Solitude

[Mercurial_Harpy]

Greetings! Here is a short story in which an unlikely Acolyte finds exactly what she is looking for; a quiet place among the crowd…

Solitude

 

* * *

…Loading…Data-record #1, Patient 142…Authorization StarenLeo CerusInititative 5-6-5…

 

I suppose this will be my first entry, then.

 

Dr. Staren has commanded me to tap-tap-tap away at this silly data pad and spill into it whatever thoughts come into my head, at least once a day. So here it is.

 

Let's see. It's an overall tolerable day. The evening breeze from the inlets surrounding Dromund Kaas is cool and musty, as always. This time of day, as the transport traffic dies down, you can almost hear the creatures in the swamp chirping and growling away as they wake for the evening’s hunt.

 

As usual, I'm eating a medium bowl of Corellian Noodles with Churoc Seeds at my favorite nutritional vendor. He is a short, unassuming elderly man, pleasant but not nosy. I've often wondered what connections he must have to keep his dining patio open past sunset. But I am the only one who eats out here at this time.

 

Truth be told, although I hate to be completely alone, I enjoy the solitude. Here, there are always people around, but I am unbothered. It's a peace of perfection I don’t get to experience often enough in life.

 

My husband Gael will not return for another hour or so. I detest waiting alone at home for him, with only the empty buzzing of machines, laughter and lights coming from the other houses. It's an ominous feeling, bracing myself for the onslaught of questions and probing that comes with his entry. Did you take care of yourself today; are they working you too hard at the clerk's office; have you eaten; good gods you better have had more than that awful bowl of noodle soup you are always on about.

 

Funny, he never seemed to care before I lost the pregnancy. But now, he says time grows short. I'm no fool. I'm not young anymore. I’m not old, not by any stretch. But there are ideal time-frames for this sort of thing.

 

I’m well aware he married me for my pedigree. He has grand plans for his future child, and the women in my family have produced Sith five times in the last 10 years; it's a reasonable feat. As Gale was not Sith himself, his one dream is at least to have one toe in the Citadel, if my nothing else but by blood relation.

 

Four years it took for his dream to coalesce. We were diligent, dedicated and careful with everything. And in that one moment, as I sat sobbing in Dr. Staren's office with him, his dream began to ebb slowly away from him. Now he is on edge. Ergo, I am on edge, which makes things worse, not better, in pursuit of our goals. Ergo, I tap-tap-tap into this pad, to "relieve" my stress.

 

But hopefully, this ridiculous exercise will be moot, and over-with shortly. All the signs point to his dear dream coalescing again, and I've toyed with the idea that this is why I craved the noodles tonight. At least, this is what I hope.

 

It's late. More evening diners arrive. I must go.

* * *

 

…Loading…Data-record #2, Patient 142…Authorization StarenLeo CerusInititative 5-6-5…

 

My superior at work, for some reason, stopped by my desk to remind me I was a valued member of the team, and that he was open to discussing anything I needed to. I have to say he shamed me a little. I know how I must look. Last night's argument bled into the morning, and my eyes still burn hot from the tears I shed. I was trained at an early age to show poise and reserve in public. But that damnable man I married has made that impossible today.

 

Wait, that's not entirely true. I've handled him and his boyish temper before; it's this...situation. It's frayed me in a way I did not expect.

 

Last afternoon, dear Dr. Staren confirmed what I feared; the second has been lost as well. One is understandable. Two...two is a trend. Gael pulled his hand away from me when Dr. Staren broke the news. He may as well have knifed me in the back.

 

I'm well aware of my situation. Later last evening, as Gael ranted at me that I was careless and unfocussed, I found myself blankly agreeing with him. That is what is mainly disturbing me; my inability to focus.

 

I may delete this later, but here is the heart of it.

 

Suddenly, I'm hearing things. I'm feeling things that are not there. My dreams are fitful and unbalanced. I dream of conversations that haven’t occurred, and then come to pass within the week. These…anomalies…that's all I can call them, began after the first pregnancy. They ebbed after the loss, and became worse with the second. I dare not speak of this, as whatever is happening could be misconstrued. But as I've said, I've been trained to mask my trepidation, and submit to duty.

