The Dream

The lightsaber sits between them, a rod of worn grey metal the length of her forearm, lit from below by the muted white surface of the table. Up close, she can clearly see the countless scratches marring the forked business end of the device, the mismatched switches, the beaten-up rubber grip padding its length. Towards the other end, frayed wires poke from the seam beneath a roughly-welded sleeve that looks like it once served as a section of drainage piping.

It's a rather sad-looking thing, really. Nothing at all like how she imagined a weapon of legend would look. Then again, the redheaded man sitting across from her doesn't look like a treasonist, either.

"Hey, I'm sorry. For what happened down there."

Anna glances up at Cal's words. They haven't said anything to each other since their sprint back to the Mantis. Greez gave her the stink eye when she came back on board, but Cal's urgent cry of "the Empire is here!" had the Latero dashing hurriedly for the pilot's seat without further comment. It was only after the yacht slipped back into hyperspace that anyone dared start breathing again.

She must have been ogling the lightsaber still clutched in Cal's hand, because he set the weapon down as if it were red-hot the instant he followed her gaze. Now the weapon sits between them, rocking gently with the motion of the ship. Cal sits opposite her on the L-shaped couch, leaning forward with his hands folded on the table.

"What do you want from me?" Anna asks flatly.

Cal's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"I don't want anything from you, Anna," he says quietly.

She shakes her head.

"I'm not stupid. You risked your life to stop me from being captured by those stormtroopers. Why do you care? You must need me for something. What is it?"

"Anna, I…" Cal sighs. "I couldn't just let them take you. They would have tortured you. To get information about me. I couldn't live with that."

"Why?" Anna jerks a hand at the lightsaber. ��You're a criminal anyway. Aren't you plotting to overthrow the Emperor and take over the galaxy?"

Cal's eyes narrow and a small shiver of fear runs up her spine. This man just cut down five stormtroopers without batting an eye. She shouldn't forget he can kill her faster than she can blink.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

It's not that she has any love for the Empire. The Imperials are tyrants and murderers. They kidnap orphans to fill the ranks of their stormtrooper army and raze villages to the ground for refusing to fly the Imperial crest. But, despite all the stories people have told her about a better life before the Empire, life under it is all she's ever known. The Empire is a familiar evil.

She has no idea what Cal is.

She's heard those stories, too, of course. Everyone has. The propaganda vids never shut up about the treasonous "Jedi Order" and how they staged a coup against the government in a plot to seize absolute power for themselves. Outside of high-profile bounties, however, nobody ever actually talks about them—nobody wants to be put on an Imperial watch-list.

"I know what you must think of me," Cal begins slowly, "but trust me, I'm not going to hurt you. You're free to go whenever you want, wherever you want. You're not a hostage on this ship."

Only then does the enormity of the situation truly hit her. She's sharing a lounge table with one of the most wanted fugitives in the galaxy. This isn't any single crime syndicate out for her head; the Galactic Empire is after her now.

What has she gotten herself into?

"The stormtroopers, they were talking about tracking me from this ship," she whispers. Her breath quickens as panic begins to set in. "They were tracking me! What am I going to do? They think I'm with you! My face is probably being put on bounties across the galaxy as we speak!" The panic sharpens to anger, burning away her fear. "This is your fault! If you hadn't followed that stupid transmission—if you'd just told me you're a Jedi, I wouldn't be here, and the Empire wouldn't be looking to stuff me into a steel box and ship me off to a torture chamber!"

She doesn't realize she's yelling until she runs out of air. Pausing to catch her breath, she glares daggers at Cal's maddeningly calm face. Her gaze flicks over to the weapon lying between them, the telltale mark of a traitor known throughout the galaxy, and suddenly she hates it with a vehemence that cannot be contained. With a scream of frustration, she bursts to her feet and snatches the lightsaber off the table.

"I'm not a part of your stupid Order! I don't even know how to spell 'Jedi'!"

She throws the weapon at the opposite end of the cabin with all her might. It ricochets off the durasteel wall, spinning end over end before falling to the floor with a metallic clang.

