Timeless Space

Introspection.

2007-04-25T05:28:27Z

Description: Mara Jade takes a moment to herself after learning the truth behind her position as the Emperor's Hand.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Star Wars
Genre: One-shot

Mara turned the holoemitter off. She drew her arm back to her afraid to have any part of her far away for fear that it, too, might be suddenly dismembered. No immediate threat lurked in the ship, though the feeling of comfort that usually overcame her when she sat in this large chair diminished. Han’s voice echoed in her head.

More than one.

With a deep sense of unease Mara wrapped her arms around her legs. She closed her eyes and pressed her eyes against her knees to make the sight of where Luke’s hologram had stood disappear. Over five years should have been enough for her to move on, finally come to peace with her life.

More than one.

Fighting the clone with Luke destroyed the voice in her head, the hold it had over her. She now could live a truly free life – something she thought she finally started to learn how to do. Despite her closed eyes, flashes of him came back to her.
The silky voice in her ear, whispering how she was special, she was chosen, she alone could do the task he needed to be done. The feel of his touch, something she should have abhorred but could not as she had known nothing else.

Mara’s arms tensed as she clutched her legs. Then her legs clenched, and her back froze into place. The simple gown she wore felt dry, irritating the skin that touched it.

The feeling of being tossed into space, to float on without any meaning until nothingness came, should have been familiar to her. First, there had been Jabba’s Palace. Then the years of brooding that lead to an obsession that kept her going until she finally ran into the farmboy on Myrkr. After that, she floated free, like a piece of the nothingness between the stars, until she settled again into the routine of working with Kardde. She even tried going to that crazy academy Luke set up.

Now she sat alone again. Her belief, the one last belief she held to that gave her former life any kind of justification, had been destroyed. And again she floated free, trying to find something to which to cling.

The image of Luke came back to her as she opened her eyes, looked up, and forced her muscles to loosen. Carefully she stretched out one leg and placed her foot onto the floor. Satisfied it was solid, she uncurled her other leg and got all the way out of the chair. Standing up, she paused. She felt unsure of what to do, but she knew she needed something to occupy her mind. She ran a hand from her forehead through her hair.

Just as he used to do.

She glanced up. Luke stood in front of her. His hand came down to his side, as though he just ran his fingers through her hair.

“Callista,” he whispered as his face faded, leaving only the sight of the control console.

Mara bit down tight, pain going down the roots of her teeth. She never heard of this name – she assumed it was a name – before, and yet something about it struck an intense jealousy in her. Luke was with someone else, feeling someone else, loving someone else –

Quit being ridiculous. Of course he’s going to love someone else. He’s allowed to love whomever he decides to love, she told herself.

She had no business in that part of Luke’s life. At worst they had a strictly professional relationship, a give-and-take where they helped each other if the occasion arose. At best, they had a mild friendship that afforded her some opportunity to tease him about being a stoic Jedi Master.

One more time Mara tightened her jaw and let it relax. She needed something to do that would let herself get lost in the work, something that would force her mind to concentrate so she could not brood. Brooding led her to places she had no desire to be. With a deep breath, Mara left the cockpit and walked to the back of the ship. There was always something she could work on.

Notes: I'm still working bugs out of this one, as I do not own the book where this little scene takes place. I seem to recall that Mara is on her ship, or at least a ship, but if she's not, please let me know! Also the title...yick.

One Solar Flare, Two Solar Flare - Floor!

2007-03-05T23:42:56Z

Description: The mayhem and mishap when an estranged Obi-Wan and Darth Vader have one drink too many.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Star Wars
Genre: One-shot, humor

One Solar Flare, Two Solar Flare, Three Solar Flare - Floor!

“Here, here!” Obi-Wan called out. He stood up from his seat at the bar, his glass raised high over his head. “He speaks the truth!”

Obi-Wan gave the glass another shake then slammed back the rest of its contents.

“Sit down,” the figure next to him said. He raised his black-gloved hand and motioned for Obi-Wan to take his seat.

“Yeah, yeah…” Obi-Wan grumbled. “Just when it was getting good.”

“From a certain point of view.” The figure breathed behind his black, triangular mask. It was a breathing pattern that never stopped and never changed. Not even for emotion.

And for once, Obi-Wan was not terrified of it.

“Hey, now. Don’t go using my words against me.”

“I only do as my master instructs.”

Obi-Wan stared at him. Through the toxic mix of alcohol running through his system, he could not tell whether his former apprentice was jesting him.

“I’ve heard those words before…bartender!”

Obi-Wan raised his hand to catch the attention of the grimy Bothan.

