had the man taken this moment to lose his desire to make conversation? She didn’t understand why he’d suggested she sit down next to him when he had run out of things to say...
And then she became aware that Danilo’s hand was on her knee.
Okay, that was odd. That felt weird.
He’s just being friendly, she told herself, as discomfort reared up inside her. He’s a Kuat noble and they do things differently here. This is no different to that pat on the shoulder.
And then the hand moved. From her knee, up her thigh.
Gyla definitely felt very uncomfortable now. She stiffened, and instinctively shifted away, but he didn’t release her leg. In fact, he gave it a light squeeze.
She stood up, then, suddenly, urgently.
A flash of panic.
And Marcus Danilo just looked at her, his head cocked to the side. Not at all worried or concerned or embarrassed that he’d been caught out. Merely curious, as if what she did next was nothing more than a matter of academic interest.
“I think I should go,” Gyla said sharply, backing away. Her eyes were wide, an un-Jedi-like fear burning her chest. She needed it to stop. She needed to be calm, like her teachings should have taught her. She’d faced worse, hadn’t she? But not from a man she was meant to be helping, who was meant to be on her side…
“Why ever would you think that?” Danilo tilted his head to the side once more. His voice was smooth as Serreno-silk. “We were having so much fun, were we not?”
“I… I…” Gyla’s eyes darted towards the bathroom door, and she started to edge towards it.
As she did so, Danilo rose to his feet, gracefully, but with a certain speed. Somehow he ended up between her and the door…
“I did say you needed to loosen up,” he said.
Calm. Stay calm.
“I’m going to leave now,” Gyla said, firmly. Or at least trying to sound firm. “Please move out of the way.”
He moved - but not where she expected or wanted him to go. He stepped forwards, towards her. She stepped back. He stepped forwards again.
And so on, until the back of her legs knocked into the bath and there was nowhere left to turn.
And he was looking at her with that same intensity that she now saw in a different light, his eyes flickering over her with something that could have been hunger. A smirk that was now clearly creepy rather than friendly.
“Oh, don’t be like that,” he said. “What about that lovely bath…?”
Gyla’s stomach turned.
She didn’t know what to do…
And then she remembered she still had her Lightsaber. How could she have forgotten that? Well… she hadn’t exactly been expecting to need it. This man was meant to be an ally of the Jedi. And even now she’d clocked the threat, she still felt like she couldn’t hurt him, that she’d be in trouble if she did…
But at this point, she didn’t exactly have a choice did she?
At this point, it counted as self-defence, right?
With what little movement she had room for, she moved her hand to the side, and summoned the Lightsaber at her waist towards it.
As it connected with her palm, the blade ignited. Its shocking green illuminating the room.
Danilo’s eyes widened. It seemed like he’d totally forgotten that even a Padawan carried one of those infamous Lightsabers. At least he finally backed off, taking a few steps backwards with his hands raised - though more jokingly than in response to an actual threat.
“Whoah, there,” he said. “Easy, girl. Let’s not get carried away.” From his tone, he wasn’t half as scared as he should have been. He recognised the power of the weapon, certainly, but not the ability or will of the teenage girl holding it to actually use it. So he coaxed her like one might a particularly stubborn bantha.
“I told you,” Gyla growled at him. “To get out of my way.”
She still didn’t like the way he was looking at her, as if he was making calculations.
“There’s no need for that nasty thing,” he said, simperingly. “Why don’t you put it away before someone gets hurt, and we can have a nice little chat-”
As he spoke, he took a step towards her again. He had finished his calculations, clearly.
But he had come to the wrong conclusion.
The moment he took another step, bringing him back within touching distance, Gyla didn’t even hesitate. You might have said she panicked… but regardless, she swung her Lightsaber in a savage arc. Danilo didn’t have time to make a sound as he threw himself towards her - probably trying to grapple her to stop the Lightsaber more than for his earlier motives - but there was nothing he could do as the saber connected with his right arm at the shoulder, searing right through the bone.
The charred limb flew across the room, completely severed from its body.
“Dank Farik!” screamed Marcus Danilo, eyes round and glazed as he stared in horror at the smoking stump where his right arm had once been.
Gyla edged backwards, freaked out, but just about in control of herself. “I did warn you to move out of the way,” she said in a small voice.
And in that moment, as she uttered the words, the bathroom door hissed open to reveal Master Rancisis.
There was a long moment of silence as the Thisspiassian Jedi Master peered at her, blade in hand standing over the hunching one-armed Kuati who had tried to take advantage of her. In that moment Gyla assumed that he had sensed her distress and come looking for his padawan, and she felt a flicker of appreciation for her master fluttering through her for the first time.
Then he spoke.
“Well done, Gyla. You have apprehended Marcus Danilo before I could even get here.”
“Apprehended?” Gyla echoed, her lightsaber still raised defensively.
“Apprehended?!” Danilo snapped, still cradling his cauterised wound.
“Indeed.” Rancisis nodded before slithering into the room. “It appears Kuat Drive Yards have a traitor in their midst. I suspected as much when we first arrived, but the presence of Trade Federation Battle Droids smuggled into storage containers confirmed it. The same droids responsible for stealing the supplies in the dead of night.” He sighed. “From this, I have deduced that Marcus Danilo here is a Trade Federation spy. He is responsible for all of this.”
“That’s preposterous. You have no proof!”
“Really?” Rancisis raised an accusatory eyebrow. “Then why did you sign for the containers in question upon their arrival?” He paused. “I was on my way here to confront you when I sensed Gyla’s disturbance in the force. I can only assume you learned of our investigation and sought to seperate us, to attack my Padawan while I was off investigating.” He exhaled. “A Jedi is not defenceless. Not even a Padawan. A costly lesson you have learned here I think.”
“She attacked me!” Danilo roared.
“Lies pour forth from your mouth like water from a bubbling brook.” Rancisis shook his head, slithering forward again.
“I can prove i-”
“Sleep now.” The Thisspiaassian flicked his wrist once he was close enough to Danilo and the uniformed noble fell, dropping to the floor in a force-induced slumber.
Rancisis turned to look at Gyla; “Well done, child.”
Gyla blinked back at him. Then, finally, having followed the conversation with some bewilderment, she lowered her Lightsaber and switched off the blade. “I…” She started to say, her eyes flickering between her Master and the unconscious Kuati. “I didn’t know. He...” But she trailed off again, because the Jedi had never taught her the words for what she had just experienced, and Master Rancisis had not so far proved to be generous in the praise department and she didn’t want him to retract his ‘well done’, even if she hadn’t done what he’d thought she had to deserve it.
“Of course not, Padawan. That is why I am the master and you the apprentice.” He chuckled, shooting into yet another lecture; “One day your powers of deduction will equal my own, with enough meditation and by applying proper study you will identify the signs that allow the force to guide you to such revealing conclusions about the universe and those who inhabit it.” He offered a sage nod and a smile as he added; “In the meantime, be satisfied that you did not let Danilo get the better of you and that you were able to apprehend him without my aid.”
His words washed over Gyla; she barely heard them. Instead, she was more aware of everything that hadn’t been said, of the crushing silence between them. Did he know? Did he have any inkling what had really gone on between Gyla and Danilo? Perhaps it was easier to believe that the old Jedi Master was too naïve, rather than face a reality where he knew everything but was too much of a Jedi to be willing to bear the discomfort of acknowledging it. After all… what Gyla had just experienced, was it any different to the oldest rule in the Jedi code - that one had to put aside one's emotions, suppress one’s feelings, and forget about the individual, in order to just trust in the Force?
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