Cal doesn't move. He takes a long breath, staring down into his lap.

"I'm sorry, Anna. I really am. This is my fault."

The guilt in his words cuts through her rage. Her eyes begin to sting as she stands with her hands clenched into trembling fists. Slumping back onto the cushions, she screws her eyes shut before tears can escape.

"What am I gonna do?" Her voice is hoarse.

She feels a gentle hand on her arm.

"I'll help you out of this mess. Trust me."

Opening her eyes, Anna finds Cal looking back with that same expression of gentle sympathy as he'd given her when they first met. The panic subsides just a little more. She wipes futilely at the moisture blurring her vision with a rain-soaked sleeve.

"Where are we going now?"

Cal lets out a breath, seeming relieved that she isn't throwing anything else.

"The Empire knows we were on Sakiya. Hutt space isn't safe anymore." Cal's mouth twists in a humourless smile. "But there's at least one place I know the Empire isn't. Dathomir."

Cal sticks his hand out beside him and his lightsaber zips from where it landed on the floor back into his palm. Rising, he clips the weapon to a loop on his belt.

"We've got a spare room in the back, you can sleep there. You must be exhausted." When he sees Anna begin to protest, Cal raises his hand. "I'll explain everything once we land. Any questions you have. I promise."

Anna glares back from the couch with her arms folded stubbornly, but when Cal begins to walk away she stands and follows, grimacing as her sodden pants stick to her legs. They walk into the same hallway she ventured down when she first snuck on board. Cal presses a few buttons on the panel set into the wall and one of the doors lining the corridor slides open with a quiet whirr. He gestures to the open doorway and she stoops inside cautiously.

The quarters consist of a plain white bed, a nightstand, a small dresser, and a large metal walk-in closet. The walls are matte grey steel and the floor is carpeted with brown synthetic rubber. It's the nicest space she's had the chance to stay in in years.

"The shower's in the closet-looking thing." So that's what that is. "I'm trying to fix the filtration system, but for now try not to use it for more than ten minutes at a time or it might start reusing your shower water." Cal coughs embarrassedly.

Anna can't help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation. She hasn't even seen a shower in weeks.

"I'm sure I'll manage." She pauses. "Thank you," she adds in a quieter voice.

"It's the least we can do." Cal pauses in the doorway with a distracted look. "Oh, one other thing. The clothes in the dresser, you can have them. They… should fit pretty well."

With a final sideways glance, he walks back in the direction of the cockpit, leaving the bedroom door open.

Anna stands there, struggling to process everything. The events of the past day have probably ruined her life for the foreseeable future, but it's hard to hold onto her anger when here she is, with a whole room to herself for the first time in never. Turning back to the door, she tests the square button on the doorframe with a curious finger, jumping when the door slides shut much faster than she expects.

She opens and closes the door a couple more times for good measure.

The water dripping from her sodden clothes has formed a small puddle at her feet. She slips off her cloak and undoes the thin strap of her holster, placing the blaster carefully down on the nightstand. Reaching into the inner pocket of the cloak, she retrieves the form of a tiny cloth doll, breathing a small sigh of relief when she sees the little button-eyes still intact. Laying it down beside her blaster, she peels off the rest of her clothing, leaving them in a wet pile by the entrance.

She makes a beeline for the shower.

Opening the thin metal door, she finds the interior simple but surprisingly spacious. Pleasantly warm water dribbles in a wide stream from the showerhead at the press of a button. She lets the falling water wash the grime off of her skin as she absently works to untangle her hair.

This whole situation is crazy. Taking a shower in her own room on a yacht crewed by the most dangerous people on this side of the known universe—you can't even make this stuff up.

She wants nothing more than to bask in the luxurious feeling of clean water flowing down her body for hours, but she shuts off the showerhead with Cal's warning nagging in her memory. There's no towel in the closet, but the walls flash red at the press of a button labeled with wavy lines, embracing her with a gust of heat that quickly evaporates the water from her skin and hair.

She could get used to this.

