Title: A Sign of Trust

Author: LadyElaine

Archive: Please ask first. I’d like to know where it’s going.

Feedback: ...is my bread and water. dragonlady75069@attbi.com

Disclaimer: Homage is due to Stacey Lee, whose incomparable “In a Strange Land” (found in the fanfic at www.qui-gonline.org ) was the original inspiration for this. The characters and situations of Star Wars belong to George Lucas and Lucasfilm, Ltd. My only profit is (hopefully) feedback.

Rating: PG to PG-13 for mild language and violence.

Summary: Drama. A jaded woman narrowly escapes a fatal car crash when she’s transported to the Star Wars galaxy. Think it’s a dream come true? Think again.

* * *

Cathleen sighed, and started cracking her knuckles one by one. The sound of it bothered Master Qui-Gon to no end--but after all, it was by his recommendation that the Council had ordered her to transcribe her journal into Aurabesh. She stole a glance over her shoulder at the opposite corner of the cell, belatedly remembering that Qui-Gon was gone. In his place sat a rather dashing young Knight by the name of Nejaa Halcyon. He looked to be deep in meditation.

She sighed again and stretched before resuming her typing.

A chuckle from just behind and above her interrupted Cathleen’s concentration. The Jedi had managed to come up without her noticing, and had been reading over her shoulder. She flushed angrily. “Hey, don’t you have something better to do than annoy me?”

“No, actually, I don’t. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you, you know.”

Trust a Corellian, Cathleen thought, to remind me just how untrustworthy I am. She bit her lip and decided to cajole him into shepherding her to the library. It was one of the only parts of the Temple They allowed her to visit.

* * *

“She appeared in the midst of your council, and you are not yet sure of her?” Qui-Gon allowed a hint of frustration to color his voice. The woman had, indeed, popped into existence right in the middle of a Council meeting, sprawled bonelessly on the floor, blood leaking from eyes and ears and nose as if she’d just suffered a massive head injury. Her clothing, too had born signs of trauma, being badly torn and burned.

“Of her presence here, we are sure, Qui-Gon,” Yoda chided him softly. “But of her purpose, we are not so certain.” The healers had quickly collected the woman, but could find no reason for the blood loss. In time, she’d woken--and things had suddenly gone from strange to downright eerie.

“She is an outsider,” Mace said dryly. “Her Force signature barely even registers. If she can’t be sensed, how can she be trusted?” The woman, calling herself ‘Cathleen Mackenzie,’ had known every Council member on sight--but none of them had ever seen the stranger before her abrupt appearance.

“On the one hand, you ask us to release her, but on the other, to support her with a stipend.” This came from Master Eeth Koth. He shook his horned head gravely. “We have, in the past, allowed your quaint fascination with the less fortunate; but this, Master Jinn, is unacceptable.”

“May I have word with Cathleen, Knight Halcyon?”

Master Qui-Gon’s voice broke her concentration. The title of the book--Secular Morality in the Modern Galaxy--collapsed into so many meaningless symbols again. Cathleen finished downloading it to her portable reader, and turned to face her distraction. Nejaa Halcyon was just walking off.

Qui-Gon took her by the shoulder. “Pack your things. I’m getting you out of here.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Qui-Gon heaved a sigh. He looked like he had a headache. “The Council has refused to let you go. There’s nothing more I can do to convince them that you’re not a danger, so I--”

She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. “What makes you think I want to go? You haven’t said word one to me about this, Master Qui-Gon.”

He gave Cathleen a look that seemed to go right through her. “I’m trying to get you out of the Temple, Cathleen. I know you’re unhappy being kept in that cell, under constant surveillance.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “I don’t know whether to kiss you or kick you, Master Qui-Gon. You know, I’m really grateful for your concern, but...I have no intention of leaving the Temple.”

“But you--”

Cathleen cut him off again, shaking her head. “All I really want are some normal quarters, and freedom to go where I please, without always being watched. I’m perfectly happy to stay.”

It was Qui-Gon’s turn to stare at Cathleen. “You want to remain in the Temple? You don’t even want to go back to your home planet?”

At his mention of Earth, Cathleen’s stomach went hard and cold. “Look, I have a master’s degree in linguistics. If you like, I can type you up a five-hundred-word essay on the differences between the Latin and Russian genitive cases. I once had dreams of cracking Minoan Linear B. But here I am, a middle aged, middle class, mediocre Spanish teacher with students who just don’t care.

“I’m not married, and I have no children,” she continued. “The only family I have left--if you could ever call it a family, anyway--couldn’t care less what happens to me. What sane person would want to go back to that, when there’s all this,” the wave of her hand taking in her surroundings, “to explore?”

The Jedi Master pinched the bridge of his chiseled nose. “I apologize. I may have been--unfocused.” Then he looked back up again, an odd little smile playing over his mouth. “Perhaps new arrangements may now be made for our guest?” Qui-Gon said in a slightly louder tone.

Master Depa Bilaba glided out from between the aisles of parchment books. “My apologies, Cathleen. We expected you to take Master Jinn’s offer, you understand.” She smiled serenely. “The Council simply needed a sign of trust.”

The cold lump in Cathleen’s stomach rematerialized in her throat. How could they! “I thought this was the Jedi Temple,” she snapped, “not the setup temple. You could have just asked me!” She pivoted on her heel and stalked out of the library.

* * *

* * *

Obi-Wan found her wandering the halls, looking lost. She seemed lonely, too, and for a moment he resonated with his Master’s sympathetic tendencies. He fell into step beside her, silently taking in the fact that she was still wearing a gray initiate’s tunic. Her own garb had apparently been scorched upon her arrival. He’d see if he could get her clothes more to her liking soon. When she stopped and looked at him, he noticed that her eyes were the same indistinct shade as her tunic. Small lines around her eyes and mouth that he hadn’t seen at their first, brief meeting in the infirmary seemed more defined now. She was older than he’d originally thought.

