Starlin dreamed of Jerrilek, on the day it all began. The beach stretched out like a white ribbon before him, waves lapping lazily at the shore, washing pools of blood out to sea in crimson streaks. Yet there were no bodies. Apparently he didn’t remember the dead bounty hunters left strewn across the sand, only their blood.
The late Professor Nimdok stood before him. He had emerged victorious, defeating his would-be assassins. Starlin was still holding the professor’s daughter Miri, then just six years old, pressing her tiny face to his chest to shield her eyes from the carnage. That is, until the precocious little girl tore from his grasp and ran to her father’s side. Starlin found himself smiling at their reunion.
But this wasn’t Jerrilek, that beautiful world of white beaches and clear blue seas. Nimdok had been dead for twenty years. Starlin was no longer young. And Miri…
Realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The waves reached him where he stood, water creeping icy fingers up his pants legs, but he hardly felt it. He watched the little girl of his memories embrace her long-dead father, the meaning of the vision suddenly plain as day. They were reunited again.
For an eternity he seemed to stand still, letting the grief and emptiness wash over him, until eventually he sensed a presence approaching him. It was the professor, emerging from a landscape gone misty with tears.
“She’s dead,” Starlin whispered. “Miri’s dead.”
Nimdok nodded once to confirm the terrible news, then turned to gaze out at the sea. Starlin lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. “I wasn’t there for her. You must hate me for that.”
“I don’t hate you.” Nimdok’s voice was gentle, his expression benign. “I know about Tenn, Starlin. And I know about Syd and your mother. I don’t blame anyone, least of all you.”
Starlin shut his eyes. He felt that he should have cried more, but he couldn’t. Not long after the initial shock, numbness set in. There was too much to shed tears over. When he opened his eyes again, the professor was still there, now looking at him with his hands clasped behind him.
“I came to ask something of you,” Nimdok said. “My granddaughters are now orphans. Both of them are strong in the Force. They will need someone to guide them. I want you to be their teacher.”
Me? No way. “You came all the way from the Netherworld to ask me to train your grandkids—knowing that my last Padawan died on my watch?” Starlin spread his arms. “Hell, have you seen me lately? Do I look like I can be trusted with that kind of responsibility?”
Nimdok raised an eyebrow. “You clean up well.”
A derisive snort escaped Starlin. Force, this couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe this was just a funny dream he was having, some drug making him imagine this whole encounter. Grunting, he said, “You could pick any Jedi Master to train them. Why me?”
“I don’t want anyone else.” The professor’s gaze remained mild, but his tone was adamant. “You must go to the Dubrava system. There you will find Kyla and Lara living with their great aunt.”
“I didn’t know you had a—”
“... sister.”
Starlin awoke in his bunk, the last word trailing on his tongue, tracks of tears drying in the outer corners of his eyes. A grimy electronic light glowed next to him, a cheap imitation of the morning sun shining through a high-riser window on Coruscant.
To escape the latest incarnation of the Sith, much of the NJO had left Coruscant for the Prosperity and the Vonnuvi. Starlin had also left Coruscant, but he headed for nowhere, docking his ship at a seedy space station and proceeding to snort and smoke and inject away his sorrows.
He rose from his bed, coughing up the remnants of last night’s spice bender, and staggered into the ‘fresher to splash water on his face. His reflection in the mirror was haggard, with bloodshot eyes and deep creases. There was a streak of gray in his week-old beard. You hold your dying Padawan in your arms one day, wake up the next morning and suddenly you’re past forty, old and tired and alone.
A shower washed away the debauched torpor of the past week. He couldn’t find a clean razor, so he trimmed his beard and headed into the kitchen. It was a mess. The whole ship was. Gone were the days when Eliphas had helped to keep things tidy; it wasn’t exactly clean while Tenn was alive either, but now it looked as if a tornado had hit.
While he made himself a quick breakfast, he remembered another vision he’d had years ago while studying with the Iktotchi seers. In an almost apocalyptic future, he had become mentor to a set of twins. A boy and a girl with red hair. He was forced to watch as they were murdered by his old foe, the intergalactic terrorist Laertia Io. “Always in motion, the future is,” he muttered , shoveling a spoonful of flavorless cereal into his mouth. It seemed the Force was determined to make him train twins, regardless of who they were.
Would it also force him to witness their deaths?
Damn it all. Starlin threw away what was left of his soggy cereal, flinging the empty bowl into the dishwasher. He didn’t know how Miri had died, but he knew it couldn’t have been an innocent death. Right now, he wanted to know who did it. He’d track the bastard down and knock their head from their shoulders. His fingers flexed, both his organic and mechanical hands clenching into fists as he paced—only to nearly trip over a pile of junk he’d pushed into a corner.
Of course, he was just procrastinating. He didn’t want to go to Dubrava, didn’t want to take on two new Padawans so soon after Tenn’s death, didn’t want to be part of some grand cosmic plan orchestrated by his dead mentor. Killing whoever was responsible for putting him in this position in the first place seemed a lot easier than doing what Nimdok had asked of him. Easier for him emotionally, anyway.
Yeah, he would go find the killer. He didn’t know where to start, but surely the Force would guide him.
Rushing to the navicomputer, he hesitated. I am too old for this, he thought, his shoulders sagging and head bowing. He set a course for Dubrava. Then, once the coordinates were punched in and the Bright Knight shot off into hyperspace, he started cleaning up.
