It was evening and getting late, yet here she stood at the entrance to one of the many narrow alleyways on one of the many, not so pleasant levels of Coruscant. She’d never been here before, but as she gazed down the shadow choked passageway, she knew perfectly well where it led. Straight into trouble. Sixteen year old G’emela Lothric was suppose to be on her way to rendezvous with her master, Qui-Gon Jinn. It was a special night, the fourth anniversary of her apprenticeship and he enjoyed celebrating by treating her to a favorite meal of spicy barbecued dewback ribs if they happened to be on Coruscant at the time. It had been hit or miss during the years, in fact this would only be the second time they’d been able to arrange it. He trusted her to be able to go from the Jedi Temple to the particular diner he’d chosen without incident or diversion and she had always validated that trust faithfully… until now. She had been on her way to the diner, in fact not even two blocks from the it, when the pull of the Force led her to this alley a mere half dozen or so levels below it. The draw of the Force had grown stronger as she neared the alley and she knew it meant for her to traverse the dim back street. Fate waited for her down that way and whether opportune or ill, she could feel the danger that accompanied it. Pausing a moment, she activated her commlink. “Master,” she calmly opened the line. “Tell me you’re on your way…,” the unease in his baritone voice was audible and it filled her with a sense of relief. Whether he sense the turmoil in her or the Force mattered not. Their connection to the Force and the bond with each other meant she was not alone and that thought filled her with renewed strength. “I am on my way Master, I’ll be… delayed,” she determined to follow the Force in the way she concluded her master to do time and again. “G’emela…,” he hesitated and she could sense the worry in his mind and knew he wanted to intervene, to command her to wait for him at the very least. “Leave your commlink open,” he finally said, “You’re close, I’ll find you shortly.” Before she could respond, a drunken, bellow drifted out of the alley. “Whada ya mean you’ve changed your mind? You can’t change your mind now!” “Let me go,” a frightened female voice responded, “I’m outta here.” “Not until you do what you agreed for my friend and I. You’ve got the money,” in anger, the man’s voice took a less drunken tone and more edged one. “You can have it back then,” the woman’s voice now indignant. There was the sound of a scuffle, a second male voice shouting, “Benart no.” Jeopardy flared an ominous red in the Force and the teenaged apprentice knew time had become hopelessly short. “I must go,” the padawan remarked distractedly, barely hearing the muffled ‘careful‘ as she absently tucked the comm unit into a pocket. One hand lightly gripping the hilt of her lightsaber, G’emela ventured quickly into the rank alley. Staying close to the damp, permacrete walls of the towering building, she silently crept down the alleyway. With no light but that of passing transports far overhead or the irregular speeder that passed by the entrance, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the flickering gloom. Though igniting her lightsaber would supply more light, she preferred to get a bit closer before announcing her presence. At the far end, a large shadowy form dispersed into three separate shapes, one of them haplessly sinking to the dirty littered ground. "Hells Benart, whadja do that for," she could hear one shadow question in shock as it bent to the fallen form, "She’s dead…" “I… I didn’t mean to, she shouldn‘t have backed out of the deal,” was his friend’s unrepentant reply, “we’ve gotta get outta here now!” Their conspiratorial escape was hampered by G’emela as she ignited her lightsaber and stepped out of the obscuring shadows. “Aw kriff can this get any worse?” The not-killer young man bemoaned, shielding his eyes from the sudden, glaring brightness of the green energy blade. “You’re both to come with me, we’re going to the local constabulary,” G’emela directed authoritatively to the two young men before her. “I’m not going anywhere,” the one named Benart stepped up, in his hand was a knife glistening dark and wet. “Benart that’s a Jedi,” the taller of the two men reached for the shoulder of his friend to pull him back. “That‘s no Jedi, she‘s just a kid,” Benart spat scathingly, shaking off his friend, “it’s one of those petty-one’s.” “You will be coming with me,” G’emela attempted to quell any resistance with a Force suggestion, “You’ve taken a life and must answer for your crime.” “No, I’m not going with you,” Benart scoffed with distain, “and no one’s going to care about one dead bed wench. Now run along little girl, find some speeder to play in front of.” “Benart, perhaps we should…,” his friend tried reasoning with him. “Shut up Jerold,” pushing him away with an exaggerated gesture. “Enough of this, get out of my way.” The combination of the alcohol that flowed through his veins and the anger at being caught out had inflated his aggression, the fear added desperation. He held the blade to the young Jedi before, ‘if you don’t move you’ll be lying next to her.” “Put your weapon down,” the young