“Come to take me back to jail?” It was an angry question, but her voice was tired.

“No. Actually, I’ve come to show you to your new quarters.” He hesitated, unsure of how a younger man went about chastising an older woman. “Master Qui-Gon was worried about you.”

The sudden touch of her hand on his cheek surprised him. “You know, you’re almost young enough to have been one of my students back home.” She smiled, dropped her hand, and looked away. “And Qui-Gon’s a smarter man than I thought.”

* * *

She woke screaming.

When the Jedi Master flew into her room, Cathleen barely even noticed. All she could see was the hideously scarred being who had been trailing her through the mists of her nightmare. It wasn’t until she felt Qui-Gon’s large hands shaking her that she came to her senses.

He’s yelling my name, she realized dimly. “I’m okay, I’m okay,” she gasped.

“Your nightmare woke me.” His gust of a sigh drew Cathleen’s attention to the fact that he had sat down next to her on the bed, with one arm warm about her shoulders.

“All the way from your own quarters?” she asked, pulling away nervously.

His chuckle was more of a hum. “It would seem I am becoming better attuned to you than other Jedi who’ve encountered you. Perhaps it has something to do with the nature of my connection to the Living Force.” Even in the dim light, she could see how the lines of age and strain around his eyes softened as he smiled at her. “Or it may simply be that my dreams took the same path as yours tonight.”

She clutched the blankets in her lap as tightly as she did her guilt. The reason her Force signature was so dim, she knew, was because, like the Yuuzhan Vong of the most recent novels, she wasn’t of this galaxy. But if she admitted that, it would be back to the Council for her, to field another few hundred questions. Mustering up the most innocent smile she knew how to give, Cathleen quietly thanked Qui-Gon. “I hope I didn’t wake up Obi-Wan, too.”

“It would take a stampede of banthas to wake that one,” he laughed. Then he rose, and gave her a short bow. “Cathleen, I must apologize for the Council’s treatment of you since you arrived. And for mine, in particular. You were entirely correct, we should have asked you what you wanted before making assumptions about you.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Belatedly, it dawned on her that he’d been clad only in loose drawstring trousers. Too bad her nerves had prevented her from properly admiring him. Then she giggled like a teenager when she looked down at her own thin brown top, something like a cross between a sports bra and a camisole. It was a little cool in here, and she’d been scared. No wonder Qui-Gon had left so suddenly.

The remainder of her dreams left her still blushing in the morning, despite the lingering chill from her nightmare.

She sat as still as she could manage in the front room of Master Yaddle’s quarters. That the tiny alien was over four hundred years old, but could still sit cross-legged without her knees crackling, irritated Cathleen to no end. The room was as Spartan as she’d once imagined it might be, with low, gray cushions taking the place of couch and chairs, and a single, small table less than a foot high. There were no decorations on the walls. The Master’s only concession to beauty seemed to be an intricately carved bookcase in one corner, built from some sort of golden brown wood.

Cathleen wisely refrained from asking how on earth the diminutive Master reached the books on the top shelves.

There was a long silence after they were both seated. Finally, Master Yaddle began. “Spoken with me, Master Jinn has.” Her voice was as rough as Yoda’s, but much softer, almost a whisper. “A scholar of tongues, you are.”

It took her a moment to realize that Yaddle’s comment was actually a question. “Yes, Master Yaddle. I've studied many of the languages of my homeworld.”

Yaddle harrumphed and fell silent again. Cathleen waited, not wanting to try such long-lived patience. After several endless minutes of nothing, though, she had to shift to keep her legs from falling asleep.

“Thinking you learn quickly, yes?”

The confusing question caught her off guard. “I do pick up other languages pretty easily....”

“Read.” The book Yaddle pushed to her across the table had come out of nowhere. Cathleen suspected that there was now a space on one of the shelves in the corner bookcase, but she didn’t dare take a peek.

She looked at the title on the cover. It was written in what seemed to be a calligraphic form of Aurabesh, but she muddled it out. “Uh...The Broken Philosophers, by Jedi Master Mon-Torun Mahel.” When Yaddle didn’t ask her to stop, she went on to the first page. It seemed to be an eyewitness account of the very beginning of the Sith order! By the time Cathleen was halfway down the second page, she had all but forgotten she was reading aloud to a Jedi Master she’d once seen concept sketches for.

“Enough.” Yaddle’s voice, soft though it was, immediately broke Cathleen’s rapture. “A new lettering system, you have learned, in four days.”

She smiled at the praise.

“Satisfactory, it is,” Yaddle grunted.

Cathleen’s smirk melted. Apparently, four days was anything but satisfactory.

“It is to Jedi, I am accustomed. But you will do.” Master Yaddle was four hundred years old--and then some--but she rose quicker, Cathleen thought resentfully, than she should have been able to. “Assigned to the Library, you will be. These languages, you will learn.” Yaddle handed her a sheet of flimsiplast, on which was a listing of seven different languages. “In need of adequate translators, the Temple is.”

As she stood up, Cathleen’s own knees gave out a sound not unlike applause. A cheering section, she supposed, to get her through the mountain of work she’d just been given. When four hundred seventy-seven years I reach..., she said to herself, but refused to finish the thought.

* * *

* * *

The two Corellian dialects were close cousins to Basic; their syntax was a breeze compared to Togorian. Having no articles like ‘the,’ or ‘a’ wasn’t new to her, but why the total lack of personal pronouns? The Gand language Cathleen decided to leave till she’d developed at least a basic understanding of all the others. She wasn’t even sure how to pronounce half the words in the insectoid speech.