“What? You and your friend want more drinks? I don’t think so – I’m going to have to call CorSec soon to escort you two out of here.”

“You dare to deny Lord Vader his request?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly the alien was a fool.

“Trust me…you…don’t want the rest of the Fimperial Eet - Imperial Feet – stang!” Vader’s speech sounded slurred through his vocabulator. Which was impossible – everything about Vader was mechanized now. Well, almost everything.

The Bothan rolled his eyes, aware that if the daunting Sith Lord were capable of using the Force correctly, he would have already been dead. He quickly whipped up two Corellian Solar Flares – a drink known to be so intoxicating that the phrase went: “One Solar Flare, two Solar Flare, three Solar Flare – floor!”

Both Force-wielders were well beyond the third Solar Flare mark.

Obi-Wan and Vader took the drinks in hand at the same time. Facing each other, they raised the triangular glasses and clinked them together in a toast. Together they washed them both down in one massive gulp. Obi-Wan set his glass back on the counter with a loud clink, getting a warning look from the Bothan. Obi-Wan suppressed a giggle and tried to show his best innocent expression.

“You know…this was a good idea. I think we both needed this,” Obi-Wan said to Vader.

“It sure was. You were sitting in a hole in the middle of the desert, rotting…”

“You were stressed out from killing incompetent Admirals and chasing the Rebellion…”

“And what are you trying to say?”

“I dunno. What are you trying to say?”

Former master and apprentice looked at each other. Obi-Wan tried to keep a straight face but broke down in laughter. He leaned forward, his face nearly on the counter-top, and smacked his hand repeatedly on the bar. Vader let out an expletive.

“Hey! Keep your language down or I will call CorSec!” the Bothan shouted at them.

“What is it?” Obi-Wan asked Vader, regaining himself from his fit of laughter.

“This kriffing – can’t laugh–”

Obi-Wan burst out laughing again. “You can’t even talk.”

“Sure…you know what?”

“Huh?” Obi-Wan straightened up in his seat. He forced himself to think through all the alcoholic fuzz in his brain.

“What do you say – we forget – the whole – Mustafar thing?” Vader managed to get out. His vocabulator may speak for him, making the verbal sounds, but his brain still formulated the thoughts that went to that vocabulator.

“That sounds like a perfectly wonderful idea to me.” Obi-Wan slapped Vader on the shoulder in a brotherly manner. “Stupid fight, really. Do you care if it falls?”

Vader looked at him.

“The Empire. Do you care if it falls?” Obi-Wan asked again.

“Kriff – it!”

Obi-Wan hiccupped. “Good answer. Good answer.”

“You’ve had one too many drinks, Master.” The last word came out decisively slurred.

Before Obi-Wan could formulate an answer, the entrance to the cantina opened. Obi-Wan stared at the figure standing in the doorway.

It was Darth Vader.

The Jedi Knight shook his head. Maybe Vader was right – maybe he had had one drink too many. He forced his eyes to focus on the figure in the familiar black helmet, suit, and flowing cape.

“Hey! That guy’s got my costume!” the second Vader called out as he flipped the front part of his helmet up. It was none other than the infamous holoactor Jeth Moranis – known for his tacky, bad comedy films.

“What – of it?” Vader called out. “No one else – is allowed to – have this outfit!”

The holoactor snorted. “That’s what you think, buddy. Now get out of here. This is my place.”

“Not if – I own – Corellia.” Vader stood up. His hand gripped the bar to steady him.

“Is that right.” Moranis laughed.

Suddenly able to move with great swiftness, Vader stumbled over to the entrance to teach him a lesson. Obi-Wan watched for a second then faced the bartender, a bored expression on his face.

“Don’t you think you should stop your friend or something? Before he does something rash?” the Bothan said.

“I gave up trying to do that years ago.”

“Right…”

The Bothan turned his back on Obi-Wan and the ensuing brawl. The sound of a lightsaber igniting made him whirl around again.

“I really think you might want to tell him to put that thing away.”

Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder. He shrugged. “Nah.”

“Are you crazy? Wielding a lightsaber can get you shot on sight around here!”

“You don’t get it, do you?”

Seeing that the Bothan clearly did not get it, from the terrified expression on his face at the thought of what would happen if a legion of troops came into his cantina with blasters blazing, Obi-Wan decided to do something.

“OY! DARTH!”

Vader froze, red blade humming in his right hand.

“Get over here. Leave that guy alone or I’ll have to go Mustafar on you again.” Obi-Wan waved his own lightsaber hilt at the
Sith Lord. He stared at it, trying to remember how to activate it. For a second he fumbled with it then gave up. “You know what I mean. Get over here.”

