Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Welcome to Character Selection!

What?

Welcome to Character Selection!

I know, that’s what you said, but--

Please choose your era!

My what now?

Pre-Republic

Pius Dea

First Sith Wars

Old Republic

New Sith Wars

High Republic

Rise of the Empire

New Republic

Vong War

Okay, what the fuck?

Please choose your era!

Pre-Republic

Pius Dea--

Stop!

Okay, think. Star Wars. I’m getting thrown into Star Wars. What the actual fuck?

Welcome to Character Selecti--

Can you just SHUT UP for a moment? I’m having a meltdown here.

. . .

. . .

Welcome to Character Selection! Please choose your era!

Pre-Republic

Pius Dea

First Sith Wars

Old Republic

New Sith Wars

High Republic

Rise of the Empire

Rebellion Era

New Republic

Vong War

Right. Okay. I need to chose when. God--gods? Force? What the fuck am I supposed to say now?

Please choose your era!

That. Right. I’m going insane, but there doesn’t seem to be an off switch for this psychotic break so I guess I’ll have to go with it. After all there is a chance--

Notice: This is not a psychotic break. This is Character Selection. Please choose your era!

. . .

I mean, my psychosis usually is a lot more vibrant than just some words in darkness.

Please choose your era!

Right. Okay. There’s the Vong war, which means this is probably the old Extended Universe, maybe the old legends canon? Though even then what’s canon and what isn’t is a mess since Lucas couldn’t be bothered to make sure the novels didn’t conflict with each other and Disney just threw everything out rather than try and make a coherent timeline.

So, where can I survive? I mean, all of the eras are objectively dangerous. I assume my disabilities aren’t going to follow me into this new . . . whatever the fuck it is?

Character Selection includes physical, mental, and metaphysical abilities and disabilities. Please choose your era!

So no. And I get to chose abilities. So I might actually be able to do something good. I tried that before (exhausting, but worthwhile) before breakdowns and disability kept me from doing more.

Maybe I can have my mental breakdowns early this time? Well, even if I can’t the answer’s pretty obvious. As much as the political situation in the Rise of the Empire was terrible, casualties were pretty limited throughout the Clone Wars and the Rebellion. Out of a galaxy of--realistically speaking--at least a quadrillion sentients, billions died. Percentage-wise, that’s almost nothing, especially compared to the planetary destruction that was ridiculously commonplace during the Sith Wars.

Plus, it’s what I know the most about.

Though I’ll need to think of a plan at some point.

Okay, I’m ready. Rise of the Empire.

Era selected! Please choose your species!

Okay. Wow. That’s a lot of species. CP? What’s CP?

CP stands for Creation Points. These are points you must spend during Character Creation. Some species cost more than others, while some give extra creation points.

Why would Twi’leks be negative? They’re flexible, attractive, potential force-users . . .

Oh right. Most of the galaxy thinks of them as slaves. Even Aayla Secura got enslaved like three times, twice while nominally protected by the Jedi Order.

Okay, think. Wow, that’s a lot of species. Okay, can you filter out all the ones that can’t use the Force?

Filter applied! Please choose your species!

Okay, that’s still a lot of them. Ew, no I’m not playing a Hutt. And that’s so many creation points--I mean, I guess I understand why, they are hard to kill and basically start at the top of the galactic crime food chain, but still. Ew. No. Okay, can you filter out species with below near-human lifespans? And those that take like, fifty years or longer to grow out of childhood?

Filters applied! Please choose your species!

Okay. That’s a shorter list. Still too long. Well, if I’m going to do anything I’ll need to be out and about. And independent. Can you filter out species with hive-minds, rigid caste systems, and prohibitions on either technology or spaceflight?

Filters applied! Please choose your species!

That’s more like it. Still long, but whatever.

Let’s see. No. No. Maybe? No. Possibly. God no, I’m not being a Gamorrean. Even if they are swole as hell. No. No. Perhaps--no. And no. Diathim? Aren’t those angels? No, I don’t want to be that isolated from people. Besides, there’s like four of those left. No.

Okay. Cathar, Rishi, Togorian, Iktochi, Echani, or human. Echani and Iktochi cost too many points, and the Iktochi don’t often interact with other species. Rishi are really expensive too, but they can fly.

Then again, I always did say I was a catgirl. And the descriptor says the Rishi get poisoned pretty easily.

So. Cathar or Togorian.

Congratulations! A species has been chosen for you.

What? I thought--

You have timed out. Species: Togorian has been selected. Please choose body orientation.

At least I get this. Female, finally. Force knows I don’t want to have to go through another vaginoplasty, even if their medicine is probably more advanced.

Hey, wait, why is height locked in at maximum? 2.2 meters? I had a hard enough time finding someone to be the big spoon when I was just five-foot eleven!

Okay, fine. Force, I hope Togorians don’t have six breasts. Two was enough strain on my back.

Oh, and built for lithe muscle please.

Body orientation selected! A background has already been selected for you.

Wait--

Please choose your traits!

Traits? Oh. Wow. That’s a long list. Wait, what’s the background.

Background: Underdweller has been selected for the system’s amusement.

So I’m just here for entertainment?

Correct!

Don’t know how I feel about that. Then again, if whoever the hell is running this is powerful enough to set this up, I probably shouldn’t piss them off. Better make a good show, I guess.

Good Guess! You have been awarded 1 [one] extra Creation Point for agreeing to amuse the System Owners.

Okay then I guess. Well, I definitely want to have the Force. It’s pretty much a broken power here, even if it’s not invincible.

Force Options:

Force Adept: 1 Point

The Force Adept can sense the Force and wield it, but only to a small extent

Force Savant: 3 Points

The Force Savant can sense the Force and wield it, growing stronger with training. Most Jedi fall into this category.

Force Prodigy: 7 Points

The Force Prodigy can sense the Force and wield it, growing stronger with training. Most High Councilors fall into this category.

Force Nexus: 21 Points

The Force Nexus is a center of Force Power, beyond what midichlorians can account for. They have almost no limits in the Force, but attract danger at every turn.

Not Force Nexus. It’ll be hard enough to change things without Skywalker-brand cursed luck following me around. How many points do I have?

Creation Points: 21

Okay. Force Prodigy then.

Trait Selected! 14 Creation Points remaining.

Okay then. Let’s see . . . Improved Memory, one point. That would be nice, forgetting things sucks but I don’t want to remember everything either, so Eidetic Memory is off the table. Hmm. Increased Ability score? What’s that.

Increased Ability [Strength]: 3 points

Increases Player’s baseline and maximum Strength statistic by ten. Ability scores scale non-linearly. Average adult humans have a strength of 20. A strong adult wookiees may have a strength score of forty, nine times that of a human. A greater krayt dragon has a strength score of eighty, eighty-one times that of a wookiee. An increase of ten points is a three-fold increase.

Okay then. That’s pretty good, but I want to see what else there is. Rapid learning?

Rapid Learning: 2 points

Increases Player’s speed of learning, allowing them to understand concepts at the first or second time hearing them, rather than needing repeated reminders. 10% bonus to skill points from practicing.

Learning Savant: 3 points

Increases Player’s speed of learning, allowing them to understand concepts after hearing them once. 15% bonus to skill points from practicing.

Learning Prodigy: 5 points

Increases Player’s speed of learning, allowing them to understand concepts after hearing them once. Applies to all topics. 25% bonus to skill points from practicing.

Oh I am so getting that. There’s so much to learn on Earth, let alone in an entire galaxy connected by the holonet. Leaning prodigy please!

Trait Selected. 9 Creation Points remaining.

Okay. Oh, does my background come with any traits?

Background: Underdweller

You were born into the dark depths of the ecumenopolis. Sunlight is a stranger to you, and strange gasses abound in your homeland.

Trait: Underdweller

50% resistance to industrial toxins. 25% resistance to all toxins.

Other underdwellers are more likely to trust you

The Upper Class is less likely to trust or listen to you

Better ability to see in the dark (doubled darkvision)

Bright Lights hurt your eyes

Special Option Trait: Immunity of the Depths [2 points]: Immunity to industrial toxins, 75% resistance to all toxins. Available only on character creation.

Special Option Trait: Prepared for the Surface [1 point]: Removes light sensitivity. Most of the Upper Class will view you based on current standing, rather than background.

Okay, let’s take both of those. Light sensitivity was a bitch when it was just from migraines, and Force knows how much toxins there are in these depths.

Traits Selected. 6 Creation Points remaining.

Right. Okay.

Lucky [2 points]

Luck favors you. You are more likely to encounter people favorable to you, items you need or desire, and to escape from bad situations. This does not mean every situation you encounter will end well, or that all people will be favorable to you.

Combat Adept [1 point]

You are naturally talented at combat, and improve combat-related skills 15% faster. This stacks with Learning Prodigy.

Language Adept [1 point]

You are naturally talented with languages, and improve language-related skills 15% faster. This stacks with Learning Prodigy.

Noble Lineage [1 Point]

At one point, your ancestors were nobles. It is up to you to figure out when and where. Once you do, more doors (especially among the upper class) will open for you.

Technology Adept [1 point]

You are naturally talented with technology, and improve technology-related skills 15% faster. This stacks with Learning Prodigy.

Traits selected! Preparing body.

Wait what? Don’t I have to chose skills--

Skills, Vital Statistics, and Force Powers may be selected after the Tutorial.

Tutorial?

Prepare yourself for consciousness.

What?

Three. Two. One.

A warm dark space, then brought out into cold, semi-lit area. A slap on the back, a scream and celebrations.

I have to start as an Infant???

Chapter Text

Being an infant sucked. Not getting to choose her own name kinda sucked, but being born into a body she was comfortable with made up for it. Not being taken seriously seriously sucked. Same for not being able to speak coherently, or read, or do much of anything else other than try (and fail) to crawl or stand.

Quest: First Word

Speak your first word! It can be in Galactic Basic, Ryl, or Togorian!

Quest: First Moves

Learn to crawl! Move at least ten feet by crawling.

Quest: First Steps

Learn to walk! Take at least six steps without falling over.

Quest: First Letters (Galactic Basic)

Learn to read and write the aurebesh alphabet

At least she had something to try and do. Though learning the alphabet would have to wait until she could at least reach the books.

By the end of her first month, Ali’ya was grateful for the species she chose. Much like domestic cats, Togorians were able to move on all fours from a young age. Ali’ya managed it after three weeks, when she crawled across the floor. She was trying to reach one of the books (of which there were precious few) but instead bumped her knee on the uneven floor as she was crawling.

Baby instincts took over, and Ali’ya cried. Her parents weren’t home, though Ali’ya wasn’t sure why. One of the older Togorians picked her up. Her voice was calming, and against her will Ali’ya found herself going to sleep, even as the Quest Completed icon started blinking.

After the Crying Incident (something that Ali’ya desperately tried to pretend didn’t happen-- why am I so ashamed, crying is fine, damned infant hormones ) Ali’ya began crawling regularly. The quest hadn’t earned her much in the way of experience points--fifty, out of a thousand needed to reach second level--but it was something. It was progress, and Ali’ya would take what she could get.

It didn’t take long for Ali’ya to manage to stand. The tricky bit was staying up long enough to grab a book, and then not losing her grip when she fell. But even as a baby Ali’ya had more energy than when she’d had to deal with constant migraines as a human. So she tried. And tried. And tried. And--there it is!

Damn. It was full of words. Maybe Great-Grandma could help her read? Ali’ya broke out the sole weapon in her arsenal. She cried.

“There there,” Great-Grandma cooed. “---- -----?”

“Ga’ma,” Ali’ya managed. “Alp!”

“Help?” Great-Grandma asked. “Did you--”

“Help!” Ali’ya agreed, pointing at the book.

“Help you ---- --- book?” Great-Grandma pointed at the book. The other words was probably read.

“Re ta book!” Ali’ya agreed.

“------------- that’s a --------- book -------------------” Great-Grandma said. Ali’ya frowned. There were too many words she didn’t know there.

“Book,” Ali’ya said, pointing a the book. “Me,” she said, pointing at herself. “You.”

Her great-grandmother rolled her eyes, but played along. “Book. You. Floor. Crib. Table . . .”

Time was a strange thing as an infant. Days took forever, but before she noticed a year had passed. The only reason Ali’ya was aware of it was the small celebration her family had. It wasn’t much--a piece of fresh fruit with a sparkler--but it showed they cared, and Ali’ya found her heart trying to open wide enough to embrace them all. “Luf,” Ali’ya garbled, embracing her mama and papa. “Luf you.”

After her first year, strange things happened. The first time, it was a book she wanted to try and read flying from the bookshelf. Ali’ya would have smacked herself, if not for her soft infant head. Honestly, why hadn’t she thought of using the Force before?

Closing her eyes, Ali’ya tried to mediate. Help me, she thought. Guide me. I need to learn to read. Guide me to the aurebesh alphabet book.

Unsurprisingly, the Force didn’t work like that. Fortunately, her great-grandma began her lessons early after Ali’ya begged her to read another book for the hundred and seventeenth time.

“Aurek,” Great-Grandma said, drawing the letter on a rare piece of flimsi.

“Aurek,” Ali’ya repeated. She tried to copy the letter, but her grip on the pen wasn’t perfect. It slipped out of her hand.

“Like this,” Great-Grandma corrected, and Ali’ya tried the letter again. “Not quite.” Ali’ya tried again. And again. And again.

Skill (Handwriting) Improved! Level: Beginner 1.

Okay, Ali’ya thought. More carefully this time, she drew the aurek. It wasn’t perfect, but it was legible.

“Good!” Great-Grandma said. “Now. Besh. It makes a buh-sound.”

“Besh,” Ali’ya repeated. “Buh. Like boy?”

“Like boy! Very good!” Great-Grandma agreed. “Now write.”

Being only one and born to the underworld (of which ecumenopolis Ali’ya wasn’t quite sure) her parents and family were very, very protective of her. As much as they could afford to be, at least. Which meant that until she could speak clearly (and understand their warnings) Ali’ya wasn’t allowed out of the apartment. Not that she minded too much. Sure it was boring sometimes, but the faster she did the boring things the sooner she could do fun things! Learning to read and write might not be fun, but she was really looking forward to learning what kind of metallurgy and mechanics such a technologically advanced galaxy had. Beskar forging was probably a secret, but maybe she could learn about using phrik? It had similar properties, if she remembered correctly. Either way it would be fascinating to learn, she just had to power through.

The interface made it more fun too. Whoever was running the system must have wanted her done with the boring parts as fast as she did. After all, watching an adult in a toddler’s body relearn to walk and write couldn’t be that exciting. Maybe the first few times, but after a year? Two years? Forget about it.

Quest: Legible Handwriting. Level up your handwriting to Novice: 1.

Quest: Beginning to Read. Read your first book.

Quest: Reading for Dummies: Read your first non-picture book.

Quest: Forceful Steps: Levitate something for one minute.

Quest: Push/Pull: Level up telekinesis to Novice: 1.

Quest: Fluent: Reach basic fluency in Galactic Basic.

Quest: Mother Tongue: Reach basic fluency in Togorian.

Quest: Language of the Underworld: Reach basic fluency in Huttese.

Handwriting and telekinesis were simple enough. Even practicing her letters by writing on the floor leveled up handwriting, though that stopped working after she reached the level of Apprentice: 1. Similarly, she just had to practice levitating an object. Which was harder than she thought, even with her level of Force potential. But then, that’s all it was. Potential. And the Force was something far greater than the ability to lift objects, or use lightning, or see into the future. The Force was Everything. It was the Overdiety, the neutral power that created existence and thrived off of its continuation.

Maybe she’d been going about things the wrong way. She didn’t need to practice her telekinesis--or rather, didn’t need to only practice that. She needed to connect to the Force. That meant meditation. Something that had been difficult, even before the addition of childhood nervous energy.

Ali’ya breathed in. She breathed out. She reached in, she reached out. She closed her eyes, and emptied her mind. She waited. And waited. For there was nothing. Yet out of nothing comes everything, she thought. For what can contain everything if not the vastness of nothingness? And there it was, sparkling. Light and dark and purple and red and black and green and blue and every hue yet discovered and several that could not be seen by mortal eyes and others yet to be invented and--

It.

Was.

Everywhere.

The air, the walls, the floor, the people, the particles, the ceiling, the climb up and down and around and east, west, north, south, everywhere was everything and everything was everywhere and

Ali’ya opened her eyes, gasping for breath. The Force is even more than I realized, she thought. It is in every living thing and everything in between. Everything that is, was, or will ever be.

I could lose myself in it, she realized. I could lose myself and never come back. I’ll need to be more careful in the future. Maybe just start with myself next time.

For there would be a next time, though not for a while. For now, Ali’ya needed to nap. Becoming aware of the vastness of the universe was a tiring exercise.

“What’s that you’re speaking?” At two, Ali’ya was far more fluent than she ought to be. It was obvious her family noticed but Ali’ya refused to delay herself at all. That path only led to frustration.

“Togorian,” her great-grandmother answered. “The tongue of our people.”

“Can I learn?”

Great-grandmother stared at her. She shrugged. “Why not. Normally I do not teach to those before five, but then you learned Basic swiftly as well.”

“I like learning,” Ali’ya said.

“So you do,” Great-grandma agreed. “Had we the credits for it, I’d send you to school. But we don’t, so I’ll teach you what I can.”

Money. The root of all evil, and of all problems. It could create twice as many as it solved, yet in the current system of the galaxy the need for money was inescapable. At three, Ali’ya was finally allowed out of the house, and was determined to make some credits. If there was one thing she knew how to do--regardless of what her skill chart said--it was write. In a galaxy of trillions, even a relatively smalltime writer could become wealthy. Wealthy enough to help her family, Ali’ya hoped. Even if Great-grandma was the only one she really knew, since everyone else had to work.

First though, she needed to scope out her competition. The Library of Coruscant had only four branches beneath the 3000 level, and Ali’ya was lucky enough to live only a mile away from one. It took time--damn her tiny legs--but she got there eventually, even if she was completely out of breath.

“Hi!” she greeted the person at the desk. It was a real person, thankfully, not a droid. “Can I see the fiction section?”

“Over there,” the person--a bored twi’lek--said, gesturing towards a group of shelves. “Can’t check out anything unless you have a card, but you can read whatever you want in here.”

“Thank you!” Ali’ya purred, and hurried off to the section.

Truly, Ali’ya thought. The state of fiction in this galaxy is abysmal. The Jedi’s Dilema. The Hutt and the Frog. All of this is historical fiction! Even the stuff that isn’t is poorly edited, mistranslated, and borderline racist! Ali’ya huffed. Where’s the escapism? Much of this galaxy sucks as much as politics back home did, so why are people writing about it? Where’s the story of a kid who defeats things against all odds, of escape slaves leading rebellions, of magic and spells?

Well, Ali’ya sighed. At least I don’t have much competition.

Chapter Text

Sandstorm was the name Ali’ya settled on. It took a year and a half to write. The library was the only place she could use a datapad, and despite being allowed out of the house sometimes her time wasn’t all free. There were Togorian lessons from her great-grandmother, early martial arts lessons from the Cathar couple across the street (Aliya traded half the fresh fruit she’d gotten for her birthday for the lessons) , as well as all the reading she wanted to do. The fiction was appalling, but the same couldn’t be said for the non-fiction. Regardless of how dry and boring the writing was, the topics were still novel and fascinating to her. Use whatever language you want, spaceflight and hyperspace would still be interesting, to say nothing of the various history books of the galaxy. Whenever she couldn’t find the right words to write, Ali’ya grabbed the nearest book. Sometimes she had to look up half the words, especially if it was about engineering. Apparently her Technology Adept trait didn’t apply to the engineering aspects, though her Learning Prodigy trait did. Once she could read the entire sentence, the concepts stuck in her mind. They were even easier to put together! One day she was reading about how supercompressed oil could be used for droid hydraulics and--once she’d looked up enough words that she decided to just bring the dictionary over as well--she was able to connect it to a book she’d read about the unique properties of Queseyan Oil, which could remain in a liquid state at pressures of up to 55,000 atm.

Eventually, the book was ready. Sandstorm was the first in a series, a book about a young slave from Tatooine who managed to escape his master after cutting off his own arm. Wandering the desert, he had a spiritual journey where he realized that the true enemy was not the Tuskens, nor the Bounty Hunters or the Jawas or the other slaves who worked for the Masters, but the Masters themselves. He bonded with a greater Krayt Dragon after finding her wounded and patching her up, and by the end of the book had sworn that he would see the planet free.

Ordinarily, Ali’ya could have sold the book to a publisher. But she didn’t want to charge dozens of credits for each book--that would make it too expensive for the people who needed the escape most. She also didn’t want them removing the parts of it where the protagonist blamed the Republic for failing to act. So instead she planned to sell holocopies for a credit each. It wasn’t nothing, not this far down the stacks of Coruscant, but it was cheaper than any other form of entertainment. Even a shot at the bar cost more, something Ali’ya learned after hearing her uncle berate their cousin for drinking too much.

The problem was, holonet websites weren’t cheap. They were expensive, especially if you wanted them accessible from anywhere in the galaxy. 5,000 credits expensive.

But what Ali’ya wanted, Ali’ya got. She started selling holocopies of her book by the bar, taking a single credit and downloading them from her datapad (‘given’ to her by the librarian, who claimed it was damaged beyond used for the library even though the only problem was a crack in the casing). She was pretty sure the customers just though she was cute, but she’d take what she could get. The next place she tried was by another bar. This one was further away and a half-dozen levels up, but it was frequented by bounty hunters. They at least had credits to spend and there were enough Mandalorians among them that Ali’ya didn’t feel scared. Mandalorian’s love and protection of children was something that carried over from canon or fandom. Which Ali’ya wasn’t sure, but she was damned grateful regardless.

The hard part was keeping her credits. Not because people tried to steal them (they did, but Ali’ya was skilled enough with the Force to hide in the shadows, something she’d practiced ever since she realized it was a possibility) but because those credits could be used now. They could help her family. Her father, who was growing thinner and thinner after Ebor cut his pay. Her mother, who was exhausted and working herself to the bone. Her uncle, who had a terrible cough. Her grandmother, who was ill. Ali’ya did what she could with the Force when everyone was asleep, but it was hard. But medicine was expensive this far down. The free hospitals were all at the surface levels and travel there was tightly controlled, both by the Senate and the various local gangs. Though how one could call them local when even the smallest ruled over tens of millions Ali’ya didn’t know.

Ali’ya finally got the website running around her fifth birthday. That was the time when things started to change at home as well. Suddenly her father had money. She wasn’t sure how. Miss Hoa, the Cathar across the street who taught Ali’ya how to use her claws, said that Ebor had cut pay rates again after some new player managed to copy his datapad design. But her father was able to spend more time with them. Grandma and uncle had their medicine. Mother was able to cut her work hours. Their table was filled with food again, and not just the dry rations they’d had before. Fresh fruits and synthetic meat were now common occurrences. Ali’ya dined on the synth-nerf stake hungrily, all while profusely thanking her father.