The speed-learning headset that stuffy Ithorian librarian had recommended was on the verge of putting Cathleen to sleep when something caught her eye. So far, the only Zabrak she’d seen among the vast array of species represented in the Temple had been Master Eeth Koth. The horned man that had just crossed her field of vision was nothing special, but his appearance set off alarm bells in her mind. Not bothering to turn off the droning autoteacher, she pulled off her headset, ignoring the glares of the beings in the adjacent booths. Silently asking herself what she thought she was doing, Cathleen dove into the aisle next to the one the Zabrak had disappeared into.

The shelves were lined with both hardcopy books and downloading ports. She shoved her portable reader into her tunic and hoped. Pulling a book off the shelf, she tried to peer through the space that was left. He was still there, all right, fiddling with what looked like a smaller version of Cathleen’s reader. She took another book randomly, prayed to whichever god looked out for James Bond, and rounded the end of the aisle.

If she had stumbled across Ray Park in the middle of an Episode I makeup session, he might have looked like this. Except here, it was the horns that looked real, and the unmarked, bare skin that looked rubbery. He was clad in a simple worker’s coverall of the same neutral gray as an initiate’s tunic. Her eyes went to his hands; the gloves he wore would, at a glance, pass for pale skin.

He looked up at her from his reader, and her stomach plunged. His eyes, a familiar fire, threatened to mesmerize her. She suddenly remembered herself, and blindly grabbed for another book. But as she edged past him, muttering a hasty apology, she thought she saw--

No. Skin wasn’t supposed to ripple like that.

No one remembered who he was. No one knew his name, or the name of his supervisor. Wherever he walked, he went unnoticed. He was a simple Temple worker: one of the nameless, faceless, unremarkable hundreds assigned, temporarily or permanently, to the menial labor on which the Jedi Temple depended.

And then he was not.

No one complained--or even cared--when he left the Temple and his “shift” early. That was unsurprising, though, since he wasn’t actually on the payroll. But his unassuming air was just one part of a complex disguise that extended even into the Force itself. When infiltrating the sanctum sanctorum of the enemy, one must walk very softly, indeed.

From an inner pocket of his utilitarian garb, he withdrew a vial containing a single hair. His Master had neglected to warn him that another agent was active in the Temple.

* * *

She’d never kept a journal before now, but Cathleen decided she liked it. It was a good way to release the day’s tensions--except for the times when she didn’t dare put down what had really happened to her.

There she was, cracking her knuckles again. It was a nervous habit. She forced her hands into fists, but found her foot tapping.

* * *

It was almost two weeks after what she’d privately dubbed ‘the Zabrak incident,’ and Cathleen had almost succeeded in convincing herself she’d imagined it. She wasn’t exactly used to telling one alien being from another here--for all she knew, all Zabrak of that particular race looked like him.

She saved her latest journal entry, rubbed her eyes, and collapsed back onto the couch in the main room of her quarters. Her stomach growled, and she looked wearily at the wall chrono. It was close enough to the dinner hour, so she gave her short hair a quick brush, and headed to the Library level’s cafeteria. Most of the food here was similar to what she was used to, but the few times she’d run into something exotic had given her pause. Add to that the fact that she herself had never been more than a marginal cook, and Cathleen felt safest trusting her digestive system to the relatively tame cafeteria on this level.

Of course, she made sure before she ate what everything was. The last time she’d eaten something unfamiliar--small, sweet brown globes called grunkstl--she had learned too late that the “dessert” was actually the eggs of a large insect native to Sernpidal. Her spine still crawled every time she thought about it.

Upon entering the large mess hall, she found a smile creeping onto her face. Obi-Wan was already seated at a table not far away, and had seen Cathleen come in. He grinned at her, and nodded at her to join him. She waved back, but picked up a tray of food before weaving her way over to the proffered seat. Fortunately, she recognized everything on her plate--a good thing, since it had been at Obi-Wan’s suggestion that she’d tried the grunkstl.

Cathleen greeted him with a nod. “So what are you still doing here? I figured you and Master Qui-Gon were off saving the galaxy again.”

She had to give him credit. His grin never even flickered as he answered, “Oh, we’ve been assigned to Temple duty for a while.”

I’ll bet, she thought in sudden anger. The Council had mentioned Qui-Gon being the “best choice” because of his skill with the Living Force. And Qui-Gon himself had admitted to having developed a better sense of her, possibly because of the same. Why hadn’t she seen it before? Her open files, Qui-Gon’s quick reaction--however well intentioned--to that nightmare, and now the pair’s continued presence in the Jedi Temple: she was still under the Council’s surveillance.

She felt bad for Obi-Wan, since he was genuinely trying to be friendly, but her lingering irritation made her a poor dinner mate for him. After repeated attempts to curb herself, though, she finally gave up. “Look, I’m sorry I’m so grumpy today,” she tried.

Obi-Wan leaned toward her, as though he were about to disclose a secret. “A stranger materialized among us. She has a completely different perspective on the Jedi, possesses a class of midichlorians never before seen, and hails from another galaxy entirely.” He twinkled at her. “Imagine our surprise, then, that this stranger actually has bad days, just like the rest of us.”

Cathleen could have melted on the spot; but she clutched her anger long enough to bite out, “And what other earth-shaking information has the study of this stranger exposed? What vital particulars has your scrutiny unveiled?” Obi-Wan’s smile hardened almost imperceptibly, just long enough for Cathleen to catch a glimpse of the General this young man would someday become. She immediately regretted her sharpness, and looked down at her tray--as if somewhere in that cold food, there might be words for an apology.

“Would you do something for me?” His tone was gentle, almost fond. She nodded, her eyes clouding over at his tender voice. “Would you just trust us?

“Trust us enough to let us trust you.”

“I find myself in a difficult position, Master.” Obi-Wan held his stance until Qui-Gon nodded once, satisfied. Then the young man burst into motion again, his body spinning and lunging through the blue afterimage the lightsaber framed about him.