She steps out of the shower to find her clothes just as gross as she left them. She's about to stick them in the shower closet to try the fancy blast-dryer on them when she remembers what Cal said about the clothes in the dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, she finds neatly-folded bedclothes next to a long coat of pale, tanned leather. The bottom drawer yields canvas travel pants and a set of knee-high boots. She grins at the prospect of sleeping in laundered clothes, but a faint sense of unease tickles the back of her mind.

Who do these belong to? Not to the woman named Cere, surely—unless this is her room. But no, Cal said the room was a spare…

The creamy mattress beckons invitingly from its cozy-looking slot in the opposite wall. Her legs nearly give out right then and there as the full weight of the day's exhaustion crashes into her.

On second thought, the answers to her questions can definitely wait.

Fumbling her way into the soft bedclothes, she finds they fit her just like Cal said they would. The fabric smells faintly of some exotic minty herb, sharp and sweet at once. The bed is infinitely more comfortable than any of the floors and bunks she's so used to curling up on. Groaning contentedly, she feels all her tension drain away as her body melts into the mattress.

As she drifts into sleep's warm embrace, unbidden images of black stormtroopers and green lightsabers paint themselves across the dark canvas behind her eyelids.

She's running.

It's dark. The air is filled with dust and smoke. She can't see. She can't breathe. There's something on the ground. She trips, catching herself with the pudgy hands of a toddler.

It's a man, dressed in fine red robes, staring up at her with unblinking eyes. She grabs him by the shoulders and shakes urgently.

"Get up, sir. Papa says we have to run!"

The man doesn't respond. She notices the ragged hole gaping from his chest. She screams.

Explosions flash around her, throwing chips of cobblestone that cut her skin through her thin clothes. She crawls, trying to find shelter from the red beams of death screaming out of the darkness. The rubble is painfully sharp on her hands and knees but she keeps going. She can't stop. She has to keep running.

A blast of hot wind tousels her short braids. The smoke is blown clear in front of her, revealing a rectangular vehicle with long, folding wings hovering at the center of the ruined courtyard. A wide ramp on the bottom of its hull opens and soldiers in white armour pour out. Two of them see her and raise their weapons.

A bellow of rage cuts through the noise of the ship's thrusters. A man charges toward the soldiers, blond hair matted with dirt and blood. He brandishes a sword of gleaming silver in his hands, white lightning crackling down the blade as he cleaves the first soldier from shoulder to hip, carrying the momentum of the swing into a savage thrust that impales the second. The ship takes to the air as the other soldiers open fire in a hail of scarlet beams. The man throws his hand out and the projectiles meet an invisible barrier, detonating in mid-air.

Strong hands hoist her beneath her arms from behind. She's lifted off her feet and pulled over her rescuer's shoulder, her chin coming to rest on the silky fabric of a maroon scarf. At the centre of the courtyard, the air shimmers as the man swings his sword in a wide arc in front of him. Her ears pop as the white soldiers are blasted off their feet by hurricane winds.

For an instant, the smoke clears, and she catches a fleeting glimpse of the sky through the suffocating black fog. The flagpole still stands, but the Crocus is burning.

"Iduna! We can't stay here!" The man has turned to face in her direction. Blood streams from a long gash across his cheek. His face is familiar. "Take her, take her far away. I'll hold them off."

She feels the shoulder tremble under her chin. The arms holding her tighten their grip.

"Be strong, my sunbeam." The man is crying now, his tears carving trails down his soot-stained face. "I love you."

Something cuts through the gloom behind the man—a long, red blade, flickering with searing heat. A faceless shadow with a billowing cape strides through the smoke. The man turns to face it, raising his own sword defiantly as the crimson blade comes screeching down.

"Papa!" she screams.

Anna bolts upright and slams her forehead straight into the low cubby ceiling. Hard. A shrill robotic trill accompanies her own squeal of pain. Cracking her eyes open, she finds BD-1 watching her meekly from the foot of the bed, its legs tucked under it in a little ball. The lighting strips in the walls flicker briefly before they hum back to life.

Wait, what's BD-1 doing in her bedroom?