Selling on the website was slow. She posted ads for it on every chat site she could find. They banned her pretty quickly, but she normally got a few credits out of it. The rest of her time was spent reading. Her father said he’d put her in school next semester, and Ali’ya wanted to make sure she was caught up on every subject, not just the ones she found interesting.

Her father was teaching her things now too. How to bathe their fur in sonic showers. How to use their claws to climb--and how fun it was, to climb up the side of Coruscant’s endless stacks.

“This is how your mother and I met,” he told her as they clawed their way up the levels. “She was from two levels below me. We always ran into each other on the walls.”

“Did you like her then?”

“Yes,” her father laughed. “Though I didn’t know it at the time. We competed for junk to salvage, you see. But eventually we figured out we were better as a team. She was great at pulling things apart, I was good at putting things together. That’s why Ebor hired me, back when he stilled valued his workers.”

“Do you think you could teach me?” Ali’ya asked.

“Of course, little one.”

“Now,” her father said, holding a soldering iron. “Where should I connect the mainframe to the elbow hydraulics?”

“Um, here?” Ali’ya guessed, pointing to a place on the droid.

“No,” her father answered. “We put it here. It’s not as direct, but this is a basic labor droid, so it doesn’t need to be fast. Do you know why?”

“Uh--so it doesn’t take up as much space?” Ali’ya asked. “Oh! No, because it’s cheaper! If you put it there you don’t need as much insulation cable, because the wires won’t be crossing!”

“Exactly,” her father smiled, ruffling her fur.

“Dad!”

Chapter Text

“So,” Ali’ya said, nearly bouncing in her seat. Her book had reached eight thousand sales online. It wasn’t much, but it was growing rapidly. Word of mouth was spreading, and so far most of the reviews had been favorable. She’d sent a copy to the Coruscanti Star , a holonews network that reviewed things. Soon she’d get some publicity, and then it’d be off! “What do we do next?”

Her father smiled at her, but Ali’ya was wise to his tricks. She ducked the ruffling of her fur. “Fine, fine. Spoil my fun. Next, we add the motor. Do you know why we haven’t added it yet?”

“Because it’s dangerous to be working on a powered droid.”

“Exactly!” her father smiled. “Never, never work on a droid whose power source is in.”

“Especially not if it’s on.”

“Especially--” A knock on the door interrupted her father. He frowned. “Stay here.”

“Dad?”

“Just--stay here.” Her father moved back into the apartment, closing the door to their secret workshop behind him. Ali’ya had a bad feeling. She tried to open the door, but it wouldn’t budge. He’d moved the bookcase in front of it again.

What’s going on? Ali’ya thought. Closing her eyes, Ali’ya opened herself to the Force. She focused it, viewing not the Whole but the fractions of it, tracing her path through the particles to the door, where she opened her ear.

“What is this?” that was her father.

“You know what you’ve done.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”  Ali’ya frowned. He was lying. What had--

“Ebor sends his regards.” Ebor? Ebor. Fuck, nononononono

Thud. Smash. Twin flashes of lasers, but her father was a Togorian. There was a reason the race cost five creation points. Slash, light, light, thud.

“Kark. I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Damned cats. Always tougher than they look.”

“We should get back. Jim won’t live long--”

“Kark Jim. Bastard’s always looking at my girl and we have orders.”

“I really don’t want to.”

“Listen, you’re new here so I’ll cut you some slack. But what Ebor wants, Ebor gets. Now throw the explosive, and--”

Explosive? Ali’ya dove for the far corner of the room. She called on the Force, willing it into a shield.

Boom.

The apartment did more than shake. It exploded, shockwaves tearing through the walls. The ceiling above them collapsed, Ali’ya’s Force Shield the only thing keeping her alive. She groaned as the weight of three stories collapsed onto it.

“Now we can go.” It was the voice, the same as before. She could hear it now, with the--

Fuck! She thought, her mind crying out in pain as she struggled to balance the weight on her. I need to solve this. I need to get this off of me. She shifted, letting the weight slide away. It settled slowly, dust kept out by her shield. She heard coughing.

“Fuck that,” another  voice said. “You can loot it if you want, I’m not gonna risk my lungs.”

“Fine. We’re going now, I guess.”

Ali’ya stayed still. She stayed still until the footsteps and their echoes had worn off. Until the deafening ringing in her ears was gone.

Tutorial Completed! Gain 2,000 Experience Points!

You have survived the death of your family, and are now able to use your vital statistics and skill points!

“What?” Ali’ya’s tone was low. Had she been any older, it would have sounded menacing. “This was a tutorial?”

Tutorial--

“These people were going to die anyway?” Ali’ya cried. “They--they were people! They were my family! And you just killed them!”

Losing your family is a key part of the plot.

“How fucking dare--”

This system exists for our entertainment. You have leveled up.

“What--”

Level Two achieved.

Age Range: Young Child

Assign Vital Statistics before continuing.

“The--”

Vital Statistics: Vital Statistics are measurements of your baseline abilities. They do not determine how well you do at a single thing, but rather allow for certain limits to be placed, bypassed, or succeeded. Vital Statistics work hand-in-hand with Skill Points to determines specific tasks. Vital Statistics exist on a non-linear scale, where an increase of ten points is equal to a three-fold increase. Thus, a player with a Strength score of 20 is thrice as strong as a person with a Strength score of 10, and nine times weaker than a person with a strength score of 40.

Strength (STR): Strength is a physical ability. Much as it implies, Strength is how hard you hit. It is also how well you hit, how much you can lift, carry, push, or move, how many pull-ups you can do and how far and fast you can climb, as well as much more. Average human strength is 20, while a greater krayt dragon has a strength of 80.

Agility (AGI): Agility is a physical ability. It is your ability to dodge, to move fast, to be nimble and quick. It is also how well you can aim, how accurate your targeted attacks can be, how well you can dance, and a number of other things. Average human dexterity is 20, while a Rishi dancer may have a dexterity of 50.

Vitality (VIT): Vitality is a physical ability. It is your ability to withstand blows, to ignore toxins, in essence to survive. Average human vitality is 20, while the infamous nebray mantis, who can withstand solar radiation and the vacuum of space, has a vitality of 70.

Intellect (INT): Intellect is a mental ability. It is your ability to absorb and use practical and academic knowledge. Learning to read, making a droid, and charting a hyperspace jump are all parts of Intellect.

Will (WILL): Will is a mental ability. It is your ability to resist the pull of others, and to remain your own person. Resisting propaganda, not breaking under torture, and remaining yourself while communing with the Force are all parts of Will.

Charisma (CHA): Charisma is a mental ability. It is your presence, your ineffable charm and force of personality. Convincing others, controlling animals, and giving a speech are all parts of Charisma.

Luck (LUCK): Luck is a metaphysical ability. It is applied whenever the System or those watching feel like it.

“FUCK?”

Please allot your Vital Statistics points. You have 92 Vital Statistics points to place. Your total Physical Abilities score (before bonuses) is capped at 45 due to age. In parentheses are bonuses from your species and traits.

Strength: (+5 Togorian)

Agility: (+5 Togorian)

Vitality: (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller)

Intellect: (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept)

Will: (+10 Force Prodigy)

Charisma: (+1 Noble Lineage)

Luck: (+5 Lucky)

“Do I have to do this now?”

Yes.

“Fine,” Ali’ya growled. Much as she might want to kill whoever was in charge of this, she knew she didn’t stand a chance. Even Revan and Vitiate working together couldn’t have shaped entire multiverses. Will is clearly important if I want anything to do with the Force. And Intellect is the same--there’s so much technology around here, and I need to be able to understand it all or I’ll go crazy it’s so different. . . But Strength’s pretty important too, especially if I want to escape Ebor’s wrath. Same with Agility and Vitality. What the fuck? Why can’t there be a useful dump stat. Oh right, cause this is my FUCKING LIFE!

Strength: 10 (+5 Togorian) = 15

Agility: 15 (+5 Togorian) = 20

Vitality: 15 (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 22

Intellect: 15 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 28

Will: 20 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 30

Charisma: 15 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 16

Lucky: 7 (+5 Lucky) = 12

Congratulations! You have selected your Vital Statistics. Allot Skill Points. You have (Intellect+4)*4 + (4+Intellect)*2 = 192 Skill Points.

“So many things,” Ali’ya murmured, her mind momentarily distracted by the list. “Finances, combat (fists), combat (claws), combat (martial arts--Cathar), handwriting, editing (novels), webpage design, holonet navigation, library navigation, mechanics (droids), mechanics (hover transport), mechanics (datapads), slicing, deception, persuasion, listen, spot, search, stealth, history (Coruscant), history (galactic republic), force (telekinesis), force (blast), force (shield), force (heal) . . . so many many more. Okay. What do I need. Climbing, obviously. Cathar martial arts will have to do for combat for now, and while handwriting is nice, it’s not necessary. Same for webpage design, and I can always level up holonet and library navigation . . .”

Skill Points allotted. Accommodating body now.

“What--”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that Tera Sinube left the temple these days. Well into his third century (when his people usually lived only two), Tera Sinube only rarely ventured to his old haunts below the capital’s surface. Even then it was to meet up with old contacts who refused to trust anyone else. But the Force called him, and Tera Sinube was a Jedi. Knights of the Republic, Servants of the Force.

He was at the 2000 level and still the Force pulled him down. Tera hadn’t been down here in centuries. Many on the surface called everything below 3500 the ‘underworld,’ but here, below 2000, was the true underworld. Millennia of industrial toxins, mutated predator animals, and neglect of infrastructure slowly chased out those who could afford to leave. Those who couldn’t were killed, even slower. Generation by generation lifespans decreased, food grew more expensive, medicine more expensive still.

Tera felt the pull move sideways as he passed level 1000. At level 114 he pulled the speeder horizontally. It was a dim place. Down here all lighting was artificial, and neither power nor light sources were cheap. The cheapest ones--fire, gas, and incandescent lightbulbs (though long abandoned by the surface)--could not be used this far down. They would ignite the toxic gasses in the air. To even move this far down, Tera had to use the Force to filter the air before reaching his lungs.

The pull came from a large pile of rubble. At least three stories had collapsed, though the Force sung of violence rather than tragedy. Were he still an investigator, Tera would have looked into it. But that time had passed. He’d give the message to one of the new investigators. Tholme or something, a human. All humans were young to him now, but Tholme was even young by their standards.

It was inside the rubble that Tera found the Force’s reason for calling him. A child, Togorian by the looks and size, under layers of rubble. Her presence sang with the Force. Tera hoped she was young enough. The Council had been getting stricter about that lately. He’d opposed the notion of cutoff dates when he was on it, but that was more than a decade ago. Long enough for the issue to be redressed, this time without him.

Tera levitated the child towards him. Her eyes blinked open as she moved.

“Huh?”

“There there little one,” Tera said, exuding comfort and calm into the Force.

“My--my parents,” the child sniffled. “My family.”

“They--”

“They were in there,” the child said. “Someone said something about Ebor, and then the place exploded!” She, quite understandably, burst into tears.

Ebor, Tera thought as he let the girl sob onto his robes. He knew that name. He’d started on Coruscant around the same time as that accursed Hutt. Ebor always stayed just on the right side of the law. His workers were paid (poorly). His products were pieces of old technology, not included under patent law (technically). His enforcers were always hired by contractors, which meant he was never criminally liable for their actions, and the profits made from the technology monopoly made up for any fines.

The girl stopped crying. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the Jedi temple,” Tera answered calmly.

“The Jedi?” the girl asked. She didn’t sound particularly excited.

“We will take care of you from now on,” Tera stated.

“Jedi don’t care about anyone under 3000.” Tera held back a wince. It was a common refrain. One he knew held more than a little truth.

“I used to work here,” Tera said softly. “Investigating things. Almost always below 3000.”

“Really?” the girl perked up, though Tera had an ill feeling in his stomach. “Can you help me find--”

“Jedi do not seek vengeance,” Tera stated. “I will pass the investigation along to a current Investigator.”

“But--”

“They will hopefully be found,” Tera said. “But that is not your concern. Do you think your parents would want you chasing down dangerous criminals?”

The girl sniffled. “Dad said he was going to send me to school next semester,” she choked on her tears. “Finally had credits for it. Now--”

“Now the Jedi will teach you,” Tera said. “We have one of the largest archives in the world.”

The girl nodded slightly. Tera made a note to get her a mind healer and a psychologist.

The flight up the levels took far longer than the one down. For obvious reasons, one couldn’t simply ride a speeder straight up. Nor did Tera trust the various elevators half-maintained by the local gangs. Instead he flew criss-cross across each level. Moving up and over, then turning around so he could go up and over again, and again, and again . . .

Truly it wasn’t so bad but when you had to do it for more than a thousand levels it was normally a multi-day affair. That Tera managed it in under eight hours would be a thing of legend if he bothered to tell anyone. Besides, he already had that record. Back when he was young and foolish, he’d sped straight from 100 to 5,000 in two hours, fifty-six minutes, eleven seconds.

Chapter Text

It was at the Temple that Ali’ya first learned what year it was. 933 ARR, or After the Ruusan Reformation. Sixty-nine years before the Battle of Yavin, and forty-seven before the Battle of Geonosis. Despite the grief that swelled in her constantly, Ali’ya felt some level of relief. She had time. Time to train, to learn, to grow. Time to figure out how the fuck she was supposed to stop the Sith’s Grand Plan. Time to figure out if the Republic was really worth saving, or if something better was out there.

Ali’ya was placed with the Squall Clan. Their mascot, such as it was, was an adorable rabbit-like creature from Chandrilla. Unlike the Clans with more fearsome mascots, their initiate dorms actually had a pair of the cute creatures, who were used to force-sensitive younglings and often acted as emotional support creatures.

Hence, why Ali’ya was sitting down with one of them in her lap. Mourning is hard enough without Force-induced accidents , she thought. At least here her brain chemicals were more aligned. Had she been back in her old body, she’d have experienced dissociation-induced psychosis by now.

“What happened?” the Jedi asked uselessly.

“My family was murdered,” Ali’ya replied. It was petulant, she knew, but she felt more than justified in saying so. It was what happened, after all. And for all the Jedi were about letting go (and, to a certain extent, giving up) they couldn’t and didn’t (yet) expect the same from a six-year-old.

The Jedi inhaled sharply. Ali’ya could feel his shock and confusion in the Force. Out of his depths, she thought. Called it. Oh wait, what’s this?

He hugged her. It was unexpected. She leaned into the embrace, and let herself cry. Let herself mourn. She’d never fully connected with her new family besides her great-grandmother, and now she never would. She’d never learn what other fun stories her dad could tell, or finish Togorian lessons from her great-grandma or finally find out what it was her uncle did for work, or how her mother broke a Mandalorian’s jaw through their buy’ce .

Slowly, Ali’ya healed. The mind healer helped with that, even if it wasn’t comfortable. Going into her mind with the Force and helping her unstick the flashback memories. It was surgical, intimate, and extremely strange. An altogether unsettling combination, but after a dozen sessions she was no longer having flashbacks or getting panic attacks from the sound of a loud bang or pop. The psychologist helped just as much, if not more. Not in curing anything, but in preparing her. Helping her let go of the life she had led so far and accept her new one as a Jedi. Though unknowingly, the psychologist helped let go of her previous life as well, and to accept the odd, unjust circumstances forced upon her by the system. This was something the system apparently liked, as it gave her 200 experience points for the “Coping Methods” quest.

As Ali’ya healed she started going out more too. Even with the restricted access of an initiate, the Jedi Temple was a place of wonders, both visual, intrinsic, and mechanical. The Room of a Thousand Fountains was beautiful, stretching on for acres and including the plants of five hundred systems. The fountains varied from large pools where the initiates learned to swim (something that was frustratingly quite different in this body, largely thanks to the dense bone tissue of her species) to small, hand-sized fountains that lined the walls, to intricate, interwoven rock fountains that glowed with the Force. Stone-shaping was something of a lost art, for though the texts and holocrons still existed to teach it no one alive knew how it felt.

The salles were nothing to write home about on the face of it. A variety of tradition training areas, ranging from a dojo to a boxing gym, a shooting range (hidden away down the halls) and a small arena for competitions. Yet they were saturated with the Force, with centuries upon centuries of instruction, of willingness to teach and eagerness to learn. Ali’ya delighted in their lessons there, and spent much of her free time (something she was told would be substantially decreased once she reached the age of six) there, and not just for the 25% bonus to training combat skills.

School, for a young Jedi initiate, was decided on three things. Age--they started their true formal education at six--inclination (they were always asked which classes felt right to them, which were factored in as electives) and aptitude. The last of which is why Ali’ya, years after finishing her ACTs, was force to take yet another standardized test. Granted, for most of the initiates it would be there first, and one of very few. For Jedi at least, testing primarily consisted of a combination of practical exams and oral questioning. That was the instructors could get a feel in the Force for if the person was guessing. Though more advanced, galaxy (or at least Republic)-wide qualifications for piloting, medicine, teaching, and just about anything else did require some standardized exams. 

Unlike her peers, Ali’ya was not intimidated by the Junior Educational Direction Intake Exams, or JEDI Exams for short. She was frustrated by them (especially their length) but she was used to the concept. That her memory had magically improved thanks to the system was also of great help. Not that she didn’t cram for the exams. Knowing that she’d actually remember most if not all of what she read in such haste made her cram far more than she had as a normal human. But hey, what’s the point of having a system if you can’t game it.

Now you’ve got it! Quest: Gaming the System completed. 500 Experience points awarded.

Quest: JEDI Ace applied.

Score an Ace, or outstanding, on at least six of your aptitude tests.

Reward: 1,000 experience points, entry to higher-level classes

Failure: -200 experience points, start at low-level classes

God damn it, Ali’ya thought, and turned back to her book. Learning that quests had systematic fail penalties was disappointing, but not unexpected. Best get back to it, she sighed, turning back to Starfighters through the Ages: An Engineer’s Design

Quest: Million Downloads completed. 250 Experience Points.

Your book has now been downloaded one million times.

Quest: Billion Downloads applied.

Exciting, Ali’ya admitted. But did it have to happen now? With a thought she dismissed the notification, but it was already too late. Her pilot simulation crashed, and Ali’ya’s test was ended after only four minutes of combat simulation. The datapad exam went better, Ali’ya able to note all the standard rules of sub-light and hyperspace collision avoidance. Pass port-to-port, always follow your guide path, and make sure you’re going no faster than your brakes can handle. She did well on the finance exams as well, having studied the field extensively to make sure she was in the clear as far as her book sales went. And to look into investment possibilities. She was honestly surprised that the Jedi taught finances given how anti-materialist they were, but then she supposed someone had to pay for all their missions and the Senate certainly wasn’t willing to fork over a few thousand credits to track down a missing padawan.

Chapter Text

Ali’ya’s class schedule was full, to say the least. She couldn’t take every class (regardless of how much she wanted to) so she’d been forced to limit herself to eight, two more than she was supposed to but her exam results gave her some leeway.

Oh, and she’d leveled up! She was now level three. She’d put her two new Vital Statistics points into Luck. It wasn’t the most immediately useful statistic, but it would come in handy in any inevitable life-or-death situations she faced as a Jedi. The system owners wanted entertainment, and that would be hard to find if she was dead. Her skill points she was holding in reserve for now. While currently she could level up most of her skills simply by reading textbooks, she was certain there would come a time when that was no longer an option, and skill points would come in handy then.

Ali’ya went to class. She studied. She trained. She read. She slept. She woke up and went to class. On and on it went, her skills slowly but steadily improving. She hit the limit of what reading could tell her in astronavigation, piloting, smithing, six different languages, and four types of combat. She--

Quest: Get a Friend

Find a friend. Your life is getting sad.

Reward: 100 experience points, and a friend

Penalty: -1,000 experience points, and stand out as anti-social.

Damn it, Ali’ya thought. I knew I’d forgotten something.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Mace Windu wasn’t sure what to make of the new girl. She was certainly odd. He supposed she wasn’t that new any more either, but she was still odd. All she did was read and train. Which, yes the older initiates had more classes but even that nerf-herder Qui-Gon had free time, and Master Dooku was known for how strict he was! He made Padawan Bondara cry, and Padawan Bondara laughed when he broke his ankle!

She was also a mess of shatterpoints. Like a wrong drop could break her, or the right strike could turn her into an invincible weapon. Mace wasn’t sure he liked that. He wasn’t sure what it meant. Master Yoda said to focus on the present, which is what he was doing when his abilities started acting up!

Ali’ya gave better advice. Told him to rest when the pain in his head got too bad. Gave him something she called chicken noodle soup that tasted like nuna soup but with better spicing and noodles. It didn’t cure his pain, which she called migraines since they happened on one side at a time (usually) or make the weird vision things go away or make his balance any better, but it was something he could eat when his stomach went topsy-turvey and it was better than the creche masters who kept saying he should trust in the Force.

“The Force helps those who help themselves,” Ali’ya said once. She was only three years older than him, but sounded wiser than Qui-Gon. Not that that was hard. “It has provided us with this galaxy, with this life, with these abilities. It is up to us to ensure that they are used properly. In other words, take some painkillers and drink your soup.”

Mace decided he liked Ali’ya. It was fine that she was strange. They were Jedi. They were supposed to be strange space wizards or something.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Much to her own surprise, Mace BAMF Windu was the first friend Ali’ya made. Though he was far from the Master of the Order that he’d become. He was a child, and having someone to listen to his complaints, who gave him food and comfort instead of cold advice about the Force was something he sorely needed. Had she actually been six it would’ve been beyond her capabilities. Fortunately Ali’ya was mentally much older, even if the hormones and childish energy of being six overtook her at times. Or maybe it was just that she, having the hindsight of adulthood, now knew how precious youth could be.

Even more surprising than Mace being her first friend was that Ali’ya made more friends. She’d never been popular, not until high school at best, but Jedi seemed to gravitate towards the strange and their younglings were no different. And Ali’ya was strange. She’d made peace with that in her old life, though she’d had to do it all over again now that strange meant ‘is Force-sensitive and a literal cat biped’ rather than ‘likes to infodump.’  Though she still did infodump, it was just that her rants were seen as entertaining and intriguing rather than an attempt to make herself seem to be smarter. Most of the time at least. It helped that she was always willing to listen to others’ rants and complaints and uncertainty about how to act when they knew someone was feeling something because of the Force but they were supposed to act a different way but the societal norms made no sense . . .

Ah, Ali’ya realized as Kirana wept into her clothes, lekku wrapped around the back of her neck. I’ve collected a posse of autistic children. Maybe we’ll all be weird together. That’s how my friendships usually work.