“Hold.” Qui-Gon made a tiny correction in his apprentice’s grip. “What do you mean?”

“I understand that everything we’ve done has been to gain a better understanding of this stranger, but--” At the older Jedi’s nod, he sprang into the kata again. The dance of blade and body was a more eloquent expression than his words. At the close of the exercise, Obi-Wan came to rest in the final position. His chest was heaving with more than just exertion. “But I sympathize with her.” A flick of his thumb, and the humming blade vanished. “I know what it is to not be trusted.”

“The Council would tell you that sympathy is a dangerous emotion.”

“ ‘There is no emotion, there is peace.’ ” Obi-Wan’s impish voice was muffled by the small towel he was wiping his sweaty face with.

“From a certain point of view,” Qui-Gon chuckled. “But sympathy has its place, Padawan. As peace and patience are doorways to the Unifying Force, sympathy and empathy are of the Living Force. Too many Jedi have forgotten that personal connections form the beating heart of the Republic.”

* * *

Today was a rest day, and Cathleen decided to use it, for once. The previous rest days, she had either been in the infirmary, or simply too anxious to sit back and relax. She hadn’t even touched her quarters’ vidscreen yet--though even at home, Cathleen had never been all that attached to the television. Her off-time consisted mostly of reading (she did more than enough of that here) and sketching (but her writing pad was gone, along with her drawings.)

But today was a rest day, and she wanted to indulge herself. When she activated the vidscreen, it was turned to a news service. All I need now, Cathleen thought with a smile, is Dan Rather. The anchor, however, was a gray-furred Gotal.

“...but the Stombannin family representative refused to comment,” he was saying. “In a related story, a Selonian colony, which emigrated ten standard years ago to the planet Ubezhdat, was massacred yesterday by the Ubezhdi Liberation Front.” The picture on screen changed to show what was presumably the burnt-out remains of the colony. “The ULF is a terrorist organization made up of xenophobic Ubezhdi aborigines. It has long been dedicated to driving out or exterminating all non-native peoples, but this marks the first ULF attack against other nonhumans.” The scene changed again, now showing human recovery workers carrying stretchers into a central clearing in the rubble.

Cathleen’s heart contracted at the all-too-familiar images. This is the Star Wars galaxy, damn it! This isn’t supposed to happen here! She was shocked to realize that she was crying.

“Ubezhdat’s Coronin Elenus has vowed harsh retaliation,” the anchor went on emotionlessly, “but Senator Domas Mansche has urged the Coronin to delay any action until a team of Jedi can be dispatched.”

This is why I hardly ever watched TV back on Earth, Cathleen thought. But she couldn’t tear herself away from the news of the galaxy. She watched all day long, with an increasingly heavy heart.

During trade talks, Massaduan religious zealots had beaten a Caamasi ambassador to death. The Caamasi, true to their peaceful, patient nature, simply sent another envoy.

Two Jedi Knights had been seriously injured on Petrad III, where a planetary civil war had been brewing for over a year.

The notorious Stombannin family, long suspected of being involved in pirate activities along the Corellian Trade Spine, was embroiled in a bloody land dispute on Selonia.

Three men and two women on Coruscant had slain their families, then themselves.

And on and on. Finally, Cathleen turned off the vidscreen. It was a long time before she moved again.

* * *

Master Qui-Gon Jinn stood patiently before the Jedi Council’s questions. He was used to being in this position.

“And does she know that her quarters were entered?” Mace Windu was saying.

“Not to my knowledge. According to my apprentice, though, she is aware that she is still being watched, and is not pleased.” Obi-Wan had described her reaction as scathingly angry--but he was still young enough, and sensitive to mistrust, that such a reaction would affect him. Qui-Gon wondered, then, why he was likewise affected.

“Gain her trust, you must, Qui-Gon,” Master Yoda said gruffly. “Gained it long since, you should have.”

* * *

* * *

“Please, come in, Cathleen.” Master Qui-Gon ushered her into the main room of his and Obi-Wan’s spacious quarters, smiling at the light blue Alderaanian dress she wore belted in silver. “I see Obi-Wan found time to help you expand your wardrobe.”

“Yes, he did.” She grinned at the memory of the Padawan’s not-so-infinite patience for her hunting through the Temple’s second-hand human clothing. Considering the work most Jedi did, she’d been surprised that so much of it had still been in such good condition. “Where is Obi-Wan tonight?”

Qui-Gon led her into the dining area, still smiling. “He has his own duties to see to this evening.”

Cathleen resolutely ignored her pounding heart, chiding herself to control her emotions around this particular Jedi Master. It just figures, she thought wryly, that the only Jedi who makes me weak in the knees is also the only one that can sense me getting weak in the knees.

Dinner was already waiting on the table, steam curling enticingly. Qui-Gon pulled a chair out for his guest before seating himself. Cathleen smoothed her skirts underneath her as she sat. Then she noticed one of the side dishes.

“Is that grunkstl?”

“Of course. Obi-Wan told me how much you enjoyed it.”

She couldn’t believe that Padawan’s audacity. “Typical,” Cathleen laughed. “A sixteen-year-old apprentice with too much time on his hands.” When the Jedi Master’s pleased expression vanished, she explained. “I don’t do bug eggs.”

His lips quirked in a sly smile. “Well, in that case, I shall be sure to relay to him how much you relished them tonight.”

Other than a bit of small talk, they ate in companionable silence. Qui-Gon took her share of the offending dessert with a chuckle, while Cathleen savored the warmth of the wine.

* * *

The genetic profile showed the strand of hair to be human, but that was the only thing he could be sure of. The woman’s initial Force absence had reminded him of his Master’s latest allies. As he’d tracked her, though, he came to realize that she did exist in the Force--but in a very different way.

He regretted the necessity of no communications with his Master during this mission. His path, though, was clear. She was monumentally inept, or she was more dangerous than he could imagine. Either way, she was a riddle that had to be solved.