"He wanted to check if you were okay."

Anna starts at the sound of Cal's voice, almost knocking into the ceiling a second time. The redheaded man is standing in the open doorway.

"Were you watching me sleep?" she yelps, narrowing her eyes and scooting back on the bed.

"What? No!" Cal's indignant expression is quickly replaced by one of concern. "I heard you crying."

Anna wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. It comes away wet.

"Are you alright?" Cal takes two steps toward her. "You were screaming, Anna. For your father.���

Anna stares at the glistening moisture on her hand in a daze. The dream flashes on repeat behind her eyes like a broken holovid. She's never had one so vivid before.

She's never seen her father's face before.

"I… I had a nightmare." The sound of the glowing blade—the lightsaber—rings in her ears, and she hugs her knees tightly to her chest. "I think I saw my father die," she says in a tiny voice.

"That's… terrible. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"No, you don't understand." Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dangles her legs off the edge of the bed, staring down at the floor as she tries to calm her breathing. "I don't remember my father. I don't remember ever having a home, or anyone taking care of me. I don't remember anything."

"What do you mean?" Cal's brow furrows. "You must have been raised by someone."

Anna shakes her head. She hesitates, instinctively stopping herself before she says any more—but what's the point of hiding the truth now? She raises her eyes to meet Cal's.

"I remember waking up on a freighter with nothing but the clothes I was wearing and that doll." She points to the nightstand. "I didn't remember anything except that my name was 'Anna'. I don't even know my real last name—I made up 'Arrel'. I must have been five, six. That's my best guess anyway, I don't know my birthday."

Cal is silent for a while. She watches the furrow in his brow deepen as he keeps looking at her. Abruptly, he walks over to the nightstand, regarding the doll with a strange expression.

"May I?" he asks, reaching toward it.

Anna gives a small nod. There's something reverent about the way Cal picks up the doll, as if he's handling a precious artifact. Closing his eyes, he breathes deeply, holding the doll in front of him. When he opens his eyes again, Cal looks confused—and worried.

"What did you do to my doll?" Anna asks suspiciously.

Cal gently sets the doll back down. When he meets her gaze again, there's a frightening intensity in his deep green eyes.

"Meet me outside. We need to talk."

The redheaded man walks out of the room with BD-1 trundling along after him. The door closes behind him with a soft click, leaving Anna alone with her thoughts.

What just happened?

She hops off the bed, combing back her unruly bedhead into some semblance of order as she moves to retrieve her garments from the floor. She changes quickly, shivering at the faint dampness still lingering in her travel clothes. Slinging the holster strap around her torso with practiced ease, she twirls her blaster before slotting it in. She finds her cloak still heavy with water, so she pulls open the top drawer of the dresser and pulls out the leather coat. Like the bedclothes, it fits her well.

Yeah, Cal sure has some explaining to do.

Pushing the button to open the door, she grabs her doll and steps back out into the hallway. Without the whine of the hyperdrive, her boots echo sharply off the steel floor. Cere and Greez glance up from a card game at the dining table as she walks into the cabin. She feels their eyes follow her as she steps out onto the extended exit ramp.

The first thing she notices when she emerges from the ship is how red everything is—the dim sun hanging above the horizon, the cracked stony ground, the vine-encrusted cliffs jutting in the distance, even the thin clouds stretching across the sky. The second thing she notices is Cal's silhouette at the edge of the plateau, gazing out at the craggy landscape below with his back facing her.

Her feet stop. This is a dangerous fugitive with a galaxy's worth of soldiers and bounty hunters out for his head. By all rights, she should be running the other way as fast as her feet can take her.

But for some crazy reason, this murderous fugitive is also the only one in a galaxy's worth of people who's genuinely cared for her in memorable history.

She steps up beside him and clears her throat.

"So, what was that about back there?"

Cal keeps staring into the distance. The sun is reflected in his eyes, tinging them as red as the sky.

"What do you know about the Force?" he asks slowly.

"That magic power you use to throw people around?"

Cal raises an eyebrow at her and chuckles.