They were, in fact, all weird together. They listened to each other. Ali’ya was free to talk about her newest passion project (use of exotic materials in Force-enhanced smithing). Mace was able to talk about the last play he saw on the holonet without losing any of his reputation as an excessively-skilled lightsaber fighter (honestly, the boy was just scary. Only five and he was already able to overwhelm her defenses with his flurries of rapid-fire attacks, though he had yet to figure out a way to defend against her superior strength. But that wouldn’t last long). Kirana could talk about whichever galactic culture struck her fancy (currently it was Nubian culture, not Nabooian, which she was swift to correct at every opportunity) and Kazdan could talk about the latest developments in droid technology for however long he wanted, including their possible upgrades.

It was, in a word, wonderful.

“So, while it’s more useful than the P2-series for most ships, it simply lacks their brainpower,” Kazdan said. “Too simple, too small. Maybe they’ll figure it out later, there’s rumors about them trying to miniaturize astronavigation calculators, but for the moment they’re little better than small labor droids.”

“And this is . . .”

“Industrial Automation,” Kazdan sighed. “They have such promise, and if they can ever deliver I’d be delighted to get my hands on one of their droids--and so would many others, I can promise you that--but for now . . .” the eleven-year-old Aleen sighed. “And the old design was so much better. I like a rounded top.”

The last bit sounded familiar to Ali’ya. She frowned. “Do you have an image we could see?”

“Of course!” Kazdan delighted, hopping up off his chair. He ran his fingers through his many, many pockets before coming up with a holo emitter. “Here!” A strange looking droid appeared in blue light. A cone placed atop a boot--or perhaps a vacuum cleaner--with a few antennae poking up out of it.

“Ugh,” Kirana groaned. “That’s ugly.” Mace scrunched his nose in agreement.

“I know, right?” Kazdan sighed. “They used to be so pretty. Here’s the old P2.”

Ali’ya barely held in a gasp as the new image took over the screen. It was larger--more than twice the size of the R2 units she remembered seeing--but the design was unmistakable.

“Pretty,” Mace agreed. “But tall. Too tall.”

“Very much too tall,” Kazdan agreed. “Two-point-two meters in height. There’s a reason they’re not used much anymore. Anything smaller than a decent corvette can’t accommodate them, and those ships usually have their own navi computers. The P2 can do a lot of engineering stuff though, but so can the new ones.”

Ali’ya nodded along, though she was increasingly lost in thought. R-units where everywhere in the world she remembered seeing and based on what Kazdan said they would be soon as well. If a single company made them (which seemed to be the case) that company would be ridiculously wealthy. And with wealth came certain privileges, and abilities, as well as a secure path should the Order decide to kick her out. I have a couple million credits in my account right now, Ali’ya thought. I was going to use that for an ad campaign--I suppose I still can, I’ll just be low on cash. Advertising was mostly done by videos, outright ads, pop-up ads, and other boring things. Ali’ya was interested in something more novel--to this world at least--and had contacted the CFO of the Holonet on Coruscant. For a million credits, he would ensure that her book was the first result whenever someone searched ‘Sandstorm’ or ‘Novel’ for the next year. She wasn’t entirely sure it was legal, but she was sure it wasn’t illegal, and that was close enough. Besides, government warnings about sandstorms would still take precedence over her novel in the search results.

Chapter Text

Skill: Lightsaber (Shii-Cho) Increased.

Skill: Lightsaber (Shii-Cho) Increased.

Ali’ya sighed in relief at the notification. “That’s enough for now,” she told Mace, who grumbled, but deactivated the training blade. At six, Mace Windu was considered a prodigy with a lightsaber. Despite the advantages of the system in increasing her skill and the advantages of her age and species, Ali’ya could barely keep up with the boy. Perhaps it’s the form, Ali’ya though. While she knew that wasn’t the only reason--after all, Mace Windu was eventually skilled enough to defeat the Sith Master in lightsaber combat--but Shii-Cho truly didn’t sit well with her. It was too random, too large in its movements. It left her feeling uncomfortable and exposed. Maybe Master Dooku would be willing to teach me Makashi, Ali’ya thought, then laughed.

“What?” Mace asked, looking up from his stretch.

“Nothing much,” Ali’ya smiled. “Just thinking about asking Master Dooku to teach me Makashi.”

Mace pondered the question for a bit, continuing his stretches. “You should,” he told her from the floor. “Makashi will suit you better than Shii-Cho. But Ataru will be even worse.”

Ali’ya scrunched her nose. “I’m too big for Ataru,” she huffed. “If I want an aggressive form I’ll just use Djem So. Jumping about leaves me exposed.”

“See, my old apprentice?” Ali’ya turned sharply at the voice. She knew that voice, and not from her time in this life. Good god, Ali’ya thought. He really does look like Christopher Lee, down to those unfair cheekbones. “Someone has common sense.”

“You say that as if my use of Ataru has not aided us on our missions,” the young Qui-Gon Jinn huffed.

“It has not, not as much as another form would have.”

“Master--”

“Master Dooku?” Mace cut in, making his most adorable wide-eyes. “My friend wants to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Dooku questioned, and Ali’ya gulped.

“I--would you be willing to teach me Makashi master?” Ali’ya managed.

“How old are you?”

“Nine, Master Dooku.”

“Hmph. Young, but not too young. I suppose you want lessons as well.”

Mace nodded eagerly, nearly bouncing up and down. “Yes Master Dooku.”

“Very well. I suppose I can offer some basic instructions, though you will do exactly as I say. Is that understood?”

“Yes Master.”

Dooku, Ali’ya thought as she collapsed onto the floor of the salle, is a fucking monster.

“Again,” the cold voice cut in.

Ali’ya stifled a groan. She opened herself to the Force, drawing on it to ease her sore and crying muscles. She purged the lactic acid that built up in her cells, helping her liver and kidneys turn it into glucose. Steadily, she stood, and picked up her training saber. Slowly, precisely as she could, she went through the Makashi katas.

“Too wide.” Ali’ya did not nod. She’d learned better. Instead she simply tightened the movement as much as her body would allow and moved again. “Elbow in. Foot back. Foot too far inward. Lower. Lower. Bend your knees, straighten your back.” Dooku was relentless. He sought a type of perfection only found in platonic ideals and was utterly unwilling to compromise upon it. Even with her natural agility, Ali’ya struggled to meet his standards.

Natural, she realized. The movements aren’t natural, why am I expecting to use them naturally? “Too slow,” Dooku called out. Ali’ya ignored him momentarily. She closed her eyes, widening her connection to the Force. She pulled at it gently, guiding it through her limbs and around her body. She found her legs bending of their own accord, her hands moving more swiftly, her arms no longer stuck out because of her biology.

“Good.” That word alone broke Ali’ya from her concentration. She stumbled, missing a kata. Damn it, she thought. “Ten times with the Force, then try it again without.”

Well, Ali’ya thought, dismissing another notification that popped up in the corner of her vision. At least I’m improving.

Quest: Billion Downloads Completed!

Rewards: 1,000 experience points, review of your book on the holonet

Bonus Quest: Publish a Sequel Failed

Quest: Trillion Downloads applied

Rewards: 5,000 experience points, famous author status

Penalties: -500 experience points, no novel you write will exceed a trillion readers

Level: 3

Experience Points: 2,770/3,000

Each level costs 1,000 experience points more than the last. Level 1 is free, so level 2 costs 1,000 experience points.

“What are you doing?”

Ali’ya bit back a sigh. “I’m writing, Kazdan.”

“What are you writing?”

“A book.”

“Can I see?”

Ali’ya winced. “Promise to keep it a secret?”

Kazdan, for all he pretended to be a carefree teen, quickly sobered up. “Of course,” he said. “You kept my droids secret after all.”

“I wrote Sandstorm ,” Ali’ya said in a hushed voice.

“You wrote what?”

“ Sandstorm, ” Ali’ya repeated. “It’s a novel. Has a billion downloads, one credit per download.”

“Wow,” Kazdan blinked is large eyes. “That’s a lot of credits. What are you gonna do with them?”

“I’ve invested most of them,” Ali’ya answered. “If Industrial Automation gets that miniaturization to work, the stock will shoot up. I’ve also got some in Sienar, Sorosuub, Corellian Engineering, and Kuat Drive Yards, as well as some agricultural companies on Chandrila and the Saliche corporation.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to donate the money to charity?”

Ali’ya sighed. “Probably,” she admitted. “But I want to have a safety net in case no one takes me as their padawan. And there are limits to what charities can do. They can alleviate problems, but they can’t solve them. That takes larger intervention, and many of these corporations are governments in all but name. Maybe if I take one over, if I get enough money that I can own a majority of the company, I’ll be able to make them treat people better.” Ali’ya shrugged. “Maybe it’s naive of me, but I’d like to try.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

“Thanks,” Ali’ya smiled. “I will.”

Barring extenuating circumstances, driving speeders--let alone piloting ships--was restricted to those over the age of fourteen. And while being a Jedi would be considered extenuating circumstances by many, the crechemasters, trainers, and teachers of the Jedi temple fervently disagreed. Which, put quite plainly, sucked. Driving had been one of Ali’ya’s favorite ways to relax in her old life. While she was no longer the anxious mess of excedrin tablets and Monster Energy drinks that she had been, she was still stressed. There were all the normal stresses of school, added on by the fact that if she wasn’t chosen as a padawan by the age of fourteen she’d be all but kicked out, and the fact that she was one person against the entire galaxy when it came to preventing the disastrous rise of the Empire. Or combating the evils of slavery, an institution in this galaxy that killed far more people than the Death Star ever did. How in the innumerable hells of the multiverse was she supposed to change anything?

Easy, Ali’ya reminded herself, taking a breath before stepping into the pilot simulator. One step at a time. Breathing in, Ali’ya activated the simulation. The strange contraption closed, and the black screens activated, displaying the rolling hills of Dantooine. Ali’ya cruised over them, following the flight path on the screen exactly.

“Entering Second Phase of Simulation,” the machine declared. “Dodge.” Ali’ya felt the Force flicker. It was slight, far from the reaction she would have were the danger real. Yet she heeded the warning small though it was, twisting her fighter out of the blaster’s path. She dodged again, and again, flying low one moment then zooming up, past the nose of the Neo-Crusader’s fighter the simulation still used.

“Entering Third Phase of Simulation,” the machine stated. “Attack.” Despite the childlike urge, Ali’ya did not immediately go on the attack. Instead she continued to dodge, ducking under laser blasts for two minutes. Then, as the canons on the Neo-Crusader fighter charged, she attacked. She twisted, rolling her ship under the Neo-Crusader, grimacing as a stray rock (disturbed from the fighter’s speed) hit her wing. Yet it seemed to cause little damage. She pulled up just as the Neo-Crusader was starting to turn, firing at the ship’s underbelly. She fired four shots before breaking off her attack, darting past it and around. She swooped back, attacking again, dodging through the now-charged cannon’s laser bolts. She fired as well, targeting the prong of the cannon. Her aim left much to be desired, but at least she hit the shields. On her third attack, having sustained only grazing blows, she destroyed the enemy cannon. After that it was only a matter of time, and dodging the simulated Neo-Crusader’s attempt at a kamikaze run.

Quest: Star Fighter Completed!

You have passed the fighter-pilot simulation.

Reward: 200 experience points, ability to take advanced fighter courses

Bonus Quest: Pass the test with only minor or negligible damage

Bonus Reward: 100 experience points, attract the interest of Jedi Aces.

Bonus Quest: Pass the test with no damages Failed.

Level: 3

Experience Points: 3,120/3,000

Congratulations! You have reached Level 4!

Every four levels you receive one Perk Point. Perk Points can be used to purchase Character Perks. Some require more than one point, while others can only be purchased at later levels.

Ali’ya temporarily dismissed the notifications as she climbed out of the simulator. Leveling up could wait, much as she wanted to see what perks she could get.

“Congratulations, Initiate,” Knight Uvor said. “You passed with flying colors.”

Ali’ya couldn’t help but giggle. Knight Uvor did his best to make the tests seem less scary. Bad jokes were the main way, and while most of her friends no longer found them amusing Ali’ya couldn’t help but partake in the simple joy of a bad pun.

“My thanks, Knight Uvor,” Ali’ya replied. “For your teachings, and your humor.”

“It is rare that I am complemented on one of those, let alone both.”

“The small pleasures of life need not be denied, only those that are harmful to others.”

“Many would claim Knight Uvor’s japes are quite harmful,” another voice cut in.

“Knight Tiin,” Knight Uvor greeted the Iktochi. “Come to see the initiate’s scores?”

“I was with Master Shapa and offered to pick up the results,” Knight Tiin said. “You are finished, correct?”

“Yes, Initiate Ali’ya here was just finishing.”

“Oh?” Knight Tiin asked. “An unusually long session then.”

“Was it?” Ali’ya couldn’t help but ask.

“For most, no. Yourself and young Kirana took the longest, though Padawan Paratus still holds the record.”

“Don’t remind me,” Tiin groaned. “He took the machine apart, then put it back differently. It took us four days to reassemble it correctly. The simulator has faulty signals for a reason.”

“Isn't fixing your ship a valid way to solve such an issue?” Ali’ya couldn’t help but ask.

“Yes,” Knight Uvor said, cutting off Knight Tiin’s glowering. “But that is not the purpose of this test. The purpose is to see how you perform when given substandard equipment and no time to correct it, as well as general piloting skills. Do you understand?”

“I think so, Knight Uvor,” Ali’ya responded. “Sometimes Jedi can’t fix their equipment, or don’t have time to. Padawan Paratus would have passed a different test, but failed this one.”

“Precisely,” Knight Uvor smiled. “Now off you go, Knight Tiin and I have work to do.”

Chapter Text

Perk Points: 1

Perk Options:

Elemental Force (2 Points)

Unlocks your ability to manipulate the classical elements using the Force. Note: Training these abilities is up to you.

Life Force (2 Points)

Unlocks your ability to manipulate life using the Force. Includes advanced healing and life-extending capabilities. Note: Training these abilities is up to you.

Iron Claws (1 Point)

Your ancestors had claws strong enough to tear through the Taungs’ natural armor. That has passed down to you. Your claws are now sharp enough to cut through even the toughest of materials.

Magic (5 points)

Unlocks your ability to train in the various magical traditions of the Galaxy. Note: Training these abilities, and finding people who can teach them to you, is up to you.

Physical Enhancement: Strength (1 Point)

Increases your strength score and physical ability cap by 5.

Physical Enhancement: Agility (1 Point)

Increases your strength score and physical ability cap by 5.

Physical Enhancement: Vitality (1 Point)

Increases your strength score and physical ability cap by 5.

It’s tempting to get Iron Claws, Ali’ya thought. Even Lightsabers can’t cut through beskar, but the ability to manipulate the elements, or even life--the ability to heal . . . that is worth much more than a few points. Save point.

Perk Point saved for later.

Vital Statistics Points: 2

Strength: 10 (+5 Togorian) = 15

Agility: 15 (+5 Togorian) = 20

Vitality: 15 (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 22

Intellect: 15 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 28

Will: 20 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 30

Charisma: 15 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 16

Lucky: 9 (+5 Lucky) = 14

Let’s add one to Luck and one to Intellect, Ali’ya decided. I want to wait on the physical aspects until I see how much my race will affect them.

New Vital Statistics:

Strength: 10 (+5 Togorian) = 15

Agility: 15 (+5 Togorian) = 20

Vitality: 15 (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 22

Intellect: 16 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 29

Will: 20 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 30

Charisma: 15 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 16

Lucky: 10 (+5 Lucky) = 15

Current Quests:

Noble Lineage: Find out your noble ancestry

Revenge: Find out who killed your parents and avenge them

Force Proficiency: Increase three of your Force skills to Proficient: 1

Forceful Intent: Increase at least one of your Force skills to Professional: 1

Professional Padawan: Increase at least one of your lightsaber skills to Professional: 1 before being taken as a padawan

Research Master: Increase at least one of your technology or knowledge skills to Master: 1

Time to Learn: Have a Jedi take you as their padawan learner

Skill Quests: Choose to elaborate

Skills:

Beginner → Novice → Trainee → Adept → Proficient → Professional → Expert → Master → Legendary

Note: Languages do not go above Professional. Professional: 100 in a language means full fluency, even for technical terms in the fields you are familiar with

Skill Points: 130

Skills:

Acrobatics: Novice 18

Appraise (objects): Beginner 20

Appraise (companies): Beginner 84

Architecture (small buildings)

Architecture (large buildings)

Architecture (ecumenopolis)

Art (Drawing): Beginner 20

Art (Painting)

Art (Sculpture)

Astronavigation

Cartography (land)

Cartography (water)

Cartography (space)

Climb: Adept 22

Cooking (food)

Combat (claws): Novice 11

Combat (fists): Beginner 18

Combat (martial arts--Cathar): Trainee 55

Combat (martial arts--Teras Kasi): Beginner 4

Combat (melee weapons): Beginner 22

Concentration: Trainee 44

Deception: Adept 3

Disguise

Distilling

Editing (academic): Novice 81

Editing (biographies)

Editing (memoirs)

Editing (novels): Proficient 45

Editing (plays)

Editing (poetry)

Editing (politics)

Editing (short stories)

Editing (textbooks)

Etiquette

Farming (hydroponics)

Farming (rural, mechanized)

Farming (traditional)

Finance (investments): Proficient 6

Finance (loans)

Finance (sales): Adept 78

Force (Battle Meditation)

Force (Blast): Adept 5

Force (Dash): Novice 80

Force (Drain)

Force (Drain Knowledge)

Force (Empathy): Trainee 68

Force (Enhance): Adept 20

Force (Guidance): Trainee 5

Force (Heal): Beginner 14

Force (Imbue)

Force (Ionize)

Force (Lightning)

Force (Pull): Novice 90

Force (Purge Toxins)

Force (Resistance)

Force (Sense): Trainee 38

Force (Shield): Adept 11

Force (Stun)

Force (Telekinesis): Trainee 70

Force (Trance): Novice 20

Force (Tutaminis)

Force (Valor)

Forgery

Geography (Hyperlanes)

Geography (Deep Core)

Geography (Core)

Geography (Colonies)

Geography (Inner Rim)

Geography (Expansion Region)

Geography (Mid-Rim)

Geography (Outer Rim)

Geography (Wildspace)

Handle Animal

Handwriting: Professional 40

History (Coruscant): Novice 18

History (Galactic Republic): Trainee 10

History (Hutts): Beginner 20

History (Jedi Order): Trainee 40

History (Mandalore): Beginner 8

History (Torgoria): Beginner 34

History, Broad (Deep Core): Novice 20

History, Broad (Core): Trainee 18

History, Broad (Colonies): Novice 22

History, Broad (Inner Rim): Novice 4

History, Broad (Expansion Region): Beginner 82

History, Broad (Mid-Rim): Beginner 35

History, Broad (Outer Rim): Beginner 20

History, Broad (Wildspace): Beginner 2

Holonet Navigation: Novice 35

Insight: Beginner 52

Intimidation

Jump: Beginner 18

Language (Binary): Beginner 4

Language (Bocce): Beginner 1

Language (Dai Bendu): Beginner 70

Language (Galactic Basic): Professional 5

Language (Huttese): Novice 10

Language (Mando’a): Beginner 1

Language (Ryl): Beginner 65

Language (Togorian): Adept 80

Language (Togruta): Beginner 14

Law (Coruscant Local)

Law (Galactic)

Law (Jedi)

Library Navigation: Trainee 31

Lightsaber (Shii-Cho): Trainee 18

Lightsaber (Makashi): Trainee 56

Lightsaber (Soresu): Beginner 30

Lightsaber (Ataru)

Lightsaber (Djem So)

Lightsaber (Shien)

Lightsaber (Niman)

Lightsaber (Juyo)

Listen: Novice 22

Literature (fiction)

Literature (non-fiction)

Literature (poetry)

Mathematics

Mechanics (Droids)

Mechanics (Hovercraft)

Mechanics (Lightsaber)

Mechanics (Starships, small)

Mechanics (Starships, medium)

Mechanics (Starships, large)

Mechanics (Weapons, small arms)

Mechanics (Weapons, artillery)

Mechanics (Weapons, vehicles)

Medicine (amphibians)

Medicine (aquatic animals)

Medicine (felinoids)

Medicine (fish)

Medicine (humans and near-humans)

Medicine (humanoids)

Medicine (insectoids)

Medicine (non-sentients)

Medicine (other)

Metallurgy (forging)

Metallurgy (industrial)

Metallurgy (knowledge)

Movies (fiction)

Movies (non-fiction)

Nature (Desert)

Nature (Forest)

Nature (Plains)

Nature (Tundra)

Performance (Acting)

Performance (Comedy)

Performance (Dance)

Performance (Music, Brass)

Performance (Music, Drums)

Performance (Music, Keyboard)

Performance (Music, Singing)

Performance (Music, Strings)

Performance (Music, Woodwinds)

Performance (Oration)

Persuasion: Novice 38

Piloting (Bikes)

Piloting (Hovercraft)

Piloting (Spacecraft, small)

Piloting (Spacecraft, medium)

Piloting (Spacecraft, large)

Politics (Coruscanti)

Politics (Galactic Republic)

Politics (Jedi)

Pharmacology

Religious Knowledge

Scent

Sleight of Hand

Slicing

Spot

Stealth

Swim: Novice 1

Tracking (rural)

Tracking (space)

Tracking (suburban)

Tracking (urban)

Tracking (wild)

Typing: Trainee 18

Webpage Design: Beginner 60

Weapons (artillery)

Weapons (blasters)

Weapons (demolitions)

Weapons (slugthrowers)

Weapon Design (ballistic)

Weapon Design (lasers)

Weapon Design (plasma)

Weapon Design (other)

Weaving

Winemaking

Woodworking

Writing (academic): Proficient 2

Writing (biographies)

Writing (memoirs)

Writing (novels): Professional 62

Writing (plays): Beginner 40

Writing (poetry): Proficient 30

Writing (politics): Beginner 18

Writing (short stories): Adept 30

Writing (textbooks)

. . . 

Okay, maybe part of the reason Ali’ya was avoiding allocating skill points was just to avoid that massive list.

Force Trance was, perhaps, the easiest skill to level up. It was also rather time-consuming, requiring hours upon hours of meditation where time simply stopped. Handwriting was simple to level up, but not easy. Having reached the professional level, only speed-writing or ornate calligraphy made much of a difference to his skill level. Hence, why Ali’ya was drawing House Dooku’s coat of arms. While the banner was an easily-copied (if ornate) geometric pattern, the formal coat of arms was far more difficult. It involved painting as much as it did calligraphy, with four spine-wolves at the corners and a curled Tirra’taka--a type of reptilian dragon--in the center, resting upon an argent (silver) shield. Above it was the crown of the Counts of Serenno. Beneath the coat of arms was a simple banner, which displayed the family motto Always Forward for Serenno. It took her five hours to get it right, having to gently remove paint using cloth, water, and the Force with every small error--something that helped increase her telekinesis, as well as getting her used to fine control. Larger and lighter objects were easy to life. Small ones were as difficult as heavy ones, though for different reasons. With heavy objects it was about trusting the Force and yourself to both have and use the right amount of power. With small objects it was about being very, very precise with what you wanted to lift. One of the ways Ali’ya liked to practice was by trying to pull a single piece of dust off the floor. She was yet to succeed--the least she was able to get was a small handful--but it was an interesting exercise and a good way to cool down before bed.