* * *

“I understand Master Yaddle put you to work in the Library. I’ve also heard that the record keepers are quite pleased with your progress.” Qui-Gon finished off the grunkstl and took a long sip of his own wine.

Cathleen shrugged “I’ve been enjoying it. Learning a new language is always fascinating--it gives me a window into different thought processes.”

“The catalogue records show that you’ve been searching for a book...?”

For once, she let the annoyance of being watched slide. “Yeah, it’s a book that Master Yaddle had me read aloud to her. Well, part of it, anyway. I can’t remember the name of the author, but the title was The Broken Philosophers. It was fascinating, I wanted to read the rest of it.”

“She let you read part of The Broken Philosophers?” Qui-Gon laid his hands flat on the table and sat back, looking stunned. “The reason you can’t find it in the Library is that it’s kept closely guarded. I myself, like most Jedi, have only been allowed to reference it once or twice.” His look of dismay was suddenly replaced by a quick smile. “It’s not that this disturbs me, you understand.”

She didn’t, but she nodded anyway.

“Perhaps Master Yaddle and I have more in common than I thought,” he muttered.

The long silence that followed had Cathleen mentally agreeing with that statement.

“Can I ask you a question?” she ventured.

“Of course.”

“What is it with you and the Jedi Council? You’d be on the Council, except that you’re always at odds with it. I’ve never really been able to figure that out.”

Master Qui-Gon gave her a piercing look. “I won’t even ask how you knew that, Cathleen.”

“I’m sorry, I--”

“They have become hidebound and dogmatic,” he interjected. His voice was edged with...scorn? “I have committed the sin of following a different philosophy, one that all too often clashes with their official policies.”

Cathleen downed the last sip of her wine. “What do you mean?”

“The Jedi began as a religious order. Over the millennia, it turned into one of service as well. But now, it is fast becoming a political body, and faith has no place in politics.”

While he was speaking, she took a pen out of her handbag. “You know, there’s one thing that’s always really bugged me about you Jedi.” Reaching for a napkin, she almost knocked over her empty wineglass. “You always talk about the Force as if the Dark Side never even existed.” She began with a circle, pivoting her hand at the wrist like a compass. “And when you do mention the Dark Side, it’s like you’re walking on eggshells. But the Light Side wouldn’t exist without the balance of the Dark....” She ran out of words, and handed Qui-Gon the napkin instead.

His eyes never leaving the drawing, he said, “What is this, Cathleen?”

“That’s a yin-yang, a symbol from my world representing the unity of opposites.”

The last time she’d seen him with such an intense expression, it was worn by his on-screen counterpart, preparing to do battle with a Sith lord. “More than just unity, it seems.” Then, to Cathleen’s surprise, he crumpled the napkin and dunked it into his water glass.

“But, as much as I enjoy debating the finer points of philosophy,” he said, his dark mood dissolving with the ink, “we do have more pressing matters to discuss.” From a nearby drawer, he took out a small holoprojector.

* * *

He opened his eyes, and smiled. Anger was an easy emotion to track, and hers sang on an entirely different plane of the Force. Coruscant, and even the damnable Temple itself, was a muddle of lesser beings. The life of this woman, though, played a clear tone above the rest of the static.

She would be leaving the Temple soon, he sensed. Unfolding the heavily creased flimsiplast, he stared at it for the hundredth time. His own tattooed visage snarled back. One false-skinned hand punched a code into a small communicator; she would be in need of transportation.

“Sit. Down. Now.” The Jedi Master’s voice had more than a faint suggestion of the Force in it, but Cathleen wasn’t swayed.

“Where I come from, Master Qui-Gon, privacy is a basic legal right!” She’d almost thrown the small holoprojector across the room when it showed her a view of her own quarters.

Qui-Gon retuned the input, and it shifted to a real-time hologram of his suite’s main room. A tiny version of Cathleen gazed, stricken, at an even tinier holographic hologram. “We are Jedi,” Qui-Gon tried to explain. “We are family. Privacy is secondary.”

“I,” Cathleen seethed, “am not a Jedi.” And before he could stop her, she stormed out of his quarters.

Alone in his rooms, Qui-Gon turned the holoprojector back to the footage he’d tried to show her.

The door to her quarters slid open. No one entered. Her terminal turned itself on, and scrolled slowly through her files before shutting down again. These could have simply been electronic glitches--except that her writing pad shuffled its own pages, then carried itself out.

Someone with a holodisruptor had been in her quarters, without the Council’s knowledge or consent. One would think she would have been more upset at that, than at the presence of a single, innocuous holocam.

He was just reaching for his communicator, meaning to call Obi-Wan, when he saw that Cathleen had left her handbag. One folded edge of flimsiplast peeked out. I am not a Jedi, she’d said. But Qui-Gon Jinn was.

* * *

Cathleen would often joke that running was against her religion. Now, though, she ignored the stitch in her side and the grinding pain in her knees, and made for the nearest portal to the outside air. In all her time here, she’d never felt the slightest desire to leave the Temple. Even when she knew the Council was still keeping a wary eye on her, she had concentrated instead on learning everything she could about her new home. But this was intolerable. She refused to live in a place where she was actively spied upon. Her mind lit on what Qui-Gon had said: privacy is secondary.

Secondary to what?

These days, knowing where all the exits were was a survival skill for high school teachers. Dodging the few berobed figures remaining in the halls at this late hour, she found the nearest outer doorway, and stopped for breath. Most levels of the Temple had several exits. The main one on this floor was a massive set of double doors. She expected them to open slowly, but they sprang apart with a hiss.