 

My mother always accused me of being subject to a certain whimsy; the artistic temperament that plagued our family, she used to say. But this is different. I promised Gael that I would do better, take better care of myself. But here I am, hiding in plain sight, eating my noodles at dusk. It's insanity, believing that this time to myself somehow caused the losses we suffered. And his madness of envy and desire is not mine.

 

I will survive this, and everything will be fine. It has to be.

 

* * *

 

…Loading…Data-record #3, Patient 142…Authorization StarenLeo CerusInititative 5-6-5…

 

 

I'm shaking with sorrow and resignation as I write this. I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I haven't been to work in two days. What a fool I am.

 

This time, I didn't need a doctor to tell me what happened. A third has been lost. We'd been trying so damn hard to make it all work, I half-think desire killed this child. I said as much to Gael as he sat in stony silence, judging me.

 

He thought his gaze frightened me. He thought his words knocked the wind out of me.

He was wrong.

 

What frightened me was that I knew his words to me before he said them.

 

"I'll need to take a second wife, if this is how it's going to be."

 

This…knowing…can’t be…normal.

 

What's worse is that in that instant, I knew he'd already taken a lover, and was preparing her for marriage. I saw this in his mind, plain as I could see the color in his shirt. His desire consumed him, and it was no longer for me.

 

I wanted to ~want~ to scream and cry, beg him for more time. Plead with him, that his opinion was wrong.

 

Instead, I what I wanted was to hurt him. My eyes drifted to various household items that could be used to show him the error of his ways.

 

I stopped myself, just in time. I left in a stony silence. Let him do what he wants. Let him divorce me; I won't be shamed as a second wife, nanny to his prince or princess. A pox on all of them!

 

For the moment, it appears I have bigger problems. The voices, the whims and thoughts of others are now constantly pushing at me, and I can no longer deny what is happening. I know where this may go. Things rarely work out for older men and women like me; it’s the oldest story, the oldest joke. If that's what this is, certainly, I will have bigger problems than Gael.

 

My only hope now is Dr. Staren. I think he suspects what's going on. Or…do I know this? In a moment, his receptionist will wave me in, and...

 

I hoped to have stopped shaking by now.

 

* * *

…Loading…Data-record #3, Patient 142…Authorization…searching...searching… CerusInititative…searching…searching…sigerror001601141110000111000011111110000…

 

I shouldn't be here. Truly, I am mad by now. I am here, waiting for my favorite noodle bowl as if nothing is wrong. As if I'm passing the time, waiting for Gael to come home, hoping that Dr. Staren was a pessimistic lout trying to frighten me about our chances of having children.

 

Truthfully, I needed a moment alone, yet comforted by the presence of others at a distance. And this place always quieted my mind.

 

But I've skipped things. Whole days. Let me begin again.

 

He sent me to a "specialist”; a friend, he said. What a laugh. Dammit. He knew. He knew all along. He let me suffer like that, and he knew.

 

He KNEW what this would do to me.

 

Oh, he was good. He acted like he cared. He ushered me into his office ahead of others who were waiting, and I broke down. I told him all about the voices, the dreams; the fact that I could hear and see things far away. He nodded slowly as I spoke but said nothing.

 

When I was done, he told me he could help me. But he had to be sure of something. So he took me to this...place. It wasn't even really an office. It was in one of the lower levels in a construction zone. No guards, no patrols. I should have been wary, said something. But something deep within me propelled me forward, as if I could not go back.

 

He and his "colleague" helped me gently onto the table; I felt the shot in my arm as they discussed my "treatment." And then there was the void.

 

Slowly, the dream came. I was a girl again by the sea, and my house was on fire. My parents were there, sobbing that all had been lost. I was picking up pieces of hot debris and throwing it into the ocean, which seemed to go on forever. With each piece, the sea reddened, until it was the color of a cannon blast. Under my feet, the sand turned rust, and I told my parents that it was foolish and wasteful to mourn that which they never had.