As Ali’ya waited for the coat of arms to dry, she released her control over the Force. She lay back in her chair, letting her mind float amidst the waves of the world. She did not seek anything, nor pull any threads, nor try to examine the objects around her. She simply floated, resting, flowing back and forth with the tides of the Force.

Chapter Text

Jedi Master Yan Dooku stared at the paper. The painting did not change, nor did the ornate calligraphy below it.

“I told you she’d be a good match for you,” his traitorous friend chuckled.

“She’s nine.”

“Good, you already know her age.”

“Sy, I’m still recovering from Qui-Gon. I still look over my shoulder whenever I hear a loud bump, I’m just getting back to taking the interesting missions--”

“Just promise me you’ll think about it.” Sy sighed. “I’m not Yoda. I won’t try and force anything on you. I just think the two of you would be well-paired.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her for the next few years,” Dooku acquiesced. “But no promises.”

“Of course,” Sifo-Dyas smiled. “I could ask no more.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

As much as Ali’ya enjoyed Makashi, she knew the style wasn’t going to be her primary one. It was exact and exacting, precise and cutting. It pulled at her heart, but not at the Force, and for that reason alone Ali’ya knew there was something else that would speak to her more.

She found the answer in Soresu. Initiate-level classes in the Third Form of lightsaber combat were rare. The only reason they were being offered at all was due to the fact that Battlemaster Girova was looking for someone to train as his successor. The Temple’s rumor mill claimed that there were three knights he was looking at: the Human Cin Drallig, the Twi’lek Anoon Bondera, and the Weequay Sora Bulq. That each of them were offering classes encouraged the rumors. Drallig offered classes in Ataru and Bulq in Soresu, while Anoon Bondera went the unorthodox route of offering Teras Kasi classes. A highly lethal form of unarmed combat, Teras Kasi was said to have been created specifically to oppose Sith and Jedi during the Sith Wars of Revan’s period.

On her way to her Soresu class, Ali’ya passed Master Drallig’s Ataru session. The salle was crowded, so much so that only a handful of the initiates and junior padawans could practice at a time. The sight made Ali’ya glad she chose to take the Soresu class instead, for upon entering she was one of only a handful of students. There was Initiate Trevor from Dragon Clan, Padawan Koth (the padawan of the famed Herglic Jedi Guardian Kosul Ayada, who was off-world settling a border dispute along the southern Corellian Run), Initiate Tri’len from Clawmouse Clan, and herself. The smaller class allowed for much more in-depth training. Almost as good as the one-on-one sessions she occasionally had with Master Dooku.

From her first kata, Ali’ya knew Soresu would form the basis of her lightsaber style. The movements felt natural in a way Makashi never had. They came easily to her, the Force aiding her form before she could even ask. It felt like breathing. As they sped up the exercises, moving through the katas at double speed, Ali’ya felt herself slowing down. Not in her movements, which remained fast as ever, but in her mind. She calmed, letting the Force flow through her. It guided her movements, slipped through her limbs and training blade, shifted her feet and lifted her legs. She closed her eyes and embraced the Force. Here she was protected from the past and the future, caught in the eternal present as the Living Force guided her actions. She moved faster, dancing the the internal beat. She heard drums, flutes, and stringed instruments. She heard singing, songs in Togorian, in Dai Bendu, in a language she did not yet know but perhaps one day would. She danced faster and faster, losing herself to the rhythm of the Force.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sora Bulq couldn’t help but smile at the sight. It was a rare one, even amongst the Jedi. He had not expected to find such a sight in one of his classes, let alone with a youngling. There was a reason he elected to teach Soresu. It was important, yes, and the foundation of his own preferred style of Shien. But more importantly it was a defensive style. A calm, enduring style that was ill-favored by the more hot-blooded of their order. Sora had little time for them. He knew he would not become Battlemaster. He had not the patience for such a task, something he shared with his friend Yan. He had hoped that Knight Bondera might take the job but choosing to teach Teras Kasi--something that was none of the approved lightsaber forms, and yet more intent of lethality than almost any of them--had all but destroyed that chance. Drallig would be the next battlemaster. He was calm, steady, and traditional. He would not advance the Order, but neither would he let it decline. Sora supposed that would have to do.

His students left the salle quietly. Though they did not understand what they saw as the initiate danced, they could feel its weight in the Force. The young Togorian, not yet ten, was finding her inner form. It was Soresu, mostly, though a few Makashi moves were thrown in as well, some Djem So and Shien--forms she could not have yet learned--added in. The Force did not give everyone this chance. Most Jedi needed to develop such a form for themselves, though only the Guardians usually bothered to do the work required to create their personal style. Nor was this gift--the Battle Trance--a substitute for such work. It was merely a beginning, a hint at what one ought to study. Sora Bulq had such a trance when he was younger and it was likely the only reason he was approved to learn Juyo before attaining a Mastery.

Sora watched as the initiate danced. There were unorthodox moves to be certain--kicks, for instance, and claw attack, both of which took advantage of the initiate’s natural abilities--but for the most part it seemed to be well within the standard traditions of the Jedi. Heavily reliant on Soresu, with the occasional Shien deflection for more full defensive covering. On rare offensive katas--perhaps one out of every fifteen or twenty--she used Makashi with infrequent Djem So elements that (once the style was fully developed) would allow her to take advantage of her species’ natural strength and size. It would take decades for her to fully learn the various forms and methods her Force-decreed style would require, but once she did . . .

There was a reason Soresu masters were among the most long-lived. Soresu could not win a fight on its own, but it could survive anything. And true to the form’s nickname, the initiate was enduring . Sora’s timer went off, signaling the start of her third hour. Even at triple speed the initiate was managing to continue and though her breathing was heavy it remained steady.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Ali’ya stumbled. Her foot caught on something and she tripped. The Force retreated, and she felt soreness extending throughout her body. It was a sensation she was familiar with, even if her current body wasn’t.

“Easy there,” a voice stated. A pair of hands caught her before she fell, steadying her as she sat. “You’ve been at it for five hours. Take a breath.”

That, as Ali’ya swiftly discovered, was easier said than done. She was breathing heavily, her fur soaked with sweat. She panted, hastily drawing in breath and forcing herself to hold it long enough for the oxygen to be fully absorbed. Slowly, the world came back into focus. The hardwood floors of the training salle. The sweat-drenched robes she wore. The scent of work, peace, and salt. “Master Bulq?”

“Yes,” the Weequay smiled. “Good. You are aware of where you are?”

“I’m in the training salle of the Jedi Temple,” Ali’ya stated. “At your Soresu lesson.”

“That lesson ended four hours ago.”

What? Ali’ya looked up sharply.

Master Bulq smiled at her, pressing out with a sense of calm-tranquil-peace-safety. Ali’ya, despite herself, found herself relaxing. “You experienced what is called a Form Trance.”

“A form trance?”

“A phenomena where, upon discovering the bulk of what will make up their combat style, the Force grants a person insight into the rest of it. They are rare, but not unheard of. I myself experienced such a trance, as have numerous other Jedi.”

I don’t remember that from the wiki, Ali’ya thought. “So, the drums, the music, the singing--”

“Each of us experience the trance in our own way,” Master Bulq interrupted gently. “You may share what you felt if you wish, but it is not necessary. What is necessary is that you continue learning the foundations of what will, when properly combined, become your combat style. I was able to identify certain elements, but I will need your help with others.”

“I’m guessing Soresu is most of it?”

“Most of it, yes. You will also need to continue your studies of Makashi, and eventually add both Djem So and Shien, though that is a ways off. There were a few kicks in there as well, I was hoping  you could perhaps shed some light on those?”

Ali’ya felt herself blushing, and was grateful for the fur that hid her skin. “I--I came to the Temple late,” she prefaced. Jedi generally didn’t approve of family connections, no matter how important they could be. A girl from the depths of Coruscant certainly wouldn’t be given the same dispensation someone like Master Dooku was. “I lived in the down-stacks. Level 114.” Master Bulq’s presence showed surprise in the Force, though he remained calm. Hoping it was safe, Ali’ya continued. “One of our neighbors was a Cathar couple. I traded some fresh fruit I got for my birthday for lessons.”

“Fresh fruit?” Master Bulq asked.

Ali’ya shrugged. “Most food down there is rations. When it isn’t rations, it’s dried, or synthetic. Fresh fruit--real, tasty fruit like they have in the food hall here--is a luxury. We had it for birthdays, before Ebor cut their pay. One year I saved some, traded it for lessons. Probably wouldn’t have worked if I wasn’t also a felinoid. Species matters less down there, and more at the same time.”

Master Bulq hummed. “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, I can’t say I’ve spent much time on Coruscant outside the Temple. But if it is Cathar martial arts that forms part of your style, I know of several teachers who would be willing to instruct you. Knight Kotha is one, as is Master Juhai. I will ask if they are willing to instruct you.”

“I--thank you, Master Bulq,” Ali’ya managed.

“Think nothing of it,” he replied, but Ali’ya knew she would not. For the second time since Master Sinube pulled her from the wreckage of her home, an adult was offering her help for no reason other than because he felt like it. And unlike with Master Dooku, she didn’t even need to ask. “Now, back to the dorms with you. Evening meal will be soon, and you shouldn’t miss that. Not after a training session like that.”

As Ali’ya headed back to the Initiate dorms, she activated her notifications.

Skill: Lightsaber (Soresu) Increase: Novice 5 → Adept 20

Skill: Lightsaber (Makashi) Increase: Adept 73 → Adept 90

Skill: Lightsaber (Shien) Increase: 0 → Beginner 60

Skill: Lightsaber (Djem So) Increase: 0 → Beginner 25

Skill: Force (Trance) Increase: Trainee 1 → Adept 6

Chapter Text

It was rare for the junior initiates to go on field trips. In Ali’ya’s four years in the Initiate Dorms, there had been three trips, twice to museums on Coruscant and once to the Coruscant Public Library’s main building. She knew the senior initiates had more trips (and were said to visit the Senate Dome on one of them) but until they reached Padawan age it was rare for a Jedi Initiate to venture beyond Coruscant. That alone would have made Ali’ya suspect something was up when she and her age-mates in the Clan were led to the hangars. The System, of course, gave it away once she boarded the corvette.

Quest: The Gathering

Pass a Jedi Right of Passage by finding your kyber crystal on Illum

Rewards: 2,000 experience points, kyber crystal(s), become a Senior Initiate, early access to the Adolescent System (currently using the Childhood System)

Failure: -1,000 experience points, possible death, possible maiming, fail to become a Senior Initiate, prohibited from trying again for two years, Childhood System locked in until age 12.

Well, Ali’ya thought. Not like I have a lot riding on this then. She had known, in some small part of her mind, that not every initiate passed the Gathering. What happened to those who failed was never brought up in the media of her time. That death was possible shouldn’t have come as a shock given Ilum’s environment, but it certainly unsettled her.

Ali’ya had few friends in her Clan. Kazdan had been one, before he became a padawan. Mace and Kirana were both in different clans, and Mace was younger than her besides. While this could have made for a dull trip, it allowed Ali’ya the time she needed to center herself again. Had she been an actual child, meditation would likely have been impossible given her current state of mind. Fortunately, she had decades of experience calming down from a panic attack, even if she was stuck in a child’s body.

Ali’ya spent the first six days of their journey meditating, and trying to use her long years of past experience with radical acceptance. There was no way out of the Gathering, and even if there was she wouldn’t want to take it. She liked the people she had now, her friends and teachers. She liked the peace and calm and almost infinite knowledge that was the Jedi Temple. She liked Master Dooku and his harsh lessons, Master Bulq and his more gentle but equally practical ones. She knew both of them would Fall in the future, but she could see why it had been so devastating when they did. Dooku, for all his harshness, had an aura about him that screamed competence and capability. One couldn’t relax around him thanks to his attitude, but if he was present Ali’ya knew she was in good hands. And Master Bulq . . . He was wonderful. He listened when she talked about the Coruscanti depths, listened to her tearful retelling of her family’s murder. He paid attention when she spoke and, rather than reprimanding her for her emotions, helped her work through them. True, his method of working through emotions almost always involved the Force, but he was a Jedi and they worked, so she could forgive the religious bent.

With that knowledge in hand, Ali’ya began looking into lightsaber mechanics. It was a topic she’d studied only briefly before, seeing it as largely irrelevant. In retrospect, the idea that they would be warned in time to prepare for the Gathering should have been ludicrous. Initiate training was all about learning to trust the Force, something they were supposed to do with their weapons as well. Ali’ya thought that was silly. The Force would help, of course, but it was up to each person to decide the finicky details like metal plating or which power cell to use. Electronics were unnecessary to the Force, why would it care about anything beyond the hilt’s shape and the disposition of the kyber crystal? The kyber, of course, might well have opinions about proper construction, but wouldn’t it be best if Ali’ya had some knowledge to bring as well?

Fortunately, the ship was full of books, articles, and simulations about lightsaber construction. From the first force-imbued weapons to the most modern type of power cell, Ali’ya took full advantage of her Learning Prodigy trait and high Intellect score as she pushed herself to read as fast as she could while still understanding the words. Which meant one book per day. Two, if she was lucky.

To call lightsabers complicated was an insult to complication. They were beyond it, entire enigmas. They were a compilation of phenomena that defied all scientific logic. Calculations of power, length, width, and a variety of other key statistics included various “Kyber variables,” something that was entirely unmeasurable and depended not only on the Kyber but on the wielder. In short, one choosing to build a lightsaber--whether it was one with a natural crystal, a synthetic one, or one of the myriad exotic crystals around--would have to rely on the Force. One could assemble it on their own, but without clear communication with the semi-sentient crystals (or the pure force of will that was the Dark Side) the would-be objects were doomed to fail. Someone without the Force could, on rare occasion, learn to wield a lightsaber but no one but a Force-sensitive would ever be able to craft them. There was still a place for knowledge of mechanics in building a lightsaber--indeed, the blades that lasted longest and cut hottest were those designed by the technically capable and wielded by those strong in the Force--but it was not at the heart of the blade. The crystal was. Semi-sentient and powerful in the Force, it was kyber that dictated the reality of the blade. The Dark Side could force kyber into certain patterns, or through brute strength ensure a synthetic crystal had enough power. It was said to be one of the starting points of the First Schism, when a dark-oriented Je’daii first bled his crystal, which was then housed inside a metal blade.

So, while her knowledge of mechanics would be useful, it did not mean she could determine the design of her blade, only that she was able to give the kyber suggestions it might otherwise not think of. The crystal is the heart of the blade , she remembered. It was not only sentiment, it was fact.

Ilum was cold. Ali’ya had expected that, and dressed warmly. Despite her fur she’d worn an insulated jacket, fur-lined boots, and insulated trousers. It was still cold. Even with the hood up and the sunglasses on. The caves, at least, lacked the cutting winds of the surface. Though they did have an endless labyrinth where not even the Force could guide you out, so blinding were the lights of the endless kyber crystals.

Ali’ya did her best to follow the Force as it guided her down the icy paths. She ignored the calls of her clan-mates as they tried to stick together despite knowing they each had their own paths. It struck her that this was a rather cruel test for children. Ali’ya knew what she would be facing. Some sort of psychologically challenging--perhaps damaging--vision, the potential for death, and the potential of being kicked out of the order. She’d been damaged before, came close to death, and she had billions in credits and investments waiting for her if the Order decided she wasn’t up to snuff. She had lived a life, and was granted this second chance. The rest of them were kids. Literal children. They deserved better than to be sent out on a potentially lethal test. At the very least there should have been someone waiting nearby to rescue them if something happened, but instead they were to “Trust in the Force.”

The Jedi, Ali’ya thought. Are blinded.

“You would dare challenge the Jedi Order?”

Ali’ya’s head jerked up at the unexpected voice. It was deeper than hers, more mature. Towering over her at more than two meters, was an adult Togorian. The Togorian wore simple brown robes, plain in color and rough in texture. She held a large lightsaber hilt in her hand.

“The Order has its flaws,” Ali’ya said cautiously.

“The Order is perfect!” the Togorian snarled, stepping closer to her. “They are the Light in the Darkness, the hope of the galaxy! With the fall of the Order comes darkness everlasting! The rebellion succeeded, yet it failed to create a true state. Trillions died from the Yuuzon Vong! Only the Order, perfect and strong, can be trusted to stand against the apocalyptic invasion!”

Ali’ya took a desperate step back. “You-you’re me.”

“I’m what you will be,” the Togorian smiled. “What you should be. But if you will not heed the call of destiny, I will be forced to cut you down.”

Ali’ya did the only sensible thing. She turned and ran down the hall. The thudding footsteps of her future self disappeared slowly as she ran, her panting breath overtaking even the glittering sound of the kyber.

“Woah, easy there.” The voice was warm, gentle. Ali’ya couldn’t help but relax. “You had quite the fright. Did that mean Jedi scare you?”

Ali’ya nodded. “She--she said she’d kill me if I didn’t--” Ali’ya paused, looking up at the stranger. The not-stranger. They were another Togorian, tall as her future self. But unlike her future self the Togorian before her dressed well, in fluid robes of black and red silk. The only thing that stood out were the sickly yellow eyes.

“They’re all like that.” Now that she saw the eyes, she could hear the voice. The rasping death that scraped along the end. The malice that dripped, unbidden and unseen, from the tip of every word. “The Jedi are unfeeling fools. Unfitting to rule the galaxy. You have been given a second chance at life. Why not take it? Take it all. Take everything for your own, and rule over the galaxy! What are these creatures before you but playthings? Have you not been--”

“ENOUGH!” Ali’ya screamed, and the Force heeded her call. “I am not either of you! I refuse! I will not lose my feelings, nor my head! There is a way between, there must be!”

A lightsaber ignited behind her. Ali’ya turned sharply, eyes wide. “You will choose,” her Jedi self said. “The light--”

“Or the Dark,” her Sith self finished. His own blade lit, blood red contrasting with bright blue.

“There is no inbetween,” the two declared.

“Fuck the binary,” Ali’ya spat. “I will not chose.”

“Then you will die.”

Chapter Text

“ENOUGH!” Ali’ya screamed, and the Force heeded her call. “I am not either of you! I refuse! I will not lose my feelings, nor my head! There is a way between, there must be!”

A lightsaber ignited behind her. Ali’ya turned sharply, eyes wide. “You will choose,” her Jedi self said. “The light--”

“Or the Dark,” her Sith self finished. His own blade lit, blood red contrasting with bright blue.

“There is no inbetween,” the two declared.

“Fuck the binary,” Ali’ya spat. “I will not chose.”

“Then you will die.”

Ali’ya closed her eyes as the lightsabers swung. She heard their hiss, felt their burn, then nothing.

Is this what it feels like to die again? she wondered. She shook, and frowned at the motion. She was cold. She didn’t remember feeling cold the last time she died.

Ali’ya opened her eyes. She saw the tunnel, same as before. She hadn’t moved an inch since the vision started. Ali’ya blinked, and her sight remained the same. A crystal, gleaming from its place, stuck out from the wall. Gingerly, as if in a dream, Ali’ya stepped forward and plucked it from its place.

Immediately she knew she had found her crystal. The song filled her with warmth. It sang of family, of dreams, of hopes, of battle and of politics, of deeds great and small. It sang a secret song, one well known but never spoken that rested in the shadows of her heart. Ali’ya felt warm upon picking it up, and light as if floating on air. She sank onto the icy floor of Ilum’s caves, yet it felt as though heated specially for her. The temptation to bond with the crystal then and there was strong, yet Ali’ya resisted. She forced herself to stand, ignoring the warmth. Instead she turned, pulling her mind away from the crystal with a gentle warning of, later. She turned instead to the exit, letting the Force guide her out.

She was neither the first out, nor the last. As she waited for the others, Ali’ya ignored the nervous conversation of the other members of Squall Clan. Instead she sat on the ice floor, beneath the great crystal which shone with the rare sunlight of Ilum. Closing her eyes, she reached out tentatively, her presence trailing over the kyber. The kyber responded, vibrating slightly in her palm as it reached back. Ali’ya danced around it, surrounding it, suffusing it with her presence. At the same time she led the strand of presence from the kyber into herself, connecting it to her beating heart, her thinking mind, and her metaphysical presence above all else. The kyber is the heart of the blade inside the heart of the Jedi is the kyber inside the heart of the kyber is the Jedi is the heart of the blade . . . on and on they danced, til at last they awoke, the hall nearly dimmed. No longer was the kyber translucent and colorless, but rather a deep, dark indigo that spoke to Ali’ya’s very soul.

Forward together, Ali’ya thought. Not one step back.

Quest: The Gathering Completed!

Pass a Jedi Right of Passage by finding your kyber crystal on Illum

Rewards: 2,000 experience points, kyber crystal(s), become a Senior Initiate, early access to the Adolescent System (currently using the Childhood System)

Bonus Quest: Be the first in your group to complete the Gathering Failed

Bonus Quest: Choose your own path.

Bonus Reward: 500 experience points, +5 Will

Bonus Quest: Choose the Jedi Path Failed

Bonus Quest: Choose the Sith Path Failed

Bonus Quest: Bond with your Crystal before the Gathering ends

Bonus Reward: 500 experience points, a stronger than usual bond with your kyber crystal

Bonus Quest: Complete the Gathering on time and without injury

Bonus Reward: +40 points in Skill: Force (Sense)

The Childhood System will be exchanged for the Adolescent System as you sleep.

Level: 4

Experience Points: 3,205/4,000

Quest: A Jedi’s Life

Create your first lightsaber

Rewards: 500 experience points, a lightsaber

Penalties: -1,000 experience points, no lightsaber

“Professor Huyang?” Ali’’ya asked.

The droid turned. For all it seemed haphazard, as if the shoulders and torso might fall off at any point, Ali’ya distinctly remembered the strange droid’s martial abilities. Haphazard movements were in truth loose joints allowing for flexibility, the eyes he kept adjusting hid the keen vision and numerous settings, and Ali’ya was sure there were dozens of other hidden features she knew nothing about. “Yes, little one?” the professor asked.

“None of these feel right,” Ali’ya said. She’d seen the hilt rather clearly, she and her kyber agreeing after another four hours’ meditation.

“Interesting,” Professor Huyang said. “All the more for you have bonded to the kyber already. Yes, I can see that our usual supplies might not suffice. Have you any idea what you require?”