Outside, the chill air whipped around her. The dress she wore had been made for the temperate weather of Alderaan, and she was freezing in seconds--but she refused to go crawling back to those bugged quarters for anything warmer. Lurching down the impossibly floating pier, she tried to hide her shock at the surrounding expanse from other beings on the walkway. Within moments, Cathleen was shaking, and not just from the icy wind. Making a grab for the side railing, she firmly told herself that she was not going to go sailing off into space. Her instincts refused to listen.

An air taxi, lit up against the night, pulled up at the end of the walkway. Cathleen didn’t care that she had nothing in the way of fare--she just had to get away. Oddly enough, once the open-air vehicle began moving, her agoraphobia eased. She lay back in relief against the seat, not noticing that the driver hadn’t asked her for a destination.

She came to her senses, though, when they began dropping through level after level of the city. “Wait a minute, where are we going?” she asked, leaning forward so the driver would hear her over the shriek of wind. At his cold glare, she saw that fare wasn’t going to be a problem.

The man--if he was human at all--looked like something Madame Tusseau would have dreamt up. His hair had the rough look of a wig, and his skin.... With a shudder, she realized he really did look like a wax figure. Her mind flashed back to the Zabrak in the Library. He’d had the same stomach-twisting appearance.

The depth of the trouble she was in hit her all at once, and she panicked. She began struggling with her safety harness, but the driver leaned back and slammed his elbow into her face. Seeing stars is right, she thought dumbly, and blacked out.

* * *

Removing its masquer, the wretched creature knelt at the Zabrak’s feet. He grimaced, knowing what was coming. The thing had already severed three of its own fingers trying to placate its gods.

The Sith order had formed an uneasy alliance with these aliens when their presence was revealed. Despite their absence in the Force--or perhaps because of it--the handful of scouts scattered across the galaxy were snapped up into his Master’s service. As spies and assassins, they excelled--and were rewarded with experimental subjects. As servants, though, they were wanting.

“My lord, I have brought you what you ordered. Now I must cleanse myself of these...abominations.” Not long after his Master had given him this beast as a servant, he learned of its zealous hatred for technology. At first, it had been amusing to watch its ‘ablutions,’ but its simpering had long since become stale.

His own masquer did nothing to hide the predatory grin as the Sith apprentice performed his servant’s final purification.

* * *

“Obi-Wan.”

The Padawan thumbed off his lightsaber, and Darsha, his friend and sparring partner, did the same. He fumbled the communicator out of his belt. “Yes, Master?”

“Meet me at the south entrance near our quarters. Knight Halcyon tells me Cathleen went through there a few minutes ago.”

“But Master, she’s never been out of the Temple.”

“I know. Hurry.”

* * *

Cathleen came to suddenly with the realization that she was afloat. And just as suddenly, she was dumped onto a hard floor. Her face exploded in pain, and she remembered her hotheaded taxi ride. Something warm and sticky covered her mouth and chin. Her nose must be broken. She opened her eyes reluctantly. Hey, I saw those boots at the Magic of Myth exhibit, her inner idiot gushed.

She closed her eyes against the tears, then, as the pain undid her.

“Get up,” a familiar voice growled.

“I can’t.” It was true. The throbbing that echoed through her skull made her too dizzy to move, much less stand. It didn’t matter, though: invisible hands wrenched her to her feet. She stumbled, but caught herself against a wall. Opening her eyes again, Cathleen recognized the place as an abandoned parking hangar. The air taxi was awkwardly parked, and in front of it....

She fell back to the ground, vomiting, but part of her mind remained oddly detached. He used his lightsaber. That’s why there’s so little blood.

The head lay two feet away from the body. A fleshy glob was inching, sluglike, toward the heavily scarified face.

Like a battered marionette, Cathleen was brutally jerked upright again. She gasped as an ethereal hand caressed her jaw line, and focused on her assailant. Despite being robed all in black, he was still wearing the waxen face.

“You know me,” the Sith growled. One hand hovered inches away from her, manipulating the lines of power that bound her. The other held a wrinkled sheet of flimsiplast.

Oh, my god. It wasn’t the Jedi.... How could she have been so stupid as to actually sketch that face? She choked back a sob: it was too late now to regret her fury at Master Qui-Gon.

“How?” he asked.

Chill fingers stroked the edges of her mind, as a nonexistent vise tightened around her throat; but she shook her head mutely. Cathleen hadn’t breathed a word about the future to the Jedi; she wasn’t about to tell this...this.... I have a pewter figurine of this monster displayed on my mantelpiece, like an idol!

The colorless face in front of her undulated, and she almost lost control of her stomach again. The masquer lapped at the base of the horns, then settled back. Maul tapped a button on his wrist link. A ship, slaved to the call button, rose up somewhere behind Cathleen, its roar muting into hover mode.

When she turned around, she half expected to see the Infiltrator. But that part of her mind still running on autopilot reminded her that it would be a few years yet before Sidious had an armed courier converted for his apprentice. Instead, it was a Z-95 Headhunter, an anonymous vessel among the thousands just like it. The ship settled just inside the mouth of the hangar.

Somehow, Cathleen knew that this particular fighter would be just large enough to seat two. A violent shove through the Force sent her reeling toward the craft--and past it, as she took advantage of her momentum. Staggering past one cannoned wing, she let herself fall from the lip of the parking hangar into the permacrete chasm below.

Darth Maul watched her spiral down for a few moments, then climbed into his ship. He had a mission to complete.

Darsha Assant had heard Obi-Wan’s master bring up Nejaa Halcyon’s name over the communicator. The Knight was one of her own Master’s closest friends. Curious, she went in search of him--and found him quickly enough, sitting near that level’s south-facing entrance. He smiled when he saw her, and made room on the bench for her to join him.

“Did you have something to do with my sparring partner’s disappearance?” she asked playfully. “I overheard Master Jinn say your name, and then Obi-Wan ran out like he was on fire.”

Nejaa laughed briefly. “Has your sparring partner mentioned the visitor in the Temple?”