"Yeah. Sort of. Except it's not magic, and everyone has it. The Force is this… energy field that all living things share. The Jedi were trained to tap into its power, but they weren't—aren't the only ones who can use it."

"Are you a Jedi?"

She doesn't know why she even bothers asking after everything she's already seen him do. Throwing stormtroopers two storeys into the air without touching them is certainly no ordinary feat. Nonetheless, she wants to hear Cal say it. Saying it out loud makes it real.

"Yes. If there is such a thing as a Jedi anymore." Cal's mouth draws to a hard line. "I was a Padawan—a Jedi in training—when the Republic fell. Our own allies turned on us in the blink of an eye. My Master died saving me and I've lived in hiding ever since."

He pauses, his face taut with sorrow. Anna waits for him to continue with bated breath.

"I can sense the past through the Force. It's something I was born with, I think. Whenever I touch something—a relic or an ancient inscription—I catch glimpses of its history."

Anna's eyes become wide as moons.

"What did you see when you touched this?" She holds up her doll, suddenly breathless.

The worried expression returns to Cal's weathered features.

"Nothing. And not just nothing, a distinct absence of something. Like its past has somehow been purged from the Force. Your past."

Anna's heart skips a beat.

"Are you saying my memories were purged?" She makes air quotes around the word, hoping they'll protect her from its terrible implications.

"I don't know. But I don't think it's a coincidence that you had that dream here." Cal glances darkly to the horizon. "Dathomir is a place of power. The Dark Side of the Force is strong here. I think you feel it too." His eyes bore into hers. "I think you know more about the Force than you're letting on."

"What? What are you saying?" Anna laughs incredulously. "Trust me, if I could throw people into buildings just by waving at them, my life would be a whole lot easier."

"No, it wouldn't," Cal says grimly. "The Empire hunts Force-sensitives mercilessly, so nobody can challenge the Emperor's rule. Any sign of Force abilities is practically a death sentence now." His voice lowers. " But just because you haven't used the Force before doesn't mean you can't. I felt something when you woke up back there. A pressure."

"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

Cal is silent for a few breaths.

"I think you are Force-sensitive, Anna, but your connection to the Force has been… suppressed, somehow."

Anna knits her eyebrows together, her excitement building. Could it be true? Could all the mysteries of her past be linked to the Force—whatever it is?

"Could this have anything to do with my missing memories?"

Cal runs a hand through his hair.

"It's possible. Maybe you were a Youngling and your Master was trying to protect you. I've never heard of the Force being used to remove memories, though… but I'm hardly an expert. Cere might know more."

"Is Cere a Jedi, too?"

"She used to be," Cal answers with a nod.

"Used to?"

"Yeah. She doesn't use the Force anymore."

They're silent for a while. Anna gazes out beneath the rising sun. Patches of serpentine vines bristling with thorns like razor wire splotch the landscape. A faint animal roar reaches her ears and her searching eyes find the form of a massive two-legged beast moving in a valley far, far below.

"One more question," she blurts.

"Don't make promises you can't keep." There's a teasing note to Cal's voice.

"Whose clothes am I wearing?"

The Jedi's smile immediately falls from his face. He exhales slowly through his nose.

"Her name was Merrin. She was a Nightsister. She used the Force, too, but her powers were different, unlocked through rituals that I don't understand. I… we fought side by side for years."

"What happened to her?" Anna asks carefully.

Cal turns his back to the cliff. From the sorrowful light in his eyes, she dreads his answer.

"We had a disagreement. She wanted to bring down the Empire, so Force-sensitives would no longer have to live in fear. I believed in it too, at the beginning. But her methods were too risky, too direct." His shoulders are slumped now, his face etched with guilt. "I tried to convince her to take a step back, but she wouldn't listen. She went out on a scouting mission deep into Imperial territory on her own. We waited for weeks… but she never came back."

A dull pain flares in Anna's chest at the hollowness in Cal's voice.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Cal shakes himself, flashing her a feeble smile. He reaches out and pats her on the shoulder.

"Come on, let's go see what Greez is cooking."