Jedi stood her ground and as she sensed the precarious and volatile emotions swirling from the nefarious young man, she centered herself in the Force, feeling a wave of calm wash over her. “I will if you will,” he surprised her with sudden capitulation and though still highly suspicious, she disengaged her lightsaber as he lowered his knife. “It was an accident, I didn’t mean to hurt her,” he bowed his head, advancing a number of steps, until he was almost in reaching distance. “Tell her Jerold,” he turned toward his friend for support. G’emela felt the warning through the Force and activated her lightsaber just as the young man jerked back and lunged at her, knife hand outstretched. Halted in mid-thrust, the intense grimace of concentration that stiffened his features slowly slackened. His eyes blinked in uncertainty and then widened into astonishment at the glowing cylinder of green leveled at his chest. Opening his mouth, meaning to say something… anything, all that was expelled was his last dying breath. As if his cloak was lit afire, Qui-Gon Jinn flew down the streets of Coruscant, following the signal of his padawan’s communication unit. All around him the Force reverberated with significant portents in relation to his apprentice and he cursed himself for his lack of accord in the Unifying Force that may have given him some greater insight into the disturbance bombarding him. Below him, he sensed her Force signature beneath him and he wondered at what would cause her to frequent the dangerous lower levels of the city. Not one easily distracted nor capricious, she rarely gave him cause for admonishment or need for discipline, in fact her extreme level-headedness at the age of twelve was one of the deciding factors in her selection as an apprentice. Over their four years together, they had been an easy and companionable pair, though as she reached her teen years, he noted a strong nurturing streak in her as she became more extroverted in her mothering of him. As far as he knew, and he judged this by the numerous transgressions of himself and his friends during their apprenticeship, she was a master's dream. Dedicated, obedient and noticeably not prone to the mischief usually associated with the younglings in the Temple. She had always comported herself in a most atypical fashion, making his inceptive role of mentor practically effortless. Now as he raced to her side, sensing her to be at some crucial junction in her life, he again cursed himself for the times her maturity led him to forget she was still only on the cusp of adulthood. Though in need of little supervision and correction in her in her studies Climbing over the barricade that prevented accidental falls into the chasm that separated the buildings, it greatly disturbed him to think his padawan may be in any type of peril. Ignore the ‘what ifs’ and concentrate on the now, he thought as he searched the receding darkness for catch holds and balconies. Relinquishing fear, he flung himself into the open air. Plummeting down three levels, his cloak flapping out behind him like giant hawkbat wings. He threw himself into the facing building, grasping onto the balustrade. Taking only a nanosecond to glance across the way, he pushed off and descended another trio of levels. “This is it,” he said to himself, scaling the fenced catwalk, easily finding a number of large holes in the grating he could fit though. Still, the dilapidated state of the barricade reinforced his concerns for G’emela’s safety and a slight measure of failure on his part that he wasn’t standing fast at her side. With a burst of supersonic speed, the Force led him to a dim back ally where he only took the time to extract his lightsaber from his belt before hurriedly entering it‘s dim interior. Before him, the spectacle that greeted him was grim, yet perfectly decipherable. One male stood still, his face a mask of shock, his back against the wall of one permacrete building. At his feet lay what appeared to be a woman, a growing puddle of slickness beside her. A cursory dip into the Force confirmed she was no longer among the living. The worst of this morbid scene was the grisly sight in front of him. In classic defensive stance, G’emela stood with lightsaber extended and lit, a male human skewered on its tip. The teen’s features void of emotion, her mind closed off to him. It could almost have been a hellish still life holo-portrait had it not been for that moment the knife his padawan’s assailant been holding dropped from his grasp and clattered to the ground. G’emela blinked and as if returning to consciousness disengaged her weapon, whereas the body then stumbled forward, falling into her and she laid it gently on the ground. The subsequent investigation was brief as the only living witness to the full assault gave a full and truthful accounting of the incident and corroborated the young Jedi’s chronicle. No recriminations were laid on G’emela actions, in fact one rather cynical and hardened officer thanked her for dispatching the criminal, thereby saving the city money for trial and incarceration. Throughout it, G’emela remained undisturbed, answering questions matter-of-factly and succinctly, conducting herself with exemplary Jedi detachment. Once