 

For life is short.

 

Dr. Staren and his friend revived me then. And the world came rushing in.

Apparently, I panicked, and pushed them both off of me. They went crashing into the wall behind them, but I hadn't even touched them. I backed into the corner trying to force it all out, but it wouldn't leave.

 

Some time passed; how much, I can’t say. And Dr. Staren was at my side again.

Oh, the tale he told.

 

Like steel, a lie erodes over time if not cared for properly. The upkeep must be routine and precise, or disaster is sure to follow. An hour ago, rust building for decades ate through the rest of the corroded tendrils holding my sorry life, as it was, together.

 

I had been raised to be something very specific. When I was born, my parents had a plan, one that they did their very best implement. My father died five years ago content in the knowledge that his daughter was married, and would have children destined for greatness. My mother's accident two years ago left her incapable of doing much for herself, let alone providing the upkeep for an old fib that she must have thought inconsequential at this point. And yet, the bridge between my life, and everyone else in it, came down anyway.

 

As the doctor spoke, I focused blankly as his lips worked the words I knew he would say. Yes, of course I was a sensitive; a sand-blind Rodian janitor in Mos Ila could see that.

Clutched in his hand, still moist with my blood, was the basket, or implant, rather, in which misguided parents had deposited all their hopes and dreams.

 

"These have been banned for years," Dr. Staren explained. "The penalties are so severe; no reputable doctor would go near them now. Frankly, I'm surprised it lasted as long as it did. Most start to malfunction after 15 standard years or so. Usually...they are recovered from the dead."

 

I reached for the device, but he did not offer it forward. My hand drifted to the sore and throbbing base of my skull, where apparently it had rested for all this time.

 

"You must know by now that it...masked your gifts."

 

"Gifts," I repeated, blankly.

 

My memories of that time long ago were still so faded. A childhood filled with endless night terrors, tantrums, embarrassments, outbursts. My parents were at their wits end. Then, a routine visit to the doctor, perhaps more than one. And afterwards, nothing. All was rote, all was...normal. And my path was set; until today.

 

"Leonard..." the other man interrupted.

 

"Yes, of course. Listen to me, my dear," he said in earnest as he placed a hand on my knee. "It's going to be too much for you to hide now. Your options are...limited, and so is the time we have. Tell me, is your husband home now?" I slowly shook my head. For some reason, I could not take my eyes off the window, and the flashes of light beyond.

 

The day was dimming, and I was growing hungry.

 

"My friend here; he can take you somewhere safe." My eyes snapped to him.

"Leave?" I said in a high-pitched panicky voice. It appears I was not only out of a marriage, but out of a homeworld as well. This was turning out to be some season for me.

 

"Yes," he replied sternly. "Make your decision now, or you will be left without the ability to make them for yourself from this point forward." He looked me over, carefully. "It's not impossible, but candidates of your age rarely survive the Trials on Korriban. And you should not be punished for short-sightedness of your family. My friend here can take you off-world; to Republic or Hutt space." He took my hand in a fatherly manner, and my eyes followed his movement. "You can still have the life you want, you know. Any life, not one bound by madness, murder and rage."

 

My only thought was how in hell did he know what I wanted?

 

"You knew," I replied coldly. "The pregnancies; the therapy. You knew all along." He dropped his head as his companion sighed deeply.

 

“No, not really. I…suspected."

 

Liar, my mind hissed at me. He's lying. He's lied to you all along. Give him nothing.

 

"And my children?"

 

He dropped my hand and turned away, as if I asked the one question he didn't want to answer. My muscles tensed and I began to sweat.

 

"Their own potential overloaded the implant. It was gradually failing, but your last one damn near shorted it out completely. Your body protected itself. Had you not come to me, in a short period of time, it would have very well killed you."

 

"Instead, it killed them," I replied quietly.

 

"Yes."