“The hilt is metal,” Ali’ya said, closing her eyes as she joined minds with her kyber once more. “It has been polished, yet remains a dull silver-gray. Perhaps lighter than it should be. The hilt is long, and the blade longer still, for another crystal shall join the kyber in time. The emitter is adjusted, for water cannot be an adversary.”

“Hmm,” Professor Huyang hummed. “Yes, I can see why that would be causing you problems. The metal you are describing is either beskar, which is all but impossible to find without being a Mandalorian, or phrik, which is easier to find but outrageously expensive. Yet, if the weapon is truly as greatsaber as your description indicates, it might well be necessary for the great disadvantage of such weapons is an opponent’s ability to strike directly at the hilt, potentially destroying it. Phrik and beskar cannot be broken by a lightsaber, nor would they be damaged much by blasters or ballistics. If the Force calls upon you to have such a blade, the future holds interesting tidings indeed.”

Ali’ya blinked. “Does that mean you can help me?”

“Well of course I can help you,” Professor Huyang exclaimed. “I am the master of this ship, and know all contents within. We have some phrik here, hiding towards the back. The waterproof emitter is in an entirely different location, though it is admittedly more commonplace and is placed exactly as its relative prominence deserves. But you say another crystal shall join yours in time, hmm? Far be it from me to doubt the insights of a Jedi, but perhaps for now we ought leave the future to the future, and supply you with a hilt worthy of the blade you have, not the blade you will have.”

“That does make sense.”

“Excellent. Now, a greatsaber is indeed a different weapon from a regular saber, but you are not yet tall enough that such difference are necessary. An adult’s two-handed saber would be of the correct length for several years--pardon me, you are Togorian? Yes? Good. Even if you are on the tall and early side, this frame--” Huyang tossed a frame at her which Ali’ya quickly caught, “--and this emitter, with this power cell, will see you through the remained of your initiate years. As for the casing, I shall continue my search while you construct the interior.”

The professor was gone before Ali’ya could respond, leaving her and the crystal with little choice but to follow his instructions. Sitting down in the hallway, they meditated. As they joined together, they bound the materials to them. The power cell, the emitter, the energizing fields and energy channel. They sensed the arrival of the casing, which floated from Professor Huyang’s belt as he neared. The phrik seemed to return to a liquid state as it shifted, forming buttons and dials, activation switches and intensity gages. It encased the frame perfectly, form fitting around the shock absorbers. Then, suddenly, the case closed. The metal hardened, and the lightsaber dropped into Ali’ya’s waiting palm. Half in a trance she stood, carefully, never letting go of the hilt. She flipped the switch.

Voom . Deep blue, touched with just a hint of red. The blade was longer than she was tall, held out at an angle to keep it from scraping the floor. She moved her wrist, and the blade jumped to follow, kyber just as eager to test their forms. She lowered the intensity and began her katas. It should have been difficult. She should have been forced to adjust awkwardly to the longer blade, to shift and scrape and feel her arms tire under such a hefty weight. Yet she did not. She joined her kyber in meditation, moving first through Shii-Cho, the Makashi, then Soresu. As she reached the final kata she kept going, moving not to the approved forms but to her own style. It was stronger, better, and not just for the improvements she had made to her form. The kyber knew the hidden song for they shared a heart. Together they were more than the casing or power cells could provide, they were one. Her soul melded with the kyber as they moved, dancing to the beat of unheard drums until lights out was called.

Panting, Ali’ya threw herself into the Sonic. Sweat was pulled from her fur, crystal shards from the caves disappearing as well. As she washed up, a new notification pinged.

Quest: A Jedi’s Life Completed!

Create your first lightsaber

Rewards: 500 experience points, a lightsaber

Bonus Quest: Be the first in your group to make a functioning lightsaber

Bonus Reward: +25 Mechanics (lightsaber)

Reminder that the Adolescent System will load as you sleep.

Goodnight!

Chapter Text

Ali’ya groaned as she woke up, big black lettering taking over the bulk of her vision.

Adolescent System Activated! Welcome to your Adolescence.

Several Changes have been made to the System.

Age: Certain traits and advances will now be dependent on your age.

Vital Statistics: As a Togorian, you are stronger, nimbler, and more resilient than a baseline human. Between the ages of 11 and 20, each year your Strength score will increase by one. Every other year, your Agility score will increase by one. Every year, your Vitality score will increase by one, with a bonus one-point increase on years your Agility stays the same. Your Intellect will increase by one point each year you are enrolled in an academic program. Your Will will increase by one point year year you break at least one (1) major rule or five (5) minor rules. Your Charisma will increase by one point for each year you make at least one new friend or ally. Your pre-bonus maximum for physical scores has been increased to 55.

Additionally, your Intellect score has increased by five due to childhood events, while your Will score has increased by three. Your Charisma score has been increased by the number of friends and close connections you have formed (five).

Skills: As an adolescent, you no longer learn as quickly as a child. Skill progression will be slower from here on out, but faster than when you gain the Adult System. Additionally, each skill point gained will grant you one experience point. This applies retroactively.

Experience Points: 20,951/4,000

Level: 4 → 7

Age: 10

Vital Statistics: 6 points

Strength: 10 (+5 Togorian) = 15

Agility: 15 (+5 Togorian) = 20

Vitality: 15 (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 22

Intellect: 21 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 34

Will: 28 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 38

Charisma: 20 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 21

Lucky: 10 (+5 Lucky) = 15

Skills:

Beginner → Novice → Trainee → Adept → Proficient → Professional → Expert → Master → Legendary

Skill Points: 245

Skills:

Acrobatics: Novice 60

Appraise (objects): Beginner 22

Appraise (companies): Novice 8

Architecture (small buildings)

Architecture (large buildings)

Architecture (ecumenopolis)

Art (Drawing): Beginner 35

Art (Painting): Beginner 20

Art (Sculpture)

Astronavigation: Beginner 88

Cartography (land)

Cartography (water)

Cartography (space)

Climb: Adept 35

Cooking (food): Adept 90

Combat (claws): Novice 11

Combat (fists): Beginner 18

Combat (martial arts--Cathar): Adept 21

Combat (martial arts--Teras Kasi): Beginner 30

Combat (melee weapons): Beginner 23

Concentration: Adept 8

Deception: Adept 25

Disguise

Distilling

Editing (academic): Novice 83

Editing (biographies)

Editing (memoirs)

Editing (novels): Proficient 68

Editing (plays)

Editing (poetry): Beginner 16

Editing (politics)

Editing (short stories)

Editing (textbooks)

Etiquette: Beginner 70

Farming (hydroponics)

Farming (rural, mechanized)

Farming (traditional)

Finance (investments): Proficient 24

Finance (loans)

Finance (sales): Proficient 3

Force (Battle Meditation)

Force (Blast): Adept 35

Force (Dash): Trainee 24

Force (Drain)

Force (Drain Knowledge)

Force (Empathy): Trainee 90

Force (Enhance): Adept 75

Force (Guidance): Trainee 60

Force (Heal): Beginner 35

Force (Imbue)

Force (Ionize)

Force (Lightning)

Force (Pull): Trainee 38

Force (Purge Toxins)

Force (Resistance)

Force (Sense): Adept 5

Force (Shield): Adept 12

Force (Stun)

Force (Telekinesis): Adept 8

Force (Trance): Trainee 28

Force (Tutaminis)

Force (Valor)

Forgery

Geography (Hyperlanes): Beginner 20

Geography (Deep Core): Beginner 8

Geography (Core): Beginner 13

Geography (Colonies): Beginner 5

Geography (Inner Rim): Beginner 6

Geography (Expansion Region): Beginner 4

Geography (Mid-Rim): Beginner 9

Geography (Outer Rim): Beginner 11

Geography (Wildspace): Beginner 1

Handle Animal

Handwriting: Professional 85

History (Coruscant): Novice 50

History (Galactic Republic): Trainee 78

History (Hutts): Beginner 55

History (Jedi Order): Adept 16

History (Mandalore): Beginner 35

History (Torgoria): Beginner 38

History, Broad (Deep Core): Novice 72

History, Broad (Core): Trainee 70

History, Broad (Colonies): Novice 60

History, Broad (Inner Rim): Novice 22

History, Broad (Expansion Region): Novice 8

History, Broad (Mid-Rim): Novice 5

History, Broad (Outer Rim): Novice 10

History, Broad (Wildspace): Beginner 8

Holonet Navigation: Adept 23

Insight: Beginner 87

Intimidation

Jump: Beginner 45

Language (Binary): Beginner 10

Language (Bocce): Beginner 5

Language (Dai Bendu): Trainee 8

Language (Galactic Basic): Professional 30

Language (Huttese): Novice 40

Language (Mando’a): Beginner 1

Language (Ryl): Beginner 84

Language (Togorian): Adept 80

Language (Togruta): Beginner 38

Law (Coruscant Local): Beginner 21

Law (Galactic): Beginner 18

Law (Jedi): Beginner 30

Library Navigation: Adept 12

Lightsaber (Shii-Cho): Adept 4

Lightsaber (Makashi): Proficient 3

Lightsaber (Soresu): Proficient 20

Lightsaber (Ataru)

Lightsaber (Djem So): Beginner 38

Lightsaber (Shien): Beginner 24

Lightsaber (Niman)

Lightsaber (Juyo)

Listen: Novice 36

Literature (fiction): Novice 21

Literature (non-fiction): Novice 8

Literature (poetry): Beginner 14

Mathematics: Novice 23

Mechanics (Droids)

Mechanics (Hovercraft)

Mechanics (Lightsaber): Novice 26

Mechanics (Starships, small): Beginner 8

Mechanics (Starships, medium)

Mechanics (Starships, large)

Mechanics (Weapons, small arms)

Mechanics (Weapons, artillery)

Mechanics (Weapons, vehicles)

Medicine (amphibians)

Medicine (aquatic animals)

Medicine (felinoids)

Medicine (fish)

Medicine (humans and near-humans)

Medicine (humanoids)

Medicine (insectoids)

Medicine (non-sentients)

Medicine (other)

Metallurgy (forging)

Metallurgy (industrial): Beginner 22

Metallurgy (knowledge): Novice 6

Movies (fiction)

Movies (non-fiction)

Nature (Desert): Beginner 30

Nature (Forest): Beginner 72

Nature (Plains): Beginner 41

Nature (Tundra): Beginner 18

Performance (Acting): Beginner 11

Performance (Comedy)

Performance (Dance): Beginner 12

Performance (Music, Brass)

Performance (Music, Drums)

Performance (Music, Keyboard): Beginner 70

Performance (Music, Singing)

Performance (Music, Strings)

Performance (Music, Woodwinds)

Performance (Oration): Novice 14

Persuasion: Novice 51

Piloting (Bikes): Beginner 20

Piloting (Hovercraft): Novice 38

Piloting (Spacecraft, small): Novice 72

Piloting (Spacecraft, medium): Novice 18

Piloting (Spacecraft, large): Beginner 8

Politics (Coruscanti): Novice 8

Politics (Galactic Republic): Novice 80

Politics (Jedi): Beginner 40

Pharmacology

Religious Knowledge

Scent: Trainee 16

Sleight of Hand

Slicing

Spot

Stealth: Beginner 22

Swim: Novice 5

Tracking (rural)

Tracking (space)

Tracking (suburban)

Tracking (urban)

Tracking (wild)

Typing: Trainee 90

Webpage Design: Beginner 70

Weapons (artillery)

Weapons (blasters)

Weapons (demolitions)

Weapons (slugthrowers)

Weapon Design (ballistic)

Weapon Design (lasers)

Weapon Design (plasma)

Weapon Design (other)

Weaving

Winemaking

Woodworking

Writing (academic): Proficient 20

Writing (biographies)

Writing (memoirs)

Writing (novels): Professional 75

Writing (plays): Beginner 40

Writing (poetry): Proficient 30

Writing (politics): Beginner 18

Writing (short stories): Adept 30

Writing (textbooks)

Current Quests:

Noble Lineage: Find out your noble ancestry

Revenge: Find out who killed your parents and avenge them

Force Proficiency: Increase three of your Force skills to Proficient: 1

Forceful Intent: Increase at least one of your Force skills to Professional: 1

Professional Padawan: Increase at least one of your lightsaber skills to Professional: 1 before being taken as a padawan

Research Master: Increase at least one of your technology or knowledge skills to Master: 1

Time to Learn: Have a Jedi take you as their padawan learner

Trillion Downloads: Reach one trillion sales of your book

Skill Quests: Choose to elaborate

Level: 7

Experience Points: 5,951/7,000

Vital Statistics

Strength: 10 (+5 Togorian) = 15

Agility: 15 (+5 Togorian) = 20

Vitality: 15 (+5 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 22

Intellect: 22 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 35

Will: 30 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 40

Charisma: 23 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 24

Lucky: 10 (+5 Lucky) = 15

Experience points from her skills was unexpected, but greatly welcomed. Not only did it mean that her training had paid off, it provided a simple (if not easy) way towards leveling up. Even if it would take longer now.

Ali’ya had little to do during the journey back to Coruscant. Her lightsaber had already passed Professor Huyang’s inspection and there was little reading material onboard besides the lightsaber manual. Ali’ya knew those could be useful, but after cramming for the Gathering she simply wasn’t interested in reading yet more technical manuals. Instead she practiced her handwriting, typing, and drawing. Swiftly as she could manage, she transcribed her entire novel Sandstorm onto flimsy. Once she was back in the temple she would copy it onto paper, perhaps with illustrations and illuminations like a medieval text of old. For now she simply worked on doing the same to Sandstorm’s sequel--still in its second draft-- Winds of Change. Upon finishing this, she set to re-editing them, discovering a number of things (mostly minor) that she wished she could change about Sandstorm and far, far more things that she wanted to changed about Winds of Change. She then typed both books back into her datapad. With that finished she still had another six days before they would reach Coruscant.

So, she meditated. She levitated objects with the Force. She pulled things towards her and floated them back down. She used the force to disassemble and reassemble her datapad (and whoo boy did that almost go horribly wrong, those tiny screws were even more finicky than she could have predicted). She prepared her media campaign, creating hundreds of accounts designed specifically to harass major book reviewers and culture commentators to read and review her book.

Wait, Ali’ya thought as she was about to sit down to create her 211th account. If I can improve skills by practicing, can I improve my physical abilities too? It was an interesting question, and one that she did not have to ponder for long.

Yes.

Fuck yes, Ali’ya thought.

Though it takes far longer to improve Vital Statistics than it does to improve skills.

Whatever, Ali’ya dismissed. She was already stronger, swifter, and healthier than she had been in her past life. Knowing that there was a chance to be even better . . . how could she not take it?

Chapter Text

Initiate Ali’ya was odd, to say the least. She’d always been more inclined towards learning and practicing that social gatherings, but ever since the Gathering--when she came back with the first purple blade in decades--she’d acted like a woman possessed. Her mind, always sharp, seemed to grow even more attentive. In a single year she finished half of the Senior Initiate classes, taking the end-of-year tests for first and second year at the same time. She could be found practicing lightsaber forms up until curfew with Master Dooku and Master Bulq. She haunted the library, so much that it seemed the chief archivist-in-training, Jocasta Nu, was followed wherever she went.

Somehow she managed to have something of a social life. Most likely because her friends and associates were all as study-mad as her. Her friend Padawan Paratus joined her whenever she studied mechanics. Initiate Windu was with her as she trained under Masters Dooku and Bulq, even managing to bring another master of Soresu, Knight Mundi, into their fold. Padawan Koth and Initiate Trebor often joined in their lessons, able to keep up with Initiate Ali’ya but not with Initiate Windu. Truly the boy was blessed by the Force with such skill.

For her part, Ali’ya found her time as a Senior Initiate not dissimilar to her experience in high school, just without the migraines and mental illness. Her schedule was just as busy, but it was impossible not to delight in the myriad subjects that even now seemed fantastical to her. The experience points that came from leveling up her skills were a bonus and helped her to push on ever further, but most of the joy came from the simple act of learning. Even in a hundred lifetimes she could never read the whole of the Jedi Archives, but that would not stop her from trying. She read everything that seemed of interest and everything that seemed of use. She read medical textbooks on humans, near-humans, humanoids, mammalians, fish, avians, and insectoids--one after the other, each time her newfound powers helping her to connect the dots and compare cures and treatments in a way her old self would be envious of. Most of all she read of Togoria, of her people and their traditions. Her great-grandmother may have died before she could pass on all her knowledge, but Ali’ya would honor her memory.

Of course, books could only take her so far. But for now, that was far enough. Especially when combined with her extracurricular activities. Master Bulq was often in the temple, and whenever he was they met twice a week so Ali’ya could practice her Soresu and learn the beginnings of Djem So and Shien. In their normal lightsaber class--currently being taught by Master Drallig--the initiates were working on Ataru, easily Ali’ya’s worst form. While her felinoid body was flexible enough, she was far too large for the flips and jumps of the form to be comfortable--let alone useful--and her long arms and blade were not meant for wide swings. Given her natural strength she had no need for them and with the size of her body crossing from shoulder to ankle too far too long. Unless she boosted her speed with the Force, it was easy for her opponents to slip away from the slow and powerful blows. Djem So, which used shorter blows that (while less powerful) were swifter and conserved energy better than Ataru, was much more to her liking. There was also Ataru’s insane lack of defense. Using the form made her feel like an unarmored knight, praying that her lance would strike before her foe’s. Having to use Ataru--and only Ataru--against another initiate made Ali’ya feel like drowning herself. Which made it perhaps appropriate that after her lessons she read up on Mon Cala, Quarren, and Gungan architecture--though books about the latter were hard to come by, even in the Jedi Archives.

Yet none of these were the reason that Ali’ya had managed to level up twice before her eleventh birthday. No, that honor went to her new perk, Life Force. She knew it would be useful simply by the cost, but she was astounded at how useful it was. With Life Force she could improve her healing by working on herself. She could use the Force to regrow her muscles immediately after exercise, could slow down the aging of her cells--though that was still a greatly limited feature at her current level. Perhaps most importantly, she could use it to facilitate rest. That was an expensive feature, using most of her strength in the Force for just a single hour of rest. Yet it could be done while in a meditation trance, something that allowed her nearly unlimited access to the Force in the galaxy, replenishing her own power just as she expended it. She could channel the Force through her via mediation, then out to heal her, running it back through her. Six hours of this restful meditation provided more than enough rest for a day, though she still needed to sleep at least once a week. In those eight extra hours a week she practiced with other Force techniques. She found an old, physical lock in one of the abandoned rooms and used it to practice her fine motor skills with telekinesis. She practiced both her handwriting and her use of the Force by using telekinesis to control her pencils. She practiced her languages, practiced Force Blast on dummies and pulled up her strongest Force Shields, letting them run until she collapsed onto the ground, panting with the exertion. She did push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, and lifted weights. She ran two kilometers each day, making sure to heal her muscles after every bit of exercise. Were it not for the fact that her friends were just as she was--weird and obsessed with at least one topic--she would likely have never seen them. Instead she managed to gain even more friends. She met Initiate Vokara Che while looking for medical texts in the archives. She developed a better relationship with Master Bulq after requesting that they meditate together following a training session, something that became a regular occurrence. She took apart droids and built them back together with Kazadan Paratus, sparred (and usually lost) with Mace Windu, and studied the multitude of cultures found throughout the galaxy with Kirana. Between this she attended her classes, easily soaking in the knowledge thanks to her Learning Prodigy perk. A single explanation was enough for her to understand, and thanks to her System-improved memory there was little she forgot. To test her concentration she often studied or meditated in the eating hall, just to make sure she could focus in the din of battle. After all, such a fate was almost inescapable for a Jedi and the System had threatened they wanted an interesting story.

Quest: Trillion Downloads Completed!

Sell one trillion copies of your book

Rewards: 5,000 experience points, famous author status

Bonus Quest: Get reviewed by 3 major news outlets

Bonus Reward: 500 experience points

Bonus Quest: Reach 100 billion sales of your second book

Bonus Reward: 500 experience points, second book gets reviewed by all major outlets

Experience Points: 13,951/9,000

Level: 9 → 10

Age: 11 (Happy birthday!)

Vital Statistics:

Strength: 13 (+6 Togorian) = 19

Agility: 15 (+6 Togorian) = 21

Vitality: 16 (+6 Togorian +2 Underdweller) = 24

Intellect: 24 (+10 Learning Prodigy +2 Improved Memory +1 Technology Adept) = 37

Will: 32 (+10 Force Prodigy) = 42

Charisma: 26 (+1 Noble Lineage) = 27

Luck: 13 (+5 Lucky) = 18

It was odd, Ali’ya thought, that she knew her birthday solely because of the System. Her family had celebrated it, but the depths of Coruscant used a different calendar from those at the top, the Standardization Act of 273 ARR never reaching below the 2,000th level. She had little doubt that in the depths of Alsakan there still existed those who used calendar systems from before the Republic’s founding. Some on Coruscant used the ancient Zhell calendar, based off of stars that they never saw.

While she had turned eleven, the Temple would not recognize her as such for another two months. She had been five when she arrived, and the Temple used that day as her birthday. She had no objections, for she enjoyed being able to separate the day when she arrived in this world, to her family, from the day she arrived at the temple. Both were important to her, in admittedly very different ways. Soon she would be eligible to be a padawan, and to take the Initiate Trials, which were to be held in five months.

Ali’ya was certain she’d be ready for them. She’d been training after all, and Master Dooku said that her skills were, “Not as infantile as your fellow initiates.” From Master Dooku that was high praise indeed.

Chapter Text

The Initiate Trials were, on the face of it, simple. Far less dangerous than the Gathering, the Initiate Trials were not a test by the Force--a higher and sometimes uncaring power--but rather one set by the Jedi Order to examine the commitment, dedication, and abilities of the Initiates. The first trial was one of commitment. The initiates were to recite the Jedi Code perfectly, from memory. It was not a difficult task in and of itself and the main goal of it--at least so far as Ali’ya could figure out--was not the actual completion of the task, but the ability of the observing Jedi Masters to peer into the minds of the initiates and discover who was actually willing and able to uphold such a code. Had she been her body’s age, Ali’ya would likely have failed this task. There was much of the Code she did not agree with. There is no Emotion, there is Peace. The first and perhaps stupidest of the lines. Emotion and peace were not opposites. True peace came from accepting one’s feelings and circumstances. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. This one she actually agreed with. In a galaxy-wide society, where information could be found at the push of a button, ignorance was a willful act. One could not know everything, of course, but one must always be willing to learn. There is no passion, there is serenity. Ali’ya hated that line. What is life without passion, without joy and excitement? Passion for peace was what ended wars, passion for life and care fed people, passion--there was no life without passion. There is no chaos, there is harmony. The first fully religious tenant of the Jedi Code. The belief that all was the Will of the Force, and therefore within the chaos of the universe there was a hidden harmony. Perhaps. Ali’ya had some skepticism. There is no death, there is the Force . Given what the movies showed of Yoda and Obi-Wan’s death, that seemed likely. In this galaxy death was followed by joining with the Force, where one might be able to retain some individuality depending on how they arrived.