The late Professor Nimdok stood before him. He had emerged victorious, defeating his would-be assassins. Starlin was still holding the professor’s daughter Miri, then just six years old, pressing her tiny face to his chest to shield her eyes from the carnage. That is, until the precocious little girl tore from his grasp and ran to her father’s side. Starlin found himself smiling at their reunion.
But this wasn’t Jerrilek, that beautiful world of white beaches and clear blue seas. Nimdok had been dead for twenty years. Starlin was no longer young. And Miri…
Realization hit him like a punch to the gut. The waves reached him where he stood, water creeping icy fingers up his pants legs, but he hardly felt it. He watched the little girl of his memories embrace her long-dead father, the meaning of the vision suddenly plain as day. They were reunited again.
For an eternity he seemed to stand still, letting the grief and emptiness wash over him, until eventually he sensed a presence approaching him. It was the professor, emerging from a landscape gone misty with tears.
“She’s dead,” Starlin whispered. “Miri’s dead.”
Nimdok nodded once to confirm the terrible news, then turned to gaze out at the sea. Starlin lowered his head and covered his face with his hands. “I wasn’t there for her. You must hate me for that.”
“I don’t hate you.” Nimdok’s voice was gentle, his expression benign. “I know about Tenn, Starlin. And I know about Syd and your mother. I don’t blame anyone, least of all you.”
Starlin shut his eyes. He felt that he should have cried more, but he couldn’t. Not long after the initial shock, numbness set in. There was too much to shed tears over. When he opened his eyes again, the professor was still there, now looking at him with his hands clasped behind him.
“I came to ask something of you,” Nimdok said. “My granddaughters are now orphans. Both of them are strong in the Force. They will need someone to guide them. I want you to be their teacher.”
Me? No way. “You came all the way from the Netherworld to ask me to train your grandkids—knowing that my last Padawan died on my watch?” Starlin spread his arms. “Hell, have you seen me lately? Do I look like I can be trusted with that kind of responsibility?”
Nimdok raised an eyebrow. “You clean up well.”
A derisive snort escaped Starlin. Force, this couldn’t possibly be real. Maybe this was just a funny dream he was having, some drug making him imagine this whole encounter. Grunting, he said, “You could pick any Jedi Master to train them. Why me?”
“I don’t want anyone else.” The professor’s gaze remained mild, but his tone was adamant. “You must go to the Dubrava system. There you will find Kyla and Lara living with their great aunt.”
“I didn’t know you had a—”
“... sister.”
Starlin awoke in his bunk, the last word trailing on his tongue, tracks of tears drying in the outer corners of his eyes. A grimy electronic light glowed next to him, a cheap imitation of the morning sun shining through a high-riser window on Coruscant.
To escape the latest incarnation of the Sith, much of the NJO had left Coruscant for the Prosperity and the Vonnuvi. Starlin had also left Coruscant, but he headed for nowhere, docking his ship at a seedy space station and proceeding to snort and smoke and inject away his sorrows.
He rose from his bed, coughing up the remnants of last night’s spice bender, and staggered into the ‘fresher to splash water on his face. His reflection in the mirror was haggard, with bloodshot eyes and deep creases. There was a streak of gray in his week-old beard. You hold your dying Padawan in your arms one day, wake up the next morning and suddenly you’re past forty, old and tired and alone.
A shower washed away the debauched torpor of the past week. He couldn’t find a clean razor, so he trimmed his beard and headed into the kitchen. It was a mess. The whole ship was. Gone were the days when Eliphas had helped to keep things tidy; it wasn’t exactly clean while Tenn was alive either, but now it looked as if a tornado had hit.
While he made himself a quick breakfast, he remembered another vision he’d had years ago while studying with the Iktotchi seers. In an almost apocalyptic future, he had become mentor to a set of twins. A boy and a girl with red hair. He was forced to watch as they were murdered by his old foe, the intergalactic terrorist Laertia Io. “Always in motion, the future is,” he muttered , shoveling a spoonful of flavorless cereal into his mouth. It seemed the Force was determined to make him train twins, regardless of who they were.
Would it also force him to witness their deaths?
Damn it all. Starlin threw away what was left of his soggy cereal, flinging the empty bowl into the dishwasher. He didn’t know how Miri had died, but he knew it couldn’t have been an innocent death. Right now, he wanted to know who did it. He’d track the bastard down and knock their head from their shoulders. His fingers flexed, both his organic and mechanical hands clenching into fists as he paced—only to nearly trip over a pile of junk he’d pushed into a corner.
Of course, he was just procrastinating. He didn’t want to go to Dubrava, didn’t want to take on two new Padawans so soon after Tenn’s death, didn’t want to be part of some grand cosmic plan orchestrated by his dead mentor. Killing whoever was responsible for putting him in this position in the first place seemed a lot easier than doing what Nimdok had asked of him. Easier for him emotionally, anyway.
Yeah, he would go find the killer. He didn’t know where to start, but surely the Force would guide him.
Rushing to the navicomputer, he hesitated. I am too old for this, he thought, his shoulders sagging and head bowing. He set a course for Dubrava. Then, once the coordinates were punched in and the Bright Knight shot off into hyperspace, he started cleaning up.