Vader stumbled over to his seat next to Obi-Wan. The rest of the patrons stared at the two. Whispers were shared, that was Lord Vader and a Jedi was with him – a Jedi –

“I think it is time for you two to leave.” The Bothan leaned close and spoke to them quietly.

“Fine…fine.” Obi-Wan narrowed his eyes at the furred alien. He picked his empty glass up and brought it to his mouth, hoping to get one last drop of the Solar Flare. “We wouldn’t want CorSec to get involved now would we?”

He hiccupped again. Vader nodded his head in agreement; it looked like it was bobbing aimlessly more than executing an intended nod.

“C’mon, Vader. Let’s get out of here.”

He tugged on Vader’s shoulder a couple times to get him to follow him. The walk across the cantina was a trying task. Beneath his feet, the floor swayed. Everywhere he looked, there were double images of all the objects and beings in the room.

Eventually the two made it out to the street.

Obi-Wan leaned up his back up against the wall, his fingers trying to grip it.

“That was fun.”

Vader only breathed in return.

“You really need to do something about that breathing. You should have someone check that out. It can’t be good.”

“Yeah…” Vader rasped. “Drinking – never helps.”

“We haven’t done this since…what, Naos III?”

“The only place – worse than – Tatooine.”

Obi-Wan nodded in agreement. “Good thing I didn’t settle there….”

The sight of a stormtrooper guard walking past them made him go silent.

“Let’s get out of here.” Obi-Wan rubbed his eyes. He looked to Vader in a sudden epiphany. “Wait. How can you drink?”

In response Vader shrugged. “I don’t ask – those questions – anymore.”

“I can see why…”

Feeling nervous about what would happen, Obi-Wan managed to peel himself away from the wall and hailed a taxispeeder. He and Vader managed to clamber into it and Obi-Wan stayed conscious long enough to tell the droid driver where to take them.

Everything blacked out at that moment.

After all, he was beyond the third Solar Flare point.

~ ~ ~

Obi-Wan woke up with a start. The dream. He put his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes.

What a nightmare. A night drinking with Darth Vader, or rather his former apprentice Anakin Skywalker. That was never going to happen. Obi-Wan shook his head to clear away the last memories of the dream.

Pain erupted in his head. In fact, his whole body felt as though it had been run over by a Star Destroyer, and not any Star Destroyer, but Vader’s personal flagship – the Executor.

With a groan Obi-Wan reached out to the Force to ease the ache threatening to crack his skull in two. After a second he sat up.

And nearly screamed.

There was an Ewok in the bed with him.

Obi-Wan jumped out of the bed so fast that he entangled himself in the sheets. Furiously he struggled to extricate himself, and upon doing so, got another shock. On the other side of the Ewok lay Darth Vader, still asleep. Panicked, he realized that his dream had not been a dream at all. Thinking back, he could remember meeting Vader, having a couple drinks, something about a bar fight…

That was where things got fuzzy.

The Ewok woke up. It sat up, and seeing Obi-Wan awake, it turned to him. It chittered something in its native language.

Obi-Wan stared at it.

In his mind the familiar jingle went, "One Solar Flare, two Solar Flare, three Solar Flare - floor!"

Tatooine Mirage

2007-03-05T03:37:51Z

Description: Kitster Banai sees the impossible - what appears to be a ghost from his childhood past - while making a trip to Mos Eisely several years after the rise of the Empire.
Rating: PG
Fandom: Star Wars, one-shot

Tatooine Mirage

With the back of his hand, Kitster Banai wiped the sweat off his forehead. Tatooine’s suns roasted the desert in a way that he had not felt in years. Though it seemed impossible, Kitster believed that there were hotter years than others, and this definitely seemed to be one of them.

He should have known better than to take the landspeeder the long distance to Most Eisley. His skiff was still undergoing some repairs, after his son decided that there were parts of it that needed “fixing,” and the craft was meant for interstellar flight. Taking it to the other spaceport would have been akin to taking a Star Destroyer from one sector of Coruscant to another.

Cursing the suns, and the heat, one more time, Kitster decided that the next time he had to make this trip he would take the skiff. He did not care what his wife said about the waste of fuel.

At that moment, the domed buildings of Most Eisley rose on the horizon. Kitster accelerated the landspeeder, the thought of a cool glass of water in one of the cantinas the main thing on his mind. Given the condition of the cantinas in Most Eisley, the water would likely not be that cool – but any water had to be colder than the forsaken sand dunes.

Or next time, I could insist that all the furniture is locally bought, Kitster thought to himself.