Had Ali’ya truly been eleven years old, her doubts and skepticism would have been obvious. Instead she concealed such feelings, allowing only a vague sense of doubt to rise to the surface as the Jedi Masters observed her.

The second trial of the Initiates was one of dedication. Two hours of meditation was a difficult task for most, let alone for children. Only a truly dedicated child (or one who fully absorbed their lessons about meditation trances) would be able to sit still for that long. It was rare that someone outright failed the second trial, but fidgeting was common and a lack of focus was--from what Ali’ya had read in past Council reports about the Initiate Trials--often viewed as sufficient reason to keep someone at the initiate level for a while. Ali’ya passed with ease. So too did she pass the third trial, the one of skill. Though perhaps ability was a better descriptor. The third trial involved lifting a series of objects with the Force. Some were light, some were heavy. Some deceptively so. Some were large, or small, or in blocks and spheres and varying shapes. They lifted them, rotated them, and set them back as neatly as they could. To some it was an easy test, their natural Force abilities allowing them to coast by. Others had to press themselves hard to pass, but pass they usually did. A few rare people, Kirana being one of them, were forced to fully open themselves to the Force in order to find the power to lift the objects. At the lower end of the Jedi’s accepted midichlorian count, Kirana’s abilities were focused more on finesse and academics than fighting or brute strength in the Force. While Kirana passed--if only barely--Ali’ya coasted by, floating all objects simultaneously before setting them down exactly as they had been.

In addition to the three formal trials, there was an unofficial fourth trial. The Temple Apprentice Tournament. Those who passed the Trials were invited to compete in the tournament. With Knights and Masters alike coming to watch the tournament, it was an opportunity few turned down. Even Kirana, who had little interest in the blade besides passing her classes, agreed to compete.

With an age range of eleven to fourteen, nearly everyone expected the older children to win. They had longer to study, greater maturity, and usually greater physical abilities than their younger counterparts. Ali’ya, however, felt confident. Her maturity was greater than her physical age might indicate, she had made great progress in both Makashi and Soresu. And she was Togorian, something that came with its own advantages. At eleven she was roughly equal to an adult human in both agility and strength, something that gave her an advantage over nearly every other competing initiate.

Most initiates--nearly all of them in truth--used Ataru. The form was strong, fast, aggressive, and entertaining. The flips and jumps were fun and energetic. For all Ali’ya did not care for the form, she could see why so many children (and adult children) liked it. It was also meant for someone of about human-child size. Designed in part to compensate for the small bodies and shorter limbs of Aleena the form involved acrobatics, flexibility, and Force-enhanced strength. For children it was a well-matched form--when their eagerness could be tempered. Ali’ya met them head-on with Soresu, the Endurance Form. She deflected their strong attacks, pivoted when they jumped around her, took small steps as they hopped about. She let the children tire themselves out against her impenetrable defense. Then, when they were exhausted, she lashed out with the precise thrusts and slashes of Makashi, cutting through hastily assembled parries and adjusting her attack vectors as they tried to move out of the way. Her efforts were far from flawless--she knew for a fact that Mace would have found a way through her defenses, damned prodigy that he was--but she was good, by padawan standards. By initiate standards she easily stood out, though it seemed the knights and masters were paying as much attention to her relentless patience as to her skills.

In the tournament’s final bout Ali’ya was pitted against Ug’otor, a Wookiee initiate. Perhaps the only one in the tournament stronger than her, Ug’otor was also older, having just turned thirteen. While he too favored Ataru he was much more adept at it, mixing in more economical attacks from Djem So as he battered through the defenses of his opponents. Strong and skilled at Soresu as she was, Ali’ya would prefer not to spend an hour fending off his attacks. So, when the bout began, she made a surprising move. Rather than wait she lunged, Force Dashing across the open floor of the Salle. She attacked swiftly and brutally, Force-enhanced limbs knocking aside Ug’otor’s blade before her wrists pivoted. She halted, panting, the plasma blade held against Ug’otor’s neck.

“Match, Initiate Ali’ya,” the battlemaster declared. Ali’ya bit back a smile, and deactivated her lightsaber. Ug’otor glared at her.

“The only reason I acted so fast is because of how good you are,” Ali’ya said in an attempt to prevent ill feelings. “I could probably defend against your Ataru and Djem So, but I’d be covered in bruises. So I took a risk.”

It paid off, Ug’otor signaled in Dai Bendu hand sign. I had hoped to test myself against you.

“Another time,” Ali’ya replied. “I could do with some practice defending against those physically stronger than myself.”

Of which I am one.

“In our age group? Perhaps the only one,” Ali’ya giggled.

Another time then, Ug’otor signed. He sighed. I had hoped to attract Master Tyvokka’s attention.

“He has retired from taking apprentices,” Ali’ya stated. “Perhaps you should consider his last apprentice, Knight Plo Koon?”

Perhaps, Ug’otor signed, looking over at the Kel Dor inquisitively.

“I, uh, have another question,” Ali’ya said. “Would you mind teaching me Shiirywook? It’s a fascinating language, but I haven’t been able to learn much by reading about it and for obvious reasons I’d prefer a native speaker to a tutor.”

I’d love to, Ug’otor signed, delight flashing brilliantly in the Force. Perhaps you can teach me your language as well?

“It would be a pleasure.”

A hand clapped her on the shoulder, and Ali’ya was glad she’d shed most of her adrenaline already. The calm peace of the Temple replaced the excitement of battle and so, instead of reaching for her blade, she turned.

“That was impressive fighting, young one.” Ali’ya smiled up at Master Bulq. “Yet it was what you did after that impressed me the most.”

“Master?” Ali’ya asked.

“Though I am primarily known for my skill with a blade, such warlike actions should never be the sole focus of a Jedi,” Master Bulq said, smiling. “Battles are sometimes necessary. War is sometimes necessary. But what happens when the fighting is over, when the dust is settled, matters far, far more. This could very well have ended with Initiate Ug’otor carrying a grudge against you. Instead, you have managed to exchange lessons, and point him towards a more likely Master.”

Ali’ya followed Master Bulq’s finger, pointing across the room. Already taller than Knight Koon, Ug’otor’s eyes were wide as he listened to Shyriiwook being spoken from behind the rebreather. He responded in kind, and though Ali’ya could not understand the language (yet) she could feel the hope-eager-happiness that floated between them.

“I hope it works out for him,” Ali’ya said. “Knight Koon seems a good match for him. They are both so eager and caring in the Force.”

“A common trait among Tyvokka’s lineage,” Master Bulq said. “I did not come here to speak of young Ug’otor’s padawanship, but rather yours. Initiate Ali’ya, would you do me the honor of being my padawan leaner?”

Ali’ya stared up at him. She’d thought. She’d hoped, perhaps. She knew that in the old canon Sora Bulq would fall. She knew he might bring her with him. But he was so kind, so thoughtful, so good at teaching and willing to listen. She didn’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Quest: Time to Learn Completed!

Have a Jedi take you as their Padawan Learner

Rewards: 4,000 experience points

Bonus Quest: Be taken as a Padawan by one of the High Councilors Failed

Bonus Quest: Be taken as a Padawan by a Jedi Master

Rewards: People will respect you more for who your master is

Quest: Top of the Heap Completed!

Win the Initiates Tournament

Rewards: 2,000 experience points

Bonus Quest: Win your final match without suffering a hit

Rewards: +2 Agility, 500 experience points

Chapter Text

Ali’ya spent the first year as a padawan in the Temple. It made a certain amount of sense, though Ali’ya had half-expected to be sent on a mission immediately, as happened to so many Star Wars protagonists. Instead her new teacher-- she may have to call him Master publicly, but the word still sat ill on her tongue --insisted that she first finish her schooling. Not that Ali’ya objected. At eleven she was young for a padawan, and that came with vulnerability regardless of her personal skills. Besides, there was still so much to learn! Jedi never truly stopped learning (nor did anyone else) but Ali’ya would like to take advantage of her youthful mental plasticity while she could. Not only that, but as she read she continued to discover new skills. Military leadership, military planning, topology, theoretical mathematics--the full list was no doubt as endless as the breadth of Galactic knowledge. It was one thing to know that she could never learn everything and quite another to see it written so plainly before her.

For the most part, Ali’ya’s schedule remained the same as ever. On Primeday she had private lightsaber lessons with Master Bulq and studied medicine with Initiate Che. On Centaxday she sparred with Mace and took apart droids with Kazdan. On Taungsday she had private Force lessons with Master Bulq and lightsaber lessons with Master Dooku, or another Makashi master when the vaunted Consular was unavailable. On Zhellday she studied cultures with Kirana and took Shyriiwook lessons from Ug’otor. On Benduday she had private lessons--sometimes Force and sometimes lightsaber and sometimes neither--with Master Bulq and taught Ug’otor Togorian. Also on Zhellday she had Cathar martial arts lessons with Knight Juhai when they were in the temple, which was about half the time. Additionally she had classes every day, alternating between A-blocks (Astronavigation, Galactic Geography, History, and Teras Kasi) and B-blocks (Dai Bendu, Jedi Philosophy, Lightsaber Combat--unfortunately Ataru, since Ali’ya had yet to meet the minimum proficiency requirements in the form--and a free block). Most of her free blocks, previously spent in the Archives, were now spent with Master Bulq.

“Ease yourself into it,” Master Bulq said, his deep voice interrupting Ali’ya’s internal monologue. “The Force will not depart.”

Ali’ya did not respond, instead doing her best to follow his words. Despite her high skill level, she paled compared to the meditative ability of her teacher.

“Like floating upon a pond of infinite water,” Master Bulq continued. “Trust the Force to catch you. To support you.”

Not unlike hypnosis, Ali’ya thought. Only instead of retracting, I reach out. She breathed and breathed out. She leaned back, her mind relaxing. She dropped, landing with a slight splash on the waves of the force.

“Open your eyes.”

The sight was blinding. Thousands of bright signatures, warm and welcoming, danced among themselves. Billions--trillions--more sat beneath them, pale and wan in comparison yet gleaming with life nonetheless. Formless, sightless, brilliant in a way she could not voice. The greatest of flowers, the grandest of buildings paled in comparison to the delightful display of life. In her past life the ceilings of the Alhambra had been one of her most beloved sights. Yet they seemed an ill-fitting description compared to the heavenly display before her.

“You see. Yet you do not. Let yourself float.”

Ali’ya banished her thoughts. She did not reach out. She dropped her shields, her thoughts, her interiority. She trusted the Force.

Armored men standing in a line, dug deep into the ground. Lasers flew around them and from them. OYA! they cried, and rushed forth.

Tall creatures with blades for hands dug into a breakfast of giant eggs. In the fields below, sharp-featured creatures in chains wept.

A child with a desperate cough lay, pale and faint, in the bed. A worried mother turned aside only to hide her own cough.

A farm--

“Ali’ya?”

Ali’ya blinked. She stared at his vibrant presence in the Force.. “M-Master Bulq?”

“You collapsed, Padawan,” her teacher explained, his presence in the Force retreating behind powerful shields.

“I--” Ali’ya tried to push herself up. Her arms were weak. Weaker than they’d ever been in this life, as if all her muscles had been pulled and exhausted.

“Easy,” Master Bulq said, gently helping her up. Ali’ya stood on uneasy feet, leaning heavily against her teacher as he helped her to the couch.

“I saw things,” Ali’ya said. “War, I think. Elsewhere, slavery. A disease?”

“Do you remember anything else?” Master Bulq asked, his voice gentle and eyes intense.

“Mandalore. Something to do with Mandalore.”

Master Bulq hummed. “What do you know of Mandalore?”

“Historically or the current situation?”

“Current situation,” Master Bulq clarified.

“The Clans hold most of the power,” Ali’ya began. “The centralized state, under the Mand’alor, was destroyed during the Dral’han, an unprovoked attack launched by the Republic against Jedi advice. The planet is almost uninhabitable with most living either in the domed-cities built by the Kalevalan faction or the small habitable area around Keldabe. With the central state destroyed and investment desperately needed for rebuilding, the largest and wealthiest Clans swiftly gained power. Among them were House Kryze, currently the leaders of the disarmament New Mandalorian faction, who grew wealthy due to their expertise in building on the toxic deserts of Kalevala, something that became desperately needed on Mandalore proper. They are opposed by the Traditionalists. Historically led by House Vizsla--the heirs of the Jedi-Mand’alor Tarre Vizsla--the Traditionalists have recently had a split between those who seek to revive Mandalore as an empire and those who seek to focus on internal matters. The Haat’ade are the largest faction of moderates, supporting Jaster Mereel’s reformist Supercommando Codex. The Kyr’tsad, Death Watch, are the second-largest, who hold that the Vizslas remain the true Mand’alors and follow a more strict and traditional interpretation of the Mandalorian code. Most of the traditionalists have remained neutral while both the Haat’ade and the Kyr’tsad veer towards war.”

“You are better informed than I anticipated,” Master Bulq mused.

“Togoria has long been an ally of Mandalore,” Ali’ya justified. “We managed to hold off the Taung, unlike many.”

“Yes,” Master Bulq agreed. “I remember Jocasta saying something like that during her study of Taung culture. If you wish to learn more, I would recommend speaking to her.”

“Yes, master.”

“You are aware of the situation on Mandalore,” Master Bulq continued. “You have knowledge. You have seen with the Force. What is your conclusion? What do you feel the Force wishes for you?”

“War will break out soon,” Ali’ya declared. “If it has not already. I know not what the Force desires for me.”

“There is no shame in admitting a lack of knowledge,” Master Bulq said gently. “Only shame in refusing to learn. You will need to learn more about the situation on Mandalore, and its history. Now, your next vision. You said you saw slavery?”

“I--I think so,” Ali’ya said hesitantly. “The vision seems so much blurrier.”

“Closer your eyes,” Master Bulq ordered. “Think on what you remember. Reach for the Force, ask it to open your eyes once more.”

Ali’ya breathed in.

Maroon skin.

Ali’ya breathed out.

A screaming woman, clutching eggs to her chest.

Ali’ya breathed in.

A tall creature slashed with bladed arms. The mother fell, and the being took the egg.

Ali’ya breathed out.

A dinner, well-spiced and enjoyed. Peace-content-happiness. The desert was brought out. Pale pink eggs.

Ali’ya opened her eyes.

“They’re killing them,” she said, breaths coming sharp and rapid. “I--they’re eating them .”

“Who?” her master’s rough tone calmed her. They would do something about this.

“Tall creatures,” Ali’ya said. “Bladed arms.” It rang a bell, something she remembered reading from her old life. Grievous. He had a reason for hating the Jedi, they had sided against his people. Something important. “I don’t know who they are, but they’re on Kalee. They’re eating Kaleesh eggs.”

“You are certain it is Kalee?”
“I am.”

Master Bulq nodded sharply. “Ordinarily we would report such a belief to the High Council,” he said. “However in recent years they have become . . . prejudiced, shall we say, against visions. They will not believe you.”

“We can’t do nothing!” Ali’ya exclaimed, the Force crying in outrage.

“We will act,” Master Bulq promised. “Not all Jedi Masters are ignorant of the Unifying Force. Master Dooku, for instance. His eldest friend has often had dark visions. If there is anyone who will know how to check on Kalee while skirting around the High Council, it is him.”

Ali’ya started to stand, her legs feeling slightly more secure.

“Not yet, Padawan,” Master Bulq interrupted. “We still have one more vision to view.”

“Master--”

“Such things cannot be rushed,” Master Bulq cut her off. “It will take time to organize such an expedition, and longer to plan the legal and political defense. Now, your third vision.”

“A cough, Master.”

“It was more than a cough. Think, apprentice. What about the cough seemed strange?”

“A child was coughing,” Ali’ya said. “The mother was too. Nothing seemed strange about it.”

“Hmm,” Master Bulq hummed. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you have not seen it yet. You will meditate on each of your visions in turn, Padawan. I, for now, must away to see Master Dooku. Are you able to be on your own.”

“Yes, Master.”

Chapter Text

Quest: First Mission!

Complete your first mission

Reward: 3,000 experience points

Failure: -2,000 experience points

Quest: Savior

Save Kaleesh eggs from being eaten.

Reward: 10 experience points per egg, impress the Kaleesh

Failure: Possible death and maiming

Quest: Grievous Wrongs

Prevent the Huk War from happening

Reward: 500 experience points, General Grievous does not emerge

Failure: -500 experience points, General Grievous will take part in the Clone Wars

The damaged freighter settled down with a disturbing thunk . Ali’ya hid a wince. For all that actually flying--and being the one to chart their hyperspace routes--had improved her abilities she knew fixing whatever was wrong with the engines was beyond her.

“We may have to seek another way off-planet.” Evidently her Master had reached the same conclusion.

“There’s a lot of ships here.”

“More than I would have guessed, for such a remote world,” Master Bulq said. “Tell me padawan, what do you feel.”

Ali’ya closed her eyes, reaching out with the Force. She brushed against ice, against fire, against impotent and righteous rage. Greed sat atop the pile, placing itself alongside gluttony at the head of an unholy table. “Darkness,” Ali’ya said. “Suffering.”

“The sentients aboard these ships may not be willing,” Master Bulq said quietly. “I had hoped for some time before you saw such evils--”

“I was born in the underworld of Coruscant,” Ali’ya cut in. “I have seen slavery before.”

“Ah. Yes. In that case, we should be off before the port officials notice our delay.” True to her master’s words, a tall insectoid official paced in front of their ship. Wearing ornate silks covered by exhaust and dust, the Yam’rii clicked at them.

“Your documents,” they demanded.

“Here,” Master Bulq said, handing over a holoprojection.

“Captain Quay?”

“That is me,” Master Bulq agreed. His voice was calm though the flexing muscle in his jaw belied his tension. After more than a year as his Padawan, Ali’ya was familiar with her master’s disdain for his people’s religion.

“Rated for foodstuffs and ores,” the official continued. “Not much of that here, unless you’re talking special cargo.”

“I fail to see what business that is of yours.”

“Watch your tongue!” the Yam’rii spat back. “If you wish to leave my port with those eggs you will give me the respect I deserve!”

“Of course,” Master Bulq offered. The Yam’rii seemed to take that as an apology. Ali’ya knew better.

Eggs? Master Bulq passed through their bond.

Let us hope my vision was wrong, Ali’ya passed back. She knew it wasn’t. Perhaps he can guide us to the warehouse?

“I am unfamiliar with this spaceport,” Master Bulq continued. “Might I ask you to point me in the right direction for the eggs? I would of course be willing to compensate you.”

“No credits.”

“Of course not,” Master Bulq gave a false smile. “Hutt currency.”

The Yam’rii sneered, but accepted the gold coins. “That way,” he said. Pointing towards the far end of the spaceport. “They’re kept in stasis, but it fades once they’re out of the building. And don’t grab more than you bought. I don’t want to have to clean up after another execution.”

That was surprisingly easy, Ali’ya thought, staring at the rows upon rows of Kaleesh eggs.

It is far from over, Master Bulq reminded her. Nor is this sufficient proof.

What? Ali’ya thought incredulously. How can it not be? We have proof of their selling sentient eggs!

They could claim it was part of an adoption scheme, Master Bulq replied. The excuse has worked before.

But--

Patience, Padawan. Our mission is not yet over.

Ali’ya nodded hesitantly. We need to take as many as we can.

“Load up the cargo,” Master Bulq ordered, his pirate-captain persona reasserting itself. “I’ll ready the ship.” We’ll need something larger for these.

Perhaps the Barloz? Ali’ya suggested. She took hold of the hovercart and began placing pallets of eggs onto the cart. Each one weighted some three hundred pounds. Ali’ya, though strong for her age (even given her species) was not yet strong enough to manage such heft with ease. Instead she bolstered herself with the Force. Simply levitating them down would have been easier, but they could not out themselves as Jedi. Not yet.

The hovercart was full and she’d barely made a dent into the warehouse. She reached out with the Force, counting the number of lives-that-could-be. Twenty-eight thousand, three hundred four. Damn it, I need more time.

Why are you doing this? a sneaking voice asked. Is it truly for the lives that could be? Or is it just for the experience points?

Shut up, Ali’ya though, shoving away the unwanted presence. She searched for another hovercart. There were only two. Ali’ya loaded up the second one as quickly as she could. It was not enough. She would need to make multiple trips. There was no other option.

Hiding herself in the Force as best she could, Ali’ya took the two hovercarts from the warehouse. The guards--four Yam’rii in durasteel armor--paid her no attention. Neither did the port officials, though that meant she needed to open the gates herself. Walking ahead of her precious cargo, Ali’ya darted around the exhaust vents of ships and under cooling engines. She cut across the spaceport, making a beeline for the Barloz-class freighter.

Padawan, her master called out as she neared it. I have secured a ship. Modified HT-2200, by the exit closest to you. Quickly backtracking, Ali’ya nearly lost control over her cloak when she saw a half-dozen Yam’rii warriors marching across the port. Instead she froze, pulling the Force towards her and her protectees with desperation. They passed her by without a glance. The same could not be said for the Trandoshian who crossed their path. He had barely time to speak, stepping in front of the warriors, before being cut down by the Yam’rii’s bladelike limbs.

Ali’ya gulped, and swiftly headed towards the large ship her master commandeered. The design was simple. Blocky. Practically as far from aerodynamic as one could get. Yet, for long-range space travel it was excellent. The HT-2200 design was simple: a large, well-protected cockpit attached to two much larger rectangular prisms for cargo. If necessary the cockpit--which housed the life support, shields, engines, hyperdrive, and one of the two laser cannons--could be separated from the cargo holds, allowing for a swifter retreat. The ship, under its traditional design, was also slow, burdensome, poorly defended, expensive to maintain, and required a substantial amount of power. The modified HT-2200 before her had clearly solved some of those flaws. Additional--and superior--engines were added to the rear of the cargo holds. Eight additional laser cannons were bolted onto the hull, and if the Incom engines were any indication the power supply had likely been upgraded as well.

Tearing her eyes from the upgraded ship, Ali’ya sent a quick thought of open-please down her training bond. Not a minute later, she was pulling the two hovercarts into the first cargo hold. Activating the environmental controls to increase the air moisture--the only requirement she’d been able to find about Kaleesh eggs, since the species lived in Wild Space and took their privacy quite seriously--Ali’ya immediately began unloading the pallets of eggs, using the Force to move swiftly and carefully.

“Padawan?”

Ali’ya did not turn at the voice. She did not hesitate. She moved the last pallet off the first hovercart and moved to the second. “I need to make a second trip.”

“We don’t have time.”

At that Ali’ya turned, her eyes sharp and glaring. “We don’t have time?” She hissed incredulously. “There are eggs down there. They aren’t people yet, but they certainly don’t deserve to be eaten like--”

“Enough!” Master Bulq declared. His Force presence flared, age-experience-exasperation overwhelming her. Ali’ya took a step back. “The Yam’rii know we are here. If we wish to save any of the eggs, we must do so now.”