 

My teeth clenched. Funny, how this man presumed to preach to me about the morality of the Sith, when he did nothing to save my children. Amusing, how this man spoke of choice; he offered me none when it mattered most.

 

His companion shoved a piece of paper in his hand, and in turn he offered it to me. "Be here at this time, just before dawn. With any luck, your husband won't send anyone looking for you until a full day has passed." He looked down as he retrieved his coat. "It's for the best." And with that, they left me in the cold, sterile office to ponder my situation; left alone, with nothing but the buzzing lights, my seething fury and my hunger.

 

But it’s been hours since then. The old man gave me a puzzled look as he placed the tray in front of me. I realized that I must have looked a fright; dirty, sweaty; a bloodstained collar and untreated wound at the back of my neck. But I smiled as always, and thanked him. As always, he asked no questions.

 

But it isn't the same. I feel...so much, it's hard to concentrate on eating. There's a commotion in the main dining room; two brothers arguing about inheritance. The old man's sister has been stealing from the business as she serves meals, and she's terrified he will find out. Just outside the restaurant, three mercenaries who've had too much to drink begin sparring with each other. It will be unintended, but one will not survive the night.

 

All my quiet places are gone. And I am beside myself with grief. So I write this, in the hopes it will bring me comfort. It’s not working.

 

I should be home, scrambling to pack whatever I can carry to maker-knows-where; writing a hasty note to my husband, instructing him to go ahead with the divorce, as I will be long gone. Or have me declared dead, for all I care. I should be making meticulous preparations to flee.

 

But for some unfathomable reason, I have no fear; none at all. It is this sensation, or rather lack of one, which is truly the most unsettling. Or interesting. I can't decide.

 

My mind drifts.

The noodles bubble in their sauce.

 

I come to the realization that the fear I’ve lived with was bred into me; but feelings that are no longer of use. And like a friend who betrays, I have banished them from my sight with no regrets.

 

For the first time, I do not fear what the next day will bring. No mystery, no lie holds sway over me. Is this what freedom feels like?

 

Suddenly, I'm hit like an anvil in my chest. A great, dark weight of power and pressure seeks to flow over me. One. No, two. I heard the old man and his sister scrambling to tidy up moments before they arrived. Sith, even their apprentices, are rarely ever seen in this part of the city. Even at my job, as a civilian working for a recruiting station, I can't even remember seeing one, or hearing one had visited. This is something that would have been spoken of for months.

 

One is older than the other, although I can't say for sure what their relationship is. It is also likely they are not after Corellian noodles. I drop my spoon in the half-full bowl, and watch for a moment as the ripples bleed out from the center. Then, it happens; the realization of my predicament. I disturbed the still water, and they came. But I am not ready to go anywhere; not with the doctor, and not with them.

 

I have business at home.

 

* * *

 

…Loading…Data-record #4, Patient ::ERROR:: autoretry….badloc…backlogged…fatalerror…no-init-found…searching...searching… sigerror…

 

How amusing. I'd forgotten I'd kept this old thing.

 

I suppose I owe the old fool. A deal is a deal, after all. Poor Dr. Staren. Well, good doctor, you were right. I am cured. Your patient is no longer ill, thanks to you.

 

I've been told by many here to use my past failures as stepping stones to greatness; to crush the feelings of weakness under my boot like gravel snakes as I ascend above them. There is some truth to this. So I will conclude this endeavor; after all, my tenacity has been remarked upon favorably even by those who fear me. If only they knew.

 

It's difficult to fathom at times that it's been years since that last night at the noddle shop. It's been that long since I've had Corellian Noodles with Churoc Seeds; bloody poison that stuff is. I wouldn't touch it if someone paid me to. I require different sustenance now; meals with actual nutritional value. One cannot let one's self fall into disrepair due to a poor diet, after all.

 

Not here.

 

So, where did I leave off? That’s right. I was on my way home. That night, I decided to walk from the restaurant rather than take public transport. I assumed that the doctor was wrong, and my husband was indeed looking for me. But even he didn't have clout to send Sith, and this non sequitur puzzled me. I needed the time to think, and the cool evening air seemed to help.