His wife had decided on a luxurious pair of chairs, and conveniently enough, the shipping company had agreed only to come to Mos Eisley. Since the rise of the Empire, something Kitster did not worry himself much over, it seemed that almost nobody knew of Tatooine. After its few minutes of fame, when Anakin Skywalker left and became the famous Jedi, Tatooine faded into the place it had always held in the galaxy, which was precisely nothing. When the chairs had been ordered, coordinates of Tatooine’s location had to be sent to the shipping company, and even then they were still doubtful.

Either way, the chairs were now here and it had become Kitster’s job to pick them up.

Checking his chronometer, he decided that he would have enough time to get the desired glass of water before picking up the furniture. There were still a few hours before the end of the business day, and Kitster knew that two chairs left in the back of an unattended landspeeder would disappear very quickly.

Carefully, he navigated the streets of the spaceport and within a couple minutes found a place to park. He hopped out of the vehicle, and glanced around to get his bearings. He knew only tiny parts of Mos Eisley, and the furniture vendor happened to be in a section he did not know.

Thankfully there were no Jawas around that he could see, so he felt secure enough in wandering around for a bit. The scavengers were known to take a landspeeder apart in minutes, and no one ever tried to stop them. Sometimes people would even barter for the scrapped parts right in the street. It was simply a part of life on Tatooine.

Down the street, at the end of the dusty block, there was a small fruit vendor. Kitster walked towards the stand, and almost expected to see an elderly woman tending it.

Kitster had not seen that old fruit vendor in years, since Anakin had left Most Espa. He avoided her, because he feared having to explain what happened to Ani. He imagined the news would be too much for her, and he did not want to have the death of an old woman on his conscience. One day, when he went down the street to see if it was true that Anankin’s mom was leaving, he did not see the woman or her stand. He knew that she must have heard what happened to Ani. After that, he stopped going down that street.

“Can I interest you in anything?”

The question brought Kitster back to the present, as the alien at the stand spoke in a broken mesh of Basic and Huttese.

“Do you know where I can get some water?” Kitster asked.

The alien, having no nose and two antennae coming out of his furred head, stared at him. It shook its head, showing it had no idea what Kitster was talking about.

He asked his question once more, and got another shrug in response.

“Water,” Kitster said. He repeated the word in Huttese after a blank stare from the alien. Getting impatient, he tried a couple more languages. Deciding that the alien must be deranged, he finally lifted his hand to his mouth and tilted his head back – the universal sign for drinking.

At that, the alien chirped loudly, pointing down the street with a few animated jumps. Anxious to get himself away from the odd furball Kitster nodded, said thanks, and departed. Around the corner, he saw a sign for a cantina.
Inside the place, Kitster immediately took a deep breath as cool air swept over him. The cantina was a grimy place, though he had seen worse in his lifetime. There were places in Mos Espa that made this one seem like a restaurant in Coruscant’s rich Imperial Quarter.   He made his way to the bar, trying not to wince at the horrible music grinding out from one corner of the bar.

That was one thing he could thank his wife for: she had enriched his taste in music.

Reaching the bar, Kitster took a seat at one of the empty stools. The bartender came over to him, with a look on his face showing he would have preferred to be anywhere else at that moment.

“A warning. I’ve already had two shootouts in here, three bodies to clean up. So you keep it clean, or you’ll be next. I don’t wanna deal with anymore Imperial officials prowling around the place. Understood?”

The bartender finished and slapped his hands down on the counter, leaning towards Kitster. Nervously, he nodded.

“Now that we understand each other, what’ll it be?”

“Just a glass of water.”

The man stared at him. “Ain’t got no water. Ran out couple’ve hours ago.”

Kitster mumbled something he would not have dared say within earshot of his wife and son. “No water? Perhaps a few extra credits…?”

Slowly the man shook his head. “Not unless they can suck water out of the air. Whole port’s hard up for water. Write a note to Lars, maybe a good complaint would get some water. Moisture farmers ain’t having any luck out there. Nothing to pull out of the air.”

“A Jedi would be able to do it. They could do anything,” someone grumbled quite loudly from the back of the bar.

There were a few sounds of scuffling as people turned to look. Kitster glanced towards the speaker, then back at the bartender. The side of a blaster hung centimeters from his face.

“You’ll be wanting to get yourself outta here fast,” the bartender ordered. The entire cantina sat in silence, waiting to see what happened next. “We understand each other?”

“Perfectly,” the speaker muttered. He got up from his table, tossing down a few more credits. “For your trouble.”

The blaster motioned to the door.

Without another word, the middle-aged man left the cantina.

“And don’t lemme see your face here again!” the bartender shouted, this time not bothering to ask if there was an understanding. After a couple seconds, satisfied the man was gone, he put the blaster back under the counter. He turned to Kitster.