“Master--”

“Now, padawan.”

Ali’ya grimaced. It felt wrong. It was wrong. They were leaving behind thousands. Yet her master was also right. If the Yam’rii closed the spaceport it would all be for nothing.

“Where are we going?”

“Khedive.”

Ali’ya allowed herself to relax slightly. They had proof now. Maybe not enough for the Galactic Senate, but enough for the Kaleesh. With the planet still under their legal control, they could force the Yam’rii out.

Unless the Yam’rii fight , Ali’ya remembered, her mind drawn back to articles she’d once read about early British India. They have better armor, weapons, and ships. They are stronger. They have better connections with the outside world. But they are outnumbered. Force, please let that be enough.

Ali’ya sat down in the cargo hold and meditated. She reached for the Force, begging for comfort and assurance. She found some in the warm lights of the Force. Not what she wanted, for there were no guarantees in the future, but it was enough. For now, it had to be. So Ali’ya continued her meditation as they flew across the planet. It was only the Quest alert popping up that allowed Ali’ya to come to before they landed.

Quest: Savior Completed!

Save Kaleesh eggs from being eaten.

Reward: 10 experience points per egg, impress the Kaleesh. 2,400 eggs x 10 experience =24,000 experience points

Bonus Quest: Leave the spaceport without being detected

Bonus Reward: +50 Stealth, + 50 Force Cloak

Bonus Quest: Save more than 1,000 eggs

Bonus Reward: +10 to Charisma when interacting with Kaleesh

Bonus Quest: Save more than 10,000 eggs Failed

Bonus Quest: Save all 28,000+ eggs in the warehouse Failed

One of the quests might be over, but the mission wasn’t. Ali’ya did not have a good feeling for how that would bode.

Chapter Text

Intellectually, Ali’ya knew that war was terrible. That people died, that everyone and everything suffered. That knowledge did little to prepare her for the reality.

The Khagan--the chief military leader of the Kaleesh--had been outraged by what they revealed. She had called a meeting of the Eight Khans, something that happened only once a decade. It took two weeks for them all to arrive but less than a day to declare war. The Huk, as they named the Yam’rii, had gone far beyond mere treaty violations. They had enslaved, murdered, and eaten the Kaleesh all while under their nominal protection. The call to arms was loud, echoing across the Force. That night, the bombing began.

It started with air raid sirens that rang through the capital. Millions of Kaleesh fled for their basements and more heavily built buildings. The Kolkpravis--the elite warriors of the Kalee, led by the Khagan and the Eight Khans--rushed to their ships. They were many in number and low in quality, the bulk of them being surplus Republic goods dating back centuries or ships captured during the Bitthævrian War. The Yam’rii, though much fewer in number, possessed modern ships equipped with the most recent weapons. A combination of Freefall-bomber and K-44 Starfighters (neither of which the Yam’rii should have been able to purchase) arrived as the old Delta-5 interceptors were being scrambled. Both sides were supported by a variety of retrofitted cargoships, small corvettes, and pleasure vessels with lasers bolted on. The large freighter Master Bulq stole was one of the best-armed ships on the planet, which meant they were required in the air.

Master Bulq would, of course, be flying. Though it was far from his speciality a Force-sensitive pilot was simply able to do more than their non-sensitive counterparts, and Master Bulq was considered a master of immediate precognition. Ali’ya acted as co-pilot while a team of Kaleesh where allowed onto the ship to crew the guns.

“You may leave if you wish, Padawan,” Master Bulq told her solemnly. “We do not have Republic approval. I will likely be censured for my actions here.”

Ali’ya stared at him. “Quite frankly,” she began, “I care far more for the lives of the Kaleesh than the opinions of the Senate. I am staying here.”

‘Then I am honored ot have you by my side. Keep your shields up, death in battle--especially one as large as this--is never a pleasant feeling.”

The first death did not come as a surprise. Ali’ya winced as the sudden cry in the Force battered against her shields, but she pushed through, monitoring the ship’s shields and moving power between the deflectors, engines, and weapons as needed. After the first the second did not take long, then the third, and the fourth, and so on, constantly battering her shields.

Then the bomb dropped. Three hundred pounds of compressed explosives, dropped onto a hospital. Three hundred forty-two deaths were felt immediately, and Ali’ya shield wavered. She could feel their pain, the Force’s pain, the malevolence that grew in the air around them. All three battered against her shields, forming a sharp pike that sought to puncture her mind. Ali’ya ignored the growing migraine and gritted her teeth. She took in a deep breath, pulling the Force around her. She set boundaries. She kept the Force a healthy distance from her. Not so far that it could not aid her, but not so close that the cries of pain were overwhelming.

“Incoming on the portside bow!” Ali’ya flipped a series of dials just as Master Bulq dove down towards the city. The rear shields caught the bulk of the explosion.

“One of the cargo holds is damaged,” Ali’ya reported.

“Lose it.”

“Master--”

“I’ll take us over the square, drop it on my command.

“Yes Master.”

“Three, two, NOW!”

“Dropped!”

The freighter turned sharply, the sudden shift in momentum far more than the internal stabilizers were meant to deal with. Ali’ya and Master Bulq held on with the Force, but the rest were thrown against the straps of their seatbelts. Those foolish enough not to wear them were hurtled towards the wall as Master Bulq began another attack run as a wing of bombers came into view.

The air battle lasted three days. By the end of the first, Ali’ya was exhausted. By the end of the second she was dissociating, pain and exhaustion kept narrowly at bay as she took control of the ship, Master Bulq called to the street-level fighting after two legions of Yam’rii landed inside city limits and began slaughtering their way through the civilian population. At the end of the third day, when the Yam’rii forces suddenly decided to retreat as the Khagan and Master Bulq pushed their ground troops from Khedive, Ali’ya gladly collapsed, allowing the Force to take hold of her as she fell. She held her pain, her sorrow, her stress and grief and anger and rage. She presented them to the Force like a cat with a dead bird. The Force took them, and threw them away. It was not perfect. Ali’ya knew she would face worse before the war was over. Knew that these memories would come back to haunt her. But for now it was enough to keep moving.

The days that followed were filled with meetings. Ali’ya had little to contribute. The same was not true for her Master, who had already seen two planet-wide conflicts though this was the first he’d had to help command. The Kaleesh knew their planet and their people well and were able to gather a truly astounding amount of intelligence regarding their enemies. But they lacked knowledge of how to deal with the Yam’rii’s advanced weaponry and technological superiority. Ali’ya watched from her master’s side as they Kaleesh and Sora Bulq debated tactics, strategy, and long-term plans.

“The Huk,” Master Bulq said, using the local term for the Yam’rii, “will soon gain total superiority over the skies. They are licking their wounds now, and we must take advantage of it.”

“A hasty attack is one that fails before it begins,” the Kaghan warned. “We cannot move too fast.”

“Nor too slow,” Khan Kaloa said. “We have yet to see the Huk’s full might. If we wish to advance at all, to free our people and our eggs, we must move soon.”

“How long?” the Kaghan asked.
“Two weeks to gather the men and supplies,” his Quartermaster replied. “Five million can make the advance.”

“Very well. We will attack along the entirety of the line. I will lead the center. Khan Orza, you will lead the true attack along the flank. When you approach, we will divert what fighters and bombers we can spare to you.”

“I will go with them as well,” Master Bulq declared. “You will need to break their lines swiftly to advance to the Huk’s capital, something the Force will be a great ally in.”

“Khan Edyo, you will supervise the defense of the capital,” the Kaghan said. “The Padawan can join you.”

“Master--”

“No,” Master Bulq cut off her protest. “I am not bringing a child onto a battlefield.”

“Well said,” Khan Edyo agreed. “I will ensure she is taken care of.”

“At least let me help with the wounded,” Ali’ya protested.

Master Bulq started at her, as if weighing her abilities against her self-restraint. “Very well,” he said. “But you are not allowed to over-exert yourself. Is that understood?”

“Yes master,” Ali’ya lied.

Chapter Text

The hospitals of Khedive had once been a gem upon the brow of Kalee. An interlocking system of care, with massive tunnels that allowed for transfer from one hospital to another without needing to deal with street-level traffic. Despite the Kaleesh’s nomadic tendencies (or perhaps because of them) the Kaleesh suffered few deaths to disease, malnutrition, or accident. The system had some of the lowest death rates in the galaxy, comparable to those of Alderaan (though admittedly the Khedive system needed to focus on a single species, as opposed to Alderaan’s more cosmopolitan population).

Most of that system was now ash. Hospitals had been the primary targets for hundreds of bombers during the three-day air battle, and far too many had been successful. While the tunnel system survived, it was the only thing that did. For a the first week after the army left, Ali’ya had done little other than clear rubble with the Force, helping the Kaleesh emergency workers gain access to the tunnels and their back-up supply stores. The more access points they had the better, since no one knew when the next attack would come. Even with the battlefield shifting away from the city there was a general feeling of unease.

It was only after that first week, when they deemed the tunnels sufficiently accessible and moved Ali’ya towards curing patients that they realized what she could do. In fairness, Ali’ya hadn’t realized it yet either. Apparently spending so much of her time healing up from exercise had a serious affect. Most--nearly all--medicine undertook the traditional steps of healing. With wounds, that was to stop the bleeding, allow inflammation so more nutrients could reach the area, and then slowly help regrow the cells. Ali’ya skipped over the first two entirely, regenerating cells as if they’d never died. The process was an intensive one, eating through the energy stores of the patient and often leaving them somewhere between peckish and ravenously hungry depending on the severity of the wound. The process alone was not perfect--and could be painful--but when combined with nutrition and saline drips Ali’ya managed to heal severe blood loss, organ damage, and traumatic brain injuries. The only thing she couldn’t do (yet, Ali’ya hoped) was regrow lost limbs or organs. If the body part in question was entirely destroyed or missing, there was only so much she could do. Ali’ya offered to ease the passing for some of those whose lungs were too damaged or whose livers and kidneys were entirely gone, but the Kaleesh healers quickly moved her on.

“This is war,” they told her in their lyrical tongue. “Better one unpleasant death than two comfortable ones.” Ali’ya nodded, unable to respond in their tongue and not having much of an argument. She was here to save lives, not take them. No matter what the System and it’s skewed rewards system (10 experience points for each saved Kaleesh, 100 experience points for each killed Yam’rii) said.

Two weeks passed, and the wounded the received were coming from further away. Too far for immediate care. Only those lucky enough to be around Master Bulq--who could force them into a stabilizing trance--or injured severely but not too severely were able to make it back. Ali’ya healed as many of them as she could. She tended to the wounds of the ever-growing civilian population of the city, expanded as millions rushed in as their traditional lands were turned into battlefields. She gave what little knowledge she had on epidemiology and helped install water purification systems throughout the city. Twice a week she used their stolen HT-2200 to carry food and medicine in from the southeastern continent, as of yet untouched by the war.

One month passed. Two months. The Huk were being pushed back to their colonial capital, the wounded told them. They were liberating slaves. Ali’ya saw very few of the liberated, who were quickly taken in by what mental health facilities remained. What rumors she heard of their enslavement made her weep as the Force curled around the words speaking, truth, truth, truth. Ali’ya shoved her concerns to the back of her mind. She returned to the hospital. She cured diseases, burned out infections, regrew skin, healed wounds, and repaired organs. She saved lives and ended the days with blood-covered hands, trying to focus on the ones she had saved rather than those she could not help.

The news from the front turned grim. They were pushing, but the Huk weren’t stepping back. They reached the colonial capital, only to find the entire city turned into a fortress. Every street, every building, every room on every floor was fought for. Some buildings were used to house secret caches of artillery while others sat filled with explosives, waiting for someone to try and search. The Huk fought like cowards, refusing to face the Kaleesh. Instead they planned ambushes in the streets, blade-like arms swinging out, cutting down a score of Kaleesh warriors before they could be brought down. It was an ugly war, but they were winning.

A strange noise startled her. Ali’ya jolted, leaving the amputation wound in a half-healed state of scarification. WHEE-OO! WHEE-OO!

“Air raid sirens,” Ali’ya though aloud. Why are they--why doesn’t matter. “Everyone get into the tunnels!” Ali’ya ordered, her force-enhanced voice booming through the temporary medical center. Those nearby winced and covered their ears. “Everyone into the tunnels!”

“The tunnels were closed off last time!” one patient protested.

“We’ll open them again!” Ali’ya shouted back. “Now go, we don’t have much--” Even Ali’ya couldn’t hear her next word through the rushing wind as a plane zoomed across the street.

“Bomb!”

“Bomb!”

Ali’ya turned, looking up for a split second. There was a bomb. A large bomb. It floated on the air as time still, sinking slowly towards the ground. Ali’ya acted without thinking. She felt protectiveness rise up inside her. These people were wounded. Injured. They were hers. Ali’ya pushed.

The tent flew up, torn from its moorings. With unexpected strength it caught the bomb, hurtling it higher into the air. The floating tent caught in the engine of a passing bomber. The bomber yanked the tent along with it. The tent yanked the bomb. The bomb hit the bomber. A noise like a sound cannon and bright blue and green flames across the sky.

“Move!” Ali’ya shouted, pulling herself from the confounding vision. “Now!”

Nurses, patients, visitors, and staff moved across the ground. Some rushed, others walked with speed but not panic. Nurses and healers carried patients on repulsorbeds and in stretchers, wheeled down amputees and lent shoulders to the hobbled. Ali’ya did not join them. Nor was she alone in staying aboveground, for some sixty Kaleesh remained as well.

“Where is the nearest anti-aircraft position?” Ali’ya asked the Kaleesh in his dark uniform.

“Three blocks down,” the Tarkhan answered.

“Good. All of you, remain with the wounded.”

“Ma’am--”

“We don’t know if the Huk are going to try another landing. If they do, the tunnels are where they’ll hit.”

“Agreed,” the Tarkhan spoke. “All off-duty warriors, with the wounded. On-duty and on-call, with me. How good are you with artillery?”

“I have little practice, but the Force guides my hand and I can see for miles,” Ali’ya replied, blinking her feline eyes.

“Hmph,” the Tarkhan grunted. “Move out! To Zeta-Oshk-Ten!”

Ali’ya had not been lying when she said the Force would guide her hand, or when she said she could see for miles. Yet she found herself cursing her aim more often than not, gaining more glancing shots and near-misses than true hits.

DANGER! The Force’s warning made the fur on her neck stand up. Ali’ya pivoted immediately, bringing the gun with her. Her eyes widened in terror. A capital ship--a true, purpose-built warship--was in orbit. Landing craft were being sent down.

“They’re attempting a landing!” Ali’ya shouted through the coms. “Capital ship in orbit, the landing craft are splitting up as they near!”

“All personnel, target the landing craft!” the voice of Khan Edyo demanded. “Repeat, target the landing craft.”

Ali’ya took aim once more. She hit, but all that did was show the craft’s shields. She hit again, and again, and again. Those beside her fired as well, slowly wearing away at the landing craft’s capabilities.

“It’s not enough,” Ali’ya realized. The anti-aircraft guns the Kaleesh had were meant for defense against fighter craft, pirates, and their nearby (and now defeated) foes. They were neither intended to nor capable of contesting the heavy shields of the landing craft--far stronger than Ali’ya remembered those models having. Not when the enemy had more ships than they had guns.

“Tarkhan,” Ali’ya said, leaping from her seat. “Get eight of your best gunners.”

“What?” the Tarkhan asked incredulously, lining up another shot. He fired, taking out one of the six engines.

“The freighter,” Ali’ya explained. “It has heavier guns than this. We can use it.”

The Tarkhan stared at her. “One ship?” he asked. “Against so many? We will not survive.”

The Force trilled with warning. Ali’ya ignored it. “We’ll die if they land.”

“Not necessarily,” the Tarkhan replied, a sharp smile taking over his face. “We let them land. Then we retrieve your ship, and tear through their landing craft and personnel.”

“The civilian casualties--”

“We’ve evacuated as many as we can,” the Tarkhan interrupted. “Welcome to war.”

Chapter Text

Quest: Battle for Khedive

Defend Khedive from the Yam’rii attack

Reward: 100 experience for each dead Yam’rii; 20 experience for each surviving Kaleesh. Note: Experience is shared with those who fight and survive the battle

Failure: Loss of Khedive, probable death

Quest: Attack Run

Use the freighter to attack the Yam’rii

Reward: 1,000 experience for each destroyed Yam’rii landing craft, 200 experience points for each destroyed Yam’rii fighter or bomber, 50 experience for each dead Yam’rii. Note: Experience is shared with your crew

Failure to try: Viewed as a coward by Tarkhan Qymaen jai Sheelal

Failure to complete: Likely death

Well, Ali’ya thought. You only die twice? Terrible joke.

“Now.” The Tarkhan--the possible future Grievous and half the reason Ali’ya was willing to take this jare’la mission--spoke in a way that brook no disagreement. Ali’ya, though nominally in command, did as ordered. The ship ascended swiftly. As soon as the artificial gravity was on Ali’ya pulled the ship into a vertical climb, soaring up, up, up above the battlefield. She turned, and looked through the viewport. She looked at the instruments. Most of all, she opened herself to the Force.

Bombers and fighters darted over the city. The giant Huk, so large and terrifying when standing face-to-face, looked like little more than ants. Ali’ya paused. She waited.

“What are you--”

The Force hummed, and Ali’ya dove. Through the clouds, through the waves of bombers. Then she tilted, shifting the entire ship onto its back as they zoomed across the city. Ali’ya slowed the engines as they neared, moving just fast enough to avoid getting pulled down by the planet’s gravity. She paid little attention to the shouts and calls of the gunners. She listened to the Force and her instruments, picking up speed just as a trio of fighters entered her scanning range. She pulled up, then down, spinning to face them and passing them by. As they flew her gunners took down two of the fighters. Ali’ya turned again, flying over Igman’s Square where three landing craft--shields down to allow swift disembarking--were torn apart by the powerful laser cannons.

A boom sounded as they pulled up, forcing Ali’ya to turn sharply or risk losing her shield to the buildings nearby.

“Gunners Three, Four, Five and Six! Focus on the ground. One, Two, Seven, Eight--focus on the air!” the Tarkhan ordered beside her. Ali’ya made a mental map of the gun placements, then spun allowing gunners three and five to open fire on the landing craft.

They all knew when it shifted. The bombers were no longer making their attack runs. The fighters were no longer flying escort. Everything in the sky was trying to kill them. The shields were falling. Ali’ya knew she didn’t have the skill to outfly this. She knew the gunners didn’t have the skill to shoot them all down.

Perhaps, she thought, mentally pulling up the Skills tab in the System. There is another way.

“Tarkhan!” Ali’ya shouted. “Take over!”

“What?” the Tarkhan demanded, swiftly taking over the controls. “What are you--”

Ali’ya ignored him. She ignored the sounds of the pounding on shields, ignored the flare of lasers and the scent of sweat and plasma. She reached out to the Force, desperate and hopeful. The Force reached back. It pulled her up, through the waters of grief and dissociation. She stood upon its watery surface and peered down. Bright lights, brilliant lights. Burning orange and envious green, passionate light and fierce bright the Huk and the Kaleesh stood in the Force.

Ali’ya stepped carefully. For all the system seemed to work, she was hesitant to trust it in her desperate hour. But she had no other choice. She moved, reaching gently forth. She tapped the Tarkhan’s shields. She felt his confusion, and eased it, sending it into the depths of the Force. She felt his unease, his nerves, and soothed them. She guided his hands, lending him a bit of her strength, of her instincts and knowledge. He moved faster, before the starfighters opened fire. She moved down the ship. At each station she asked the gunners for entry, and each time soothed them. She helped them relax, helped them find their confidence, their determination. Their knowledge of what they must do.

Ali’ya did not stop at the ship, though most of her power rested there. Gingerly she descended, keeping her power and focus upon the ship. Yet she could spare a bit more of her self, and so reached the anti-aircraft gunners. She linked them with the gunners, linked them with each other. They knew where to aim, when to provide covering fire and when to aim for the engines.

Ali’ya panted, struggling for breath as she connected the last of the gunners. Yet she knew it wasn’t enough. How could it be, when she could still feel the dying lights? So she reached again, spreading herself thinner still. She joined with the artillery, with the soldiers and medics and civilians and--

Rest child.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Quest: Battle for Khedive Completed!

Defend Khedive from the Yam’rii attack

Reward: 100 experience for each dead Yam’rii (255,368); 20 experience for each surviving Kaleesh (8,995,489). Note: Experience is shared with those who fight and survive the battle (3,544,614). Your share is 58 experience points.

Bonus Quest: Earn the respect of Tarkhan Qymaen jai Sheelal

Reward: A new ally (Tarkhan  Qymaen jai Sheelal), 500 experience points

Bonus Quest: Prevent the Yam’rii from landing Failed

Quest: Attack Run Completed!

Use the freighter to attack the Yam’rii

Reward: 1,000 experience for each destroyed Yam’rii landing craft (89), 200 experience points for each destroyed Yam’rii fighter or bomber (211), 50 experience for each dead Yam’rii (3,704). Note: Experience is shared with your crew of ten. Your share is 31,640 experience points.

Bonus Quest: Keep all of your crew alive

Reward: Earn the respect of Tarkhan Qymaen jai Sheelal

Bonus Quest: Keep the freighter intact

Reward: +40 piloting (ships, medium), continued use of the ship

Level: 13 → 16

Experience Points: 45,648/13,000 → 3,648/16,000

Current Quests:

Noble Lineage: Find out your noble ancestry

Revenge: Find out who killed your parents and avenge them

Equal Sequel: Publish a sequel that sells a trillion copies

Master Before Your Time (Force): Increase one of your Force skills to Master: 1 before being knighted

Master Before Your Time (Lightsaber): Increase one of your Lightsaber skills to Master: 1 before being knighted

Research Master: Increase at least one of your technology or knowledge skills to Master: 1

Padawan, but Older: Become a Senior Padawan

Knighthood: Become a Jedi Knight

Skill Quests: Choose to elaborate

Ali’ya blinked. Her vision was fuzzy, but they won? They’d won. The quest alerts had to be that accurate at least. Ali’ya tried to sit, up, then groaned, falling back. Her hands gripped her skull. It was painful as her worst migraines back on Earth. She whimpered.

“She’s awake!”

“She’s in pain,” another voice hushed. “Where--”

“Migraine,” Ali’ya gritted out, then realized she didn’t know what those were called in Kaleesh. “Uh, half-head pain?”

“Ah, golka ,” the voice said. “Injection or pill?”

“Which is stronger?”

“Injection,” the voice said. Ali’ya nodded, then found a sharp pain between her shoulders. She relaxed suddenly. The pain wasn’t gone, but it was easing. Her shoulders relaxed.