She frowned up at him. “I think he said something about a stranger. A human woman, right?”

A curt nod. “She’s an odd one. Seems she scared half the Council right out of their enlightened minds. She popped out of thin air in the middle of one of their sessions.”

“Come on!” she giggled.

“Hey presto, just like that.” He ruffled her hair affectionately. “Master Windu’s still tied up in knots over her....”

* * *

“Help me, Obi-Wan!” Qui-Gon roared over the shriek of wind and engine. “Grab her other hand!”

The noise and light of the aircar split the blackness. Cathleen must have fallen for some distance to have reached this far; but had they not caught her, she would have tumbled uncounted klicks more before hitting bottom. The craft swayed and yawed wildly as she hung, twisting and struggling, from the pair’s hands. Hefting her aboard, Qui-Gon heard a crack, and knew that her shoulder had popped out.

Not caring that blood from her face was smearing over his tunic, Qui-Gon wrapped her close. She clung to him, sobbing and shuddering. Wave after wave of her terror ripped through him. “It’s all right, it’s all right,” he crooned to her over and over. “I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall.” Finally, despite the pain of a broken nose and dislocated shoulder, she dropped into a shocked slumber.

“Back to the Temple, Obi-Wan. Take us home.”

* * *

Now that she knew it was there, it was easy to spot the holocam peeking from one corner in the infirmary. Cathleen told herself that she ought to be offended by it; but at present, knowing someone was watching her was comforting.

“Good morning.” She turned her head to see Master Qui-Gon sitting on the other side of her bed.

She smiled at him. “I feel like I’ve been here before.”

A chuckle was his only response.

“I think I’ve used up my quotient of miracles, Master Qui-Gon. How did you...?” Cathleen shut her eyes, biting her lip, and felt the Jedi Master’s hand close around her own; a swell of calm washed away the sudden panic attack.

“You have a very unique Force signature. Once I learned to feel it, I couldn’t miss it. It radiates on an entirely different level, almost another dimension.”

He was temporizing, she could tell from the way he went on. “I’m not that original, Qui-Gon.” She looked at him skeptically. “You could have made a mistake, you know.”

“Of course not,” he declared. “Jedi Masters never make mistakes.” An old, old grief swam in his eyes, belying his sardonic tone.

She cursed herself for saying exactly the wrong thing.

“Get some sleep, now, Cathleen.”

* * *

Qui-Gon Jinn watched her relax into sleep. This woman had burst into the galaxy, and into his life, already holding a deep affection for him. The Jedi Council had ordered him to do everything necessary to discover her purpose. He doubted that any of them regretted that decision as much as he did now. Oh, he had been as unobtrusive as possible in his investigation after learning of her private nature--and yet....

And yet. The bitter irony was that he had saved her life through an intrusion far more invasive than any holocam.

The generosity of his own character urged him to return her respect, even her affection. As Cathleen slipped deeper into slumber, Qui-Gon reached out through the Force to cushion the inevitable nightmares.

Her presence slipped away. Alarmed, he called the emdee droid over.

“Everything is normal, sir,” the droid assured him upon examination. “Her lifesigns are nominal. She is merely asleep.” Qui-Gon felt for the pulse at her wrist. It was beating slowly, but strongly. Her pulse in the Force, however, had vanished.

* * *

Cathleen woke slowly, pleasantly. Coruscant’s primary was just peering over the edge of the infirmary room’s window. Everything looked like it was made of gold. Qui-Gon was gone; in his place was a lightly snoring Padawan. She smiled at the way the morning sunlight gilded his elfin features.

As if aware of that she was watching him, Obi-Wan jerked awake. “Oh.” He yawned. “You’re back, then.”

She let that incomprehensible comment slide by, and sat up. She stretched, expecting at least some tenderness in her shoulder. Then she touched her face, pleasantly surprised at the lack of pain. If the sticky-sweet taste in the back of her throat was any indication, they must have dunked her in bacta.

It hit her then: Master Qui-Gon was gone. He wouldn’t interfere with this. Hopefully, Obi-Wan wouldn’t, either.

She put on her cajoling face. “Obi-Wan, would you take me to see Master Yoda?”

“What? Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?” His face was a mask of concern.

Masks. “Yeah. There’s some things I should have told him a long time ago.”

A young girl of maybe six or seven answered the chime at Yoda’s door. Like the other initiates Cathleen had seen, she wore no Padawan braid. Obi-Wan explained their business, speaking to the girl as if she were his equal. She bowed, and told Cathleen to have a seat inside while she tracked down “the Master.” Obi-Wan gave her a wink and disappeared. Shrugging, she sat down on a cushion to wait.

Cathleen had thought Yoda’s quarters would be just as bare as Yaddle’s. True, the same nondescript cushions and low table graced the floor, but there the resemblance ended. Where Yaddle’s main room was nearly bare, Yoda’s was thick with greenery. Potted plants grew wherever she looked. Everyone talks about Master Qui-Gon’s connection to the Living Force, she mused. But I think Yoda’s got him beat, hands down.

In one corner stood a blossoming fruit tree that filled the air with its sweet scent. A ch’hala tree grew in another spot, small ripples of color dancing over its trunk at every stray sound. A few feet away stood a water sculpture-cum-aquarium. An antigrav pillar field held free-floating spheres of water; they rose and sank, merged and split, not unlike the ‘lava’ in a lava lamp. Inside them swam semitransparent fish, migrating from one globule to another each time they connected. The water sculpture was so entrancing that she didn’t hear the Master enter.

A three-fingered hand resting lightly on her shoulder pulled her back out of her reverie. His deep, green eyes seemed to already understand what she had to say.

She took a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry, and told him everything.

* * *

Darsha paused at the Library doors and turned to look at the worker who had just passed her. She was something of a favorite among the Temple workers, since she knew so many of them by name, but she couldn’t remember meeting this man.