back at their apartment, she excused herself from further discussion by appealing for a desire to meditate, leaving a confused and unsure master to ponder on her state of mind. This was new territory for both of them and he considered the wisdom between forcing a dialog with his padawan tonight or allowing her time to analyze and settle issues in her own mind. Eventually determining it best to give her at least the night to mediate on it, he had readied himself for bed. It was in the wee hours of the morning, as the first hint of dawn began to inch it’s way over the horizon that Qui-Gon Jinn was woken by the sounds of retching and soft, mournful weeping. He cast a thread of inquiry over his bond with G’emela, only to come across reinforced shields that shut him out of her mind, though it was enough to inform him she was in the refresher were the sounds emanated from. Bolting from his bedroom, he found her huddled over the waste receptacle, sicking up what little dinner she eaten after returning to the Temple. “Mm… master, I’m sorry, I’ve failed you. I’ve failed the Jedi and now I’ve failed even myself by acting like a sniveling little crechling..,” the young, robust woman whimpered. “G’emela,” the tall master reached for a length of ribbon lying next to the sink and bent next to his apprentice, “what’s all this about failure?” He gathered her shoulder-length, bobbed hair from her face and the decidedly longer padawan braid, tying them away from the basin. “I killed them..” she sniffed fluidly, raising her head. “I.. I should have gotten there sooner, prevented that poor girl from being murdered. It was my fault she died… and then I wasn’t able to stop him and I had to.. H, had to ki… ,” her face crumpled, she hiccupped once then loudly retched again. “Oh padawan,” Qui-Gon consoled tenderly, one hand gently stroking her back, “you’ve failed no one. We will never be able to save everyone, as much as we would all like to. This is one of our hardest lesson to learn. If it were possible, there wouldn’t be a need for Jedi, police or any kind of security. And as far as that young man goes, from what I heard at the inquest, you did everything in your power and then some to stop him… even his friend acknowledged that.” “But master,” she finally looked into his eyes, then lowered her own in shame, “I still failed you, failed the Jedi,” her chin began to trembling gain. “How is it you think that, when I‘ve told you how proud I am to be your master?” He sent waves of comfort over the Force, “Do you think I would lie to you?” “No, of course not master,” G’emela quickly denied the notion, her eyes large and fearful. “Then tell me how you’ve failed me?” “It’s this master,” she gestured at herself, “I tried not to have feelings. Tried to be strong, put it behind me, not think about it, but it only made me sick. It’s disturbing to know being are dying that could be saved… it, it bothers me to have to kill…” She hung her head and softly wept anew. The man pulled her around to face him, a large hand lifted her chin, “You regret having to kill?” He asked in serious tones. Not wanting to beginning blubbering, she merely nodded. “And so you should. Every life is of value and the untimely loss of it is should always be viewed with regret. It’s called compassion G’emela. It’s what keeps many of us from being no more than barbaric animals.” “What about, ‘there is no emotion, only peace?” She sounded truly confused. Qui-Gon snorted with some discomfort. The tenets of the Jedi Code had been something of a bone of contention for much of his life. Hi s view of them being guidelines to be interpreted, not set in transparisteel mandates. “That my young padawan, is not to mean we don’t have feelings because we do. It’s a matter of not being blinded by then to action.” He could tell by the questioning look in her eyes, he’d just stirred up a can of fork-tailed stingers, one that the High Council would probably not appreciate. Still, the responsibility of her training was in his hands and he could only teach from what he himself knew, what he felt. “G’emela, what occurred tonight is something tragic, even brutal and perhaps difficult to digest, but just about every Jedi at some point has had to face it,” he grabbed a washcloth, wetted it, then wiped the tears and spittle from her face, before assisting her to stand, “and I am here to help you, to care for you as well as teach you.” No emotions be damned, he thought as he wrapped his long arms around her and gave her a warm and comforting hug, which she excepted enthusiastically and returned. “I want you to know I have never been more proud of you then right now,” he murmured in her ear was gladdened when it produced a smile. “Let’s get you cleaned up and we’ll begin morning meditation together. Then to make up for last night, I’ll make you a big breakfast of nerf sausages, scrambled tooni fowl eggs and sweetened flat cakes.” As they walked to the common area of the apartment, his arm around her shoulder, he silently grieved for her innocence and that the indoctrination into the ranks of Jedi would always come at such a cost. |
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| At What Cost? By Healer Leona |
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