“Can’t have no more Imperial trouble here. They’ll shut me down.”

Kitster nodded, knowing exactly what the man meant. The Empire would order the place closed, then throw the owner – and probably all employees and patrons in the place at the time – in jail, where they would either be executed or sent off to work the mines of Kessel.

He knew many people like himself that did not actively support the Empire. Instead he and his friends kept quiet and preferred to go about their lives without any Imperial interference of any kind. He was too old now to leave Tatooine, what with a wife and family, plus he had no idea where he would want to go if he did decide to leave. It was best to simply live in peace in the place he had known all his life.

“So you gonna have anything?”

“Uh…give me the closest thing to water that you have, with the least amount of alcohol possible,” Kitster said distractedly. He watched as the rest of the cantina came back to life, including the bad music.

In a couple of minutes, a drink appeared before him. It had a thin, cloudy appearance. Apprehensively, Kitster picked it up and sniffed it. No smell of alcohol. Lightly sweet. He tasted it, finding it to be fruit nectar of some kind. He gulped the glass down, glad to have something cold and wet going down his throat after the drive through the sand dunes.

He set the glass down on the counter, got out a couple of credits and laid them next to the glass. Without another word he made his way out of the cantina. He started back to his speeder, and was halfway there when he realized he was not sure where the furniture vendor was in relation to him. He balked at the idea of asking the fruit-selling alien, and decided that checking on his speeder would be a good idea. Just because there had been no Jawas around before did not mean there weren’t any now.

Kitster rounded the corner, intent on ignoring the furry alien, and nearly ran into a child.

He let out an exclamation, stepping to the side to avoid knocking into the boy. He was an average-sized kid with blond hair. Kitster nearly screamed, though, when the child looked at him.

Anakin stared up at him.

Kitster’s heart started to pound, he could feel the blood pulsing even in his hands and feet. There were rumors of people getting lost in the Jundland Wastes, and due to severe dehydration, mistaking the cries of the Krayt Dragon for angry souls. Perhaps he had suffered the same thing; perhaps he needed more to drink and was starting to hallucinate.

Or maybe there had been hallucinogens in the substance he’d drunk. After all, he’d not specified to the bartender that the drink be free of other influencing chemicals, just alcohol.

For what felt like minutes, Kitster stared at the boy. Anakin had died in the Jedi Rebellion when the Republic stormed the Jedi Temple. He left Tatooine twenty years ago. There was no way that he would still be a child. Kitster had seen holograms of Anakin as a J edi, strong and proud.

Yet here was his face, staring back at him.

The same long hairstyle that Anakin hated; he always complained about his hair getting into his eyes, especially when he had been building that podracer.

The same blue eyes – they even seemed to look through him, knowingly, just as Anakin’s had a way of doing at times. Like when he spoke of becoming free and learning to be a Jedi.

“Be polite, Luke,” a man said. He stepped up to the child, and put his hand on his shoulder. Gently, he nudged the boy to the side.

With a humble “Excuse me,” Luke cast his eyes to the ground and stepped out of Kitster’s way.

Kitster found himself unable to say anything. He could not bring his eyes away from the boy. He blinked, and finally managed to glance at the man.

A harsh glare met his eyes. Kitster knew he had been impolite in staring, so he muttered an apology, stepping past them. The man urged his son to keep walking, and turned to give him a last look, one of warning.

Forcing himself to turn his attention back to the furniture, and his landspeeder, Kitster walked over to the vehicle. It appeared to be still intact.

He checked it over several times, feeling unnerved over what he had seen.

Thinking over the way the child had looked at him made him start shaking.

A hallucination. It had to be a hallucination. His wife would be angry with him for not taking the skiff. But it was still in the shop. The furniture vendor. He didn’t know where the furniture vendor was.

Kitster could not stop the thoughts going through his head. He sat down in the driver’s seat in the speeder. For several minutes he remained there, trying to get the child’s eyes out of his mind.

When he regained control of himself, he powered up the speeder. His wife could come get the furniture another day with the skiff.

The name of the boy still escaped his memory. Something about Mos Eisley was playing tricks with his mind. Kitster pulled out into the street and began to make the trip home. If Mos Eisley was going to present him with childhood ghosts, he was more than content to not return.

Welcome!

2006-07-03T22:01:48Z

As stated in my profile, this is my writing journal. When I have trouble getting into character, want to write out an alternate version of a scene without obliterating it in my original document, or just don't feel like dealing with the inane stupidity that is Word, I'll post here. All of the entries are friends-only, and most of them will be private.

And it is awesome that the mood icon has the fox sitting before an iMac.