A Zabrak in this sector was rare enough--the only one she knew of in the Temple was Master Koth--and they were fairly insular as a species, as well. All the more reason she should have remembered this one. A frisson of warning crawled up her spine. The Zabrak glanced back at her before turning into an adjacent corridor.

Darsha shook herself. She stared at the Library doors, wondering what she had been doing just standing there--Master Bondara was needing those books.

* * *

“Always within us is the Dark Side,” Yoda sighed when she was done. “Fallen, we are, and with us, the Republic. Once, counted in the millions were the Jedi. Now, only a fraction. Peace, heh? Justice? Hah! Only in hindsight does a golden age exist.” He tapped his gimer stick a couple times, then his voice gentled again. “Fallen, we are.”

Cathleen shook her head. “If that’s true, then why am I here? If not to prevent the future from going wrong?”

“Wrong, you say?” His ears pricked up in amusement. “An empty question, this is, mmm. Ask only questions of the Force, only questions will you receive!” He tapped his gimer stick again, a sonic exclamation point. At the crack, little explosions of color detonated over the ch’hala tree’s trunk.

“But then--then nothing will change!” This wasn’t going the way she’d expected. He was supposed to be surprised, dismayed, anything other than this eerie acceptance.

“Oho! So certain, are you?” The long, green ears drooped again. “For eight hundred years, have I known the ways of the Force. It flows where it will.” His gimer stick tap-tapping at every step, Yoda circled around to stand in front of the water sculpture. He watched it in silence for a moment, then said, “No one else, will you tell what has been said here.”

* * *

Cathleen fairly sailed through her morning routine. Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan had asked her to join them that evening for one last dinner before they left for their next mission. Good friends, good company. She wondered how long it had been since she’d had either. She wasn’t worried about them leaving, though--she felt like she was finally beginning to fit in here. Initiates and young Padawans had been giving her shy smiles; even that stiff librarian had started to lighten up; and, wonder of wonders, a fellow translator had actually started flirting with her.

Giddiness is for teenagers, her thirty-something teacher voice chided, but she told it to take a hike.

She was still standing in front of her small closet, trying to decide what to wear that evening, when she realized the time. Shit! I’m gonna be late getting to the Library! Telling herself that if she wanted to stay in the good graces of the Jedi, tardiness was not an option, she grabbed her books and ran out to the main room.

She didn’t hear it when those books hit the floor. She didn’t even hear if he said anything before the red blade appeared. There was only her pulse in her ears. The whole room seemed to vibrate with that thundering beat.

* * *

Something inside told him that this woman should meet her destiny with his true face before her. One hand clutching his lightsaber, Darth Maul reached up and touched a spot on his nose. The pain of the masquer’s detachment only served to tighten his focus. Yes: he would honor her strength by giving her a quick and clean death.

The shock as the blade entered her showed plainly in her wide eyes. A gasp, hands clutching his tunics as she began to collapse. Her last breath brushed coolly across his lips.

And then she smiled.

* * *

Darsha Assant’s tenuous grip on her meditation snapped. She’d heard--what? She looked to her Master, but the Twi’lek was still deep inside himself. Trying to calm down enough to resume her exercise was useless; the most she could manage was to shield her agitation from her Master.

Had that animalistic howl of rage been simply a waking dream? A cold premonition told her not--and that someday, she’d know exactly what had made it. Darsha knew she’d be having nightmares tonight. She suddenly wished she were still young enough to sneak into Master Bondara’s bed at night, where it was safe.

* * *

Her day’s work at the Library sat untouched; but she hadn’t notified anyone that she’d be absent. Master Qui-Gon had felt Cathleen’s earlier wave of fear and pain; but the Healers hadn’t been alerted to any injury today. He and Obi-Wan stood in her rooms now, along with a pair of Council members. There was nothing amiss here--save for two small details.

Qui-Gon picked up the tracer chip. One edge was scorched. And those books--they had been carelessly dropped, though Cathleen had treated books almost reverently. He had repeatedly searched the Force for Cathleen’s signature, but there was nothing. Oh, her presence still suffused the room: there were papers and sketches casually scattered about, and garments strewn on the floor of the bedroom--she had been anything but an orderly person. The Jedi Master could almost believe she’d be walking back into her quarters at any moment, asking what hubbub was about. The books lying forlorn and the internal tracer, though, said she was gone.

That tracer, he supposed, had been the final disgrace. Had she known of it, she would have doubtless demanded its removal. I want the damn thing out of me now! she would have said. But it had saved her life. That chip was how he and Obi-Wan had found her--although catching her in midair had still been quite a feat. What use had it been today, though? Qui-Gon dropped the chip, and crushed it under his boot.

“You were the only one who could sense her, Master Qui-Gon. Would you have felt it if she had died?” Mace Windu’s voice asked behind him.

“My apprentice was also beginning to be able to sense her, but.... That is no real assurance. Her Force presence has dropped away before.”

Master Yoda prodded the crushed tracer chip. “Useless is speculation.” He looked sharply at the three human Jedi, his eyes deeper and more troubled than ever before. “Fulfilled, her purpose among us is. Passed on, her knowledge has been.” And as if that settled anything at all, he turned to leave.

Over the past few days, the old Master’s gait had begun to slow. His shoulders had become stooped, as though he were carrying a heavier burden than his small body could manage. Qui-Gon turned a questioning eye to Mace, who was perhaps the only Jedi to call Master Yoda a friend.

“I don’t know, Qui-Gon,” was all the man could say.

* * *

For eight hundred years, have I known the ways of the Force. It flows where it will. Master Yoda fingered the amulet around his neck, before dropping it back beneath his robes. The data crystal hidden within it didn’t contain the information the woman had given him, of course. That was safely tucked away in his mind. Rather, it was the final entry in her journal.

End.