“We--”

“We won,” the voice--Healer Arrin--confirmed. “Yesterday. Baatar Sheelal said you passed out?”

“Overextended myself,” Ali’ya explained. “Force stuff.”

“Like that second week in the hospital tents.”

Ali’ya groaned. “You’re never going to let me forget about it.”

“Not until you’ve learned your lesson at least. Now get some rest. We’ll be needing your help, once you’re up to it.”

“How many--”

“After you rest.”

Chapter Text

Ali’ya stared at the holo-projection. Kalee floated in pale blue light, red dots highlighting Huk strikes and strongholds.

“They are attacking our ability to feed ourselves,” Khan Melumor noted.

“They know their capital is lost,” the Khagan agreed. “They will bleed us for it, but to remain in control is no longer their goal. They seek to wound us, to starve us for food and medicine. Then, when we are weak, they will strike again. We cannot let this happen.”

“Your fleets are not strong enough to contest the Yam’rii cruiser,” Master Bulq warned.

“They must be,” the Khagan replied.

“Not if we seek allies,” Ali’ya interjected.

“Allies?” Baatar Sheelal scoffed. With the death of Khan Edyo during the Battle of Khedive, the former Tarkhan was now in command of the capital garrison, hence the title of Baatar. “We have no allies. The Jedi refuse to send aid. The Republic, for all that we fought a war for them, refuses to take a stance.”

“It is for the best if the Republic does not intervene,” Master Bulq warned. “The Trade Federation has much power in the Senate, and our research indicates that they rely heavily on the Yam’rii for ores and exotic materials. If the Senate were to intervene, it would not be to our benefit.”

“Which is why we must seek allies outside of the Republic.”

“Mercenaries are expensive,” Master Bulq warned.

“I know Master,” Ali’ya replied. “I am able and willing to bear the cost.”

“More soldiers are well and good,” Khan Orza said. “But the problem is with our fleet, is it not? How can mercenaries aid us with that?”

Master Bulq’s sigh filled the call. “Why do I get the feeling I will hate your answer?” he asked.

“Because you know me so well,” Ali’ya smiled innocently. “Khagan, esteemed Khans. Do I have your permission to negotiate with mercenaries to secure a fleet and shock troops for the war?”

“Granted,” the Khagan agreed. “All negotiations will, of course, be reviewed before being signed. You have permission to negotiate.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Seeing multiple Clan heads at once was not unusual. Mandalorians liked to move around, and even the most tied-down of Clan leaders tended to travel at least a few times a year. They ran into each other in Keldabe, on jobs across the galaxy, in black markets and during competitions. They met each other outside Mandalore’s few remaining academies, where their children studied and bonded.

What was unusual was seeing so many of them. Nearly all of them, at least among those who had yet to take a side between Mereel and Vizsla. There were Count Wren and Countess Itera, who leaned towards Kyr’tsad. There were Counts Eldar and Sharrat, who--though yet to take a side--favored the Haat’ade. There was Duke Kryze, who increasingly shared ties with the Evaar’ade, and Countess Gedyc who shared a similar position. Perhaps most strange of all was the man who had called the meeting. Nam Beroya, the head of Clan Awaud who held a position of staunch neutrality, though his disdain for the Evaar’ade was clear for all to see.

“Enough is enough Bralor,” Count Sharrat huffed, his buy’ce off and on the table. “Why are we here?”

“Perhaps it is best if I let her explain,” Count Awaud said, and pressed a button on the holoprojector. Immediately the blue light gathered, displaying a young Togorian. “Su’cuy, Mando’ade,” the projection declared. “ Ner gai Ali’ya of Coruscant. I send this message to you with a plea and an offer. Currently there is a war on the planet Kalee, between the invading Huk--whom the galaxy know as the Yam’rii--and the native Kaleesh. The war began when it was discovered that the Huk were keeping Kaleesh slaves and using their eggs as delicacies.”

“WHAT?” Count Sharrat exclaimed, forcing Count Beroya to pause the message.

“Hutuun’yc demagolka,” Count Wren sneered. “Where is this planet?”

“Wild Space,” Count Beroya stated, appearing calm to all but those who knew him well. Though this was the fourth time he’d heard the message it never got easier. “Just past Muun space.”

“Not too far then,” Duke Kryze noted. “I assumed the rest of the message is an offer for our support?”

“Perhaps we might let the message play out,” Count Eldar suggested, and Count Beroya let the message continue.

“--using their eggs as delicacies. Currently we have been able to regain control of the planet, but lack the capacity to challenge their cruiser in orbit, or to prevent their bombing runs on the planet’s hospitals and farms. That is why I sent this message to you, the Clan Leaders of Mandalore. I can only hope that your desire to protect the young will outweigh your hatred of the Jedi, of which I and my teacher--Jedi Master Sora Bulq--are members. We came to this planet to investigate the rumors of slavery and, upon our discovery of the truth, took the findings to the Khans and Khagan of the Kaleesh. We have ever since been a part of the war effort. We are unable to ask for support from the Republic due to the interference of the Trade Federation. The offer is simple: I am willing to pay each Mando’ade who joins the fight against the demagolkase Huk a hundred thousand credits per year. I will pay an additional quarter-million credits per year for each warship larger than a light freighter. Lastly, for those who join within the next two months and remain until the end of the war, I will pay a million credits. While I am sure Republic Credits are not your favored means of currency, I hope the amount will assuage you. As proof of my ability to pay I have included the agreement I reached with Sir Largo Vaan of the International Banking Clan to handle payroll for this mission, up to a hundred billion credits.”

Duke Kryze spoke as soon as the message ended, cutting off a half-dozen exclamations. “Do the accounts check out?”

“They do,” Count Beroya said, and the holoprojector shifted to display the documents.

“We would be fools not to take this opportunity,” Count Gedyc said. “A million credits per Mando’ade --that would be enough to allow us to rebuild from the Dral’han. ”

“Work with a Jetii?” Count Wren scoffed.

“We’ve worked with Hutts before,” Countess Itera pointed out. “And their name forms one of our most serious insults.”

“I have no love for the Jetii,” Count Sharrat said plainly. “But we cannot blame those currently alive for the misdeeds of their ancestors. Not when the stakes are sentient cannibalism.”

“Did Mereel and Vizsla receive a message?” Count Eldar asked.

“No,” Count Beroya answered. “This Ali’ya seems aware enough of our politics to realize that neither would be willing--or able for that matter--to focus their attentions elsewhere at the moment.”

“I was unaware that there were Togorians among the Jedi,” Countess Itara said. “Perhaps we should forward this message to their council as well. If the Jedi stole a child--”

“She claimed to be from Coruscant,” Count Sharrat pointed out. “It is more likely that she was born there.”

“Togorians do not often leave their planet, and even rarer are those that stay,” Countess Itara countered.

“There were the Three Clans,” Count Wren said.

“This is besides the point,” Count Beroya cut in. “Do we agree to this contract, or not? How many warriors shall we send, and who else might we recruit?”

“I will send my warriors, agreement or not,” Duke Kryze stated.

“As will I,” Count Gedyc said, immediately after.

“The money is worth more than a Jedi,” Count Wren stated. “And it keeps me from needing to pick a side for a while longer.”

“Aye,” Count Sharrat agreed.

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“We are decided then,” Count Beroya said. “Let the Yam’rii face the Wrath of the Taung.”

Chapter Text

After managing to get around the Huk jamming signals, Ali’ya had no idea if the Mandalorians would accept, or if her message had even arrived intact. But she could not focus on such worries. Not when the injured counted on her. Not when she had already failed so many of them as she recovered from her first attempt at battle-meditation.

Ali’ya split her time between the pilots and air-defense and the hospitals. She grew to know them, from Blackarm Quimu who could hit the engines of a starfighter as it descended from orbit to Warrior Liova who prayed to the gods of the harvest rather than those of war and Medic Imu who made even Baatar Sheelal flinch. The better she knew them the easier it was to connect in battle. Entering their mind, connecting the warriors to her and to one another became like greeting old friends in a tight embrace. She formed Force-bonds with the Tarkhans and Blackarms, the Captains and Sergeants. The bonds may have eventually arisen naturally, but this was war. There was no time for the calm meandering of Force that might be. Ali’ya joined their minds repeatedly, shoving her memories at them and absorbing theirs until they knew each other’s presence like the back of their hands. The Force bonds made her Battle Meditation much easier. She began to swim rather than flail, using her bonds to tie the Tarkhans and Blackarms to herself, using their connection to their soldiers and adding them to the meditation as well. Unifying the city’s air defenses and what remained of their fighter fleet moved from impossible to exhausting, then to something she maintain for hours on end. Ali’ya knew this wasn’t what she was supposed to do. She knew that forcing these bonds was akin to controlling the Force, to ordering it and using it to scar and link minds. They were trauma bonds and when they snapped in battle the recoil was immediate and severe. Ali’ya absorbed the pain as best she could. When she could not handle it any longer (as the Huk bombers leveled another hospital, taking out sixteen of her bonded medics) Ali’ya threw her ill feelings–her grief, her anguish, her anger and rage–into the Force and shoved it at the Huk. It was Dark. It was Forbidden. But it kept the Kaleesh alive. It startled the Huk, made them stumble and turned them into easy targets for those of her bonded that still lived. In the month after the Battle of Khedive the Huk launched three major air offensives against the city. While they lacked the landing craft to attempt another takeover they did not lack for fighters or bombers. Using their cruiser for orbital support they launched wave after wave of their starships, each intent on destroying what remained of Kalee’s capital city. The Kaleesh responded brutally, ignoring Ali’ya’s half-hearted protests as they tied Huk prisoners to the roofs of their makeshift hospitals and emergency housing. The Huk pilots did not care. They bombed them anyway.

Ali’ya felt herself dying with the city. They could do nothing to prevent the next attack, only hope that they were able to repel it. Day by day they weakened. Their only solace was that the Huk were losing too, but that was an empty victory when previously untouched continents burned, the limited fighter corps of Khedive unable to prevent the firebombing. Communication lines with the Khagan and the main attack were severed after Huk bombing runs destroyed the com-towers in both locations. Older cables were sabotaged by the remaining Huk garrisons. In retaliation Baatar Qymaen jai Sheelal led a hundred thousand Kaleesh against the closest garrison, some fifteen hundred miles away. Ali’ya did not go, but she heard stories. Stories of Huk captured just so they could be tortured. Stories of the building torn down to its foundation. Of Huk prisoners set ablaze with their stockpiles of arms.

The Force felt darker on Kalee. Or perhaps the Darkness was simply more open. It lay hidden and waiting when they arrived. Now it appeared in force, claiming the souls of grieving parents, siblings, and children. Taking a desire for justice and twisting it into a lust for revenge.

When the Mandalorians came, corvettes and light cruisers launching hundreds, possibly thousands, of starfighters and assault craft, Ali’ya felt like crying in relief. Yet she held strong. Along with Qymaen jai Sheelal she took to the skies herself, locking into her Battle Meditation for what she could only hope was the last time this war. Her mind burned with the justice-vengeance-hate-anguish of the pilots and gunners. Her shields held, as best she could make them. Yet their feelings seeped through. They entered her mind and became her own, and Ali’ya lost herself to the sea of emotions. She cared nothing for the surrender that the Huk tried to display, instead coordinating a second attack on the reactor core. When a small fleet of Huk ships appeared from around Abaji Minor she paid little attention to the sorrow in the Force, save to throw it against the Huk. She drowned them in the facts of what they’d done, distracting them as the Mando’ade and Kaleesh tore through their shields and ships. When the last ship was destroyed and the last Huk life sign in orbit disappeared Ali’ya collapsed, a mannequin with cut strings.

“Is it over?” she asked Qymaen, voice desperate with hope.

“Soon,” Qymaen promised, and Ali’ya broke into tears.

They met in what remained of Khedive. The Khagan, his five surviving Khans, and Baatar Sheelal. The heads of Clans Eldar, Kryze, Wren, Gedyc, Awaud, Sharrat, Itera, Ordo, Sornell, and Varad. Jedi Master Sora Bulq and his padawan, Ali’ya.

“We are grateful for your assistance,” the Khagan said in Basic. “We would, however, know the terms that brought you here.”

“You are not aware of them?” Duke Kryze asked, perturbed.

“I was granted license to negotiate terms,” Ali’ya stated plainly, too exhausted for politics. “The communication lines were destroyed before I could pass the details on. Worry not, Khagan, Khans, I have not negotiated anything I am not personally able to pay.”

“Personally?” Countess Itera’s voice was incredulous. “How did an ad get that much money?”

“Does that really–”

“How much money?” Master Bulq cut in, and Ali’ya grimaced.

“The terms we agreed to were simple,” Count Awaud began. “A hundred thousand credits per Mando’ade per year. A quarter-million credits for each warship larger than a light freighter. A million credits per Mando’ade for everyone who arrived swiftly and remained until the war’s end.”

“That would be–”

“If the war ended today,” Count Wren stated plainly. “That would be some fifty-one billion credits.”

“Billion?” Master Bulq asked, not even bothering to hide his surprise. “Padawan, the Order cannot–”

“I am paying them,” Ali’ya repeated. “Not the order.”

You can pay? Master Bulq asked through their bond, staring at her with steely eyes.

I can.

We will be discussing this later, Master Bulq said ominously, before turning back to the group. “If the question of payment is settled, then we shall continue to the next step.”

“We cannot end the war here,” Qymaen said plainly. “We have won a victory thanks to our allies, but they will not be here forever. We must ensure that the Huk lose their ability to threaten us, at least until we can stand on our own.”

“The Khans agree,” Khan Kaloa said.

“As do I.”

“Normally, as Jedi we would not be able to assist in offensive operations,” Master Bulq said. “However, this is a mission to ensure peace in an area outside Republic jurisdiction.”

“Meaning the Senate doesn’t get to limit our actions,” Ali’ya said.

“Precisely.”

“We should wipe them out.” Several heads turned at Qymaen’s ruthless declaration, and few of them were in agreement. “The Huk have show that when given an inch, they take a lightyear. We cannot allow them to threaten us ever again.”

“I agree that they must be weakened,” Khan Orzo said hesitantly. “But to destroy them altogether . . . we must be better than our foes, not worse.”

“I will not assist any actions that lead to genocide,” Master Bulq warned.

“Nor will I,” Ali’ya agreed, flinching slightly at the rage that wafted off of Qymaen. “Though I agree that the Huk must be severely weakened. The main advantage they have militarily is their fleet, something that is now largely destroyed. If we continue the campaign with the purpose of destroying their shipyards and military vehicles, it would take decades for them to rebuild, during which time Kalee could have constructed their own shipyards.”

“We do not know how to build ships,” the Khagan warned. “Not like this.”

“There are experts you can hire,” Ali’ya stated. “I would be willing to finance this as well. I would recommend the Fondor and Sluis Van shipyards. Neither are nearby, but both specialize in higher quality ships rather than mass-production. Perhaps MandalMotors as well, given their similar philosophy?” Ali’ya asked, turning towards the Mandalorians.

“Perhaps,” Duke Ordo hummed.

“Why the preference against mass-production?” on the Khans asked in Kaleesh.

“Mass-production requires more materials,” Ali’ya responded in the same language. “More mining. More pollution. It damages the planet in ways that smaller production does not.”

“This will not harm the planet?” the Khagan asked.

“Not if it is done right,” Ali’ya answered. “In truth, the Mon Cala are perhaps the best to ask when it comes to such things. Fondor has all but destroyed the natural beauty of their world in favor of profits from what I recall. I would still recommend talking with the Sluis Van, however, if only because they are also reptilian and are famous for their focus on quality.”

“Very well,” the Khagan said, returning to Basic. “The proposal sits: destruction of the Huk shipyards and elimination of their fleet. The war will end when those are completed. Is this agreeable to the Khans?”

“Aye,” the five Khans said.

Chapter Text

Sora Bulq reminded himself that he was a Jedi Master. That he should oppose deception. That materialism led to ill things. Yet he couldn’t help but be impressed. Nor could he deny that without the absurd amounts of money his padawan threw around their mission would likely have failed, ending in a decades-long war between the Kaleesh on the surface and the Huk in orbit.

“You wrote this?” he asked, looking up from the words covering the datapad.

“Yes.” He frowned at that. His padawan was not usually so quiet, nor cut off.

“I am not going to repudiate you,” he said, and felt a pressure ease on her side of the bond. “I am merely trying to figure out how my padawan--my twelve-year-old padawan--has enough money to hire a Mandalorian army and build an orbital shipyard over an unheard-of planet in Wildspace.”

“It’s not unheard of,” Ali’ya protested. Sora rolled his eyes, pushing his exasperation away in the Force. Were he a younger knight he might have fallen for the distraction.

“When did you write this?”

“When I was five,” Ali’ya answered. “Before I came to the Temple. My family--things were getting bad. We needed medicine and we could barely afford food. So, I started selling it to people in pubs. Just a credit, it wasn’t too hard to convince them to buy. I snuck up a few levels and sold some copies to bounty hunters. Most of them are nice around kids, if only so the Mandalorians don’t beat them up.”

“Yes,” Sora Bulq mused. “They do tend to be protective around the young.” It was something that had caused no little frustration on his part, given how often the Mandalorians sought to be around the ad’ika mandokarla , as they insisted on calling his padawan. Brave child, more or less, a description he couldn’t dispute though he dearly wished he could have kept her further from the war. At least the one of the older Mandalorians--Rav Ordo, great-uncle of the Duke--was willing to commiserate with him on the matter.

“I was saving up to buy a holonet domain,” Ali’ya explained. “It was expensive, but I had to save because even that many credits would only get medicine for one. Then dad started making more money.” Her voice trembled. “I didn’t know how, though now I guess he must have been selling some of Ebor’s secrets. Ebor’s a Hutt, a Djiselic I think. He controls every piece of consumer technology produced on Coruscant. Dad worked in his factory. Ebor’s men are the ones that killed him.”

Sora put down the datapad, pulling his padawan into his arms.

“It was--they didn’t even--they just threw the bombs into the house,” Ali’ya sobbed into his robes. “We were playing with a droid, he used to fix them up, and he locked me in the hidden room, behind the bookshelf. The explosives . . . It was so loud, and I could feel them, mama, uncle, my cousins, great-grandma. I tried to stop it, I did but I wasn’t strong enough. Rubble was falling and I tried to stop it but it didn’t work, just for me it--”

Sora hugged her tighter. After a moment she spoke again. “Master Sinube found me there. In the rubble. I woke up in his arms, when we were already at the speeder. You know the rest.”

“I know some of the rest,” Sora corrected her. “But that can wait. It’s time for bed, little one. We’ll meditate together, then you’ll get some sleep. Real sleep,” he stressed. “Not whatever you’ve been doing in Khedive.”

“Yes, Master.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

After the space battle, things calmed down for Ali’ya. The Mandalorians, the Kaleesh, and her own master all insisted there was no need for her to join them for the end of the campaign. They said she was unwell, though they all used different words. The Mandalorians called it battle-worn, and mentioned that it was standard custom in most Clans for even adult soldiers to have one month off every half-year.Her master called it Force-weariness, a result of being around so much death and spreading herself thin in her attempts to help. The Kaleesh called it soul-worn, and viewed it as a sign from the gods that she had done all she was meant to. Part of her (the childish part, a factor entirely coming from her body rather than her mind, Ali’ya insisted to herself though she knew it wasn’t completely true) wanted to protest. But she knew they were right. Even with her brain chemicals better aligned there was only so much she could handle. It helped that the Force sung with joy when she agreed to stay, and that a number of Mandalorian healers and rebuilders remained behind as well.

Ali’ya spent most days helping with clearing the rubble. The worst injuries were being treated at the battlefield--which had now shifted to the Huk system--and the remaining Kaleesh and Mandalorian healers were more than up to the task of treating amputees and preventing disease from spreading. Though she could have used telekinesis, Ali’ya found the physical movement relaxing in a way. Cathartic. After so much time spreading herself thin in the Force it was nice to do something simple and physical instead.

“So, you’re from Coruscant?” the Mandalorian next to her asked. They had yet to take off their helmet, though they had given their name (Alli Vorm of Clan Wren). “Not many Togorians there.”

“No,” Ali’ya agreed, not certain where the conversation was headed. “There aren’t. Even fewer among the Jedi.”

“Togorians have their own traditions,” Alli explained. “Much as we Mando’ade do. I hope you don’t mind my asking, but when did your family move to Coruscant?”

“I’m not sure,” Ali’ya replied, unable to shrug around the boulder she hefted. “Generations ago. Great-grandmother’s great-great-grandparents were born there. We owned the apartment too, something that was passed down from my father’s side of the family. It was my uncle’s, he kept the deed on him whenever he could.”

“Did the deed have a name on it?” Alli asked, her voice filled with strange enthusiasm.

“I don’t know,” Ali’ya said. “Never got a look at it.”

“Did they give you to the Jedi?”

“They died when the house exploded,” Ali’ya said, struggling to release her emotions into the Force. She thought the Force healing had helped, and perhaps it had but it seemed the weight of death that even weeks later filled Khedive was pulling at old memories. “Ebor’s henchmen. A Jedi found me in the rubble.”

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Ali’ya huffed. “Now is there anything else--” Ali’ya paused mid-sentence, staring at the black letters at the corner of her vision.

Quest: Noble Lineage

Find your noble ancestry

Subquest: First on Planet

Find the deed to your old apartment

Reward: 500 experience points, a clue into your noble ancestors

“Damnit.”

“What?”

Ali’ya shook herself, dismissing the notification and forcing a smile. “Nothing. Just stubbed my foot.”

Meditation that night was uncomfortable. Ali’ya had a lot of self-searching to do. With Qymaen now off-world, hunting down the last of the Huk ships, she was able to see her own complaisance in his actions. They were wrong. Undoubtedly, completely wrong. She had protested his actions, but she could have done more. She could have insisted, could have threatened not to join them in battle meditation or to refuse to heal.

But what good would that have done , Ali’ya thought. Left millions of civilians defenseless? No, ignoring his actions was the lesser of two evils. But that does not make it less evil. Ali’ya wasn’t sure what do with that knowledge. She knew it was a choice that Jedi had to make all too often. Killing, after all, was wrong in its own right. Yet Ali’ya could not regret killing the Huk who threatened to enslave the Kaleesh and eat their young. Nor did she regret harnessing the pain and anguish she felt in the Force against them, even knowing what her fellow Jedi would label it.

Ali’ya sighed, and let the meditative trance take her over. Her questions and qualms would not be resolved in a single session. Her earlier meditation with her Master had helped greatly to separate her own feelings from those she absorbed as part of repeated Battle Meditation. Now all she needed to do was figure out what her own feelings meant, and how to deal with them.

That’s tomorrow’s problem, Ali’ya thought as the Force carried her on gentle tides. And the day after, and the day after that, and the day after that. Rome was not built in a day, nor a year. There is time.