 

As I approached my building, there seemed to be a military vehicle parked across the street. It wasn't empty, either. I felt their movement within, and their concern. But they also felt ready for me; this was their job, after all; to corral the wayward home.

 

I believe I had the passing inclination to run in the other direction. But again, I couldn't summon the fear to do this. No more running. Not from my husband, not from my family, and not from my unborn children. Whatever was waiting for me in my home would receive what it demanded.

 

Some fool I was. Knowing what I know now, I would have been justified running into the deepest, darkest part of the swamp and praying no one would find me, given the trouble I was in at that moment.

 

Lucky for me, the matter was cleared up more quickly than expected. It was a great misunderstanding, after all.

 

Gael was sitting on the couch with his new fiancé. She was shorter than I was, and had longer hair. He was stroking it when I silently appeared in the open door way. I swear his heart just about stopped when he got a full look at me, all disheveled and at loose ends.

I'd never seen him afraid before. It was an odd moment, and I savored it.

 

"You're home," I stated flatly. He wasn't usually home for another two hours. I’d finally seen what had begun to take more and more of his time in the evening. And he actually thought it appropriate to bring this woman with him here...tonight…what was he thinking?

He pointed at me.

 

"So, are you going to arrest her? There she is, already!" His head turned to speak to a figure with a dark cloak standing in the kitchen. I moved in closer to see who it was, and I immediately felt a presence behind me. Ah, I thought; the two from the restaurant. Somehow they hid themselves from me, as I felt them before and they lost me because of it.

 

"Are you afraid of me, Gael?" I asked as coldly as I could. "Are your new friends here to protect you and your new love?"

 

While I understood the frustration of his position, his betrayal infuriated me. The feeling began as a hot coal in the pit of my stomach and bubbled up like lava to my throat, choking me.

 

But I noticed it began to choke him too. I stopped as soon as I heard him sputter, and swallowed hard. His new companion turned white with fear, patting him hard on the back as he coughed loudly.

 

The man in the kitchen laughed. A moment later, the one behind me took my arm with some force and led me wordlessly downstairs into the vehicle parked outside. And that was the last time I stood in Gael's house.

 

But as I mentioned earlier, it was all a terrible misunderstanding. And I was happy to clear it up for them.

 

Lord Broc was the man who stood in my kitchen, and it was he who questioned me a few hours later. I was taken to the Citadel in the same vehicle that held the bodies of Dr. Staren and his associate. The Imperial troops didn't even cover them up; their bodies lurched from side to side as the vehicle made occasional stops. I assumed their presence was meant to rattle me. It didn't. If anything, I felt cold comfort that the men were dead after what they did to me.

 

I have to say, Lord Broc seemed a bit frustrated in the beginning; I think he expected me to plead with him; perhaps cry a little. Given his line of work, he likely arrested a multitude of terror-stricken citizens running for their lives. But that wasn’t my situation; at least, not as I saw it. He seemed to relax a little once I explained all that had occurred; for I was done with the crying.

 

His apprentice still took position behind me, hand at the ready. Mid-way through our conversation, I asked if it was because he had something to fear from me. The young man chuckled. Lord Broc glared at him, then me as put his datapad down.

 

He explained that they were finding more and more "implant refugees" over the last five years, all of them hailing from the same areas of the galaxy. This bad batch of force-dampening implants had been making his life a misery. Your average force-sensitive fugitives were difficult and slippery enough. But we (yes, I was apparently part of a “we” now), were a different animal all together. According to him, when the implants finally began to completely fail, the event resulted in the recipients experiencing a psychotic break; the outcome was often a dangerous burst of force usage in a public place. After causing mayhem and a handful of deaths here and there, the implantees promptly burned out, went insane, or perished. Or all three.

 

Dr. Staren was known to Lord Broc. Intelligence had been tracking his "patients" for the last year or so. They locked on to my implant's unique signal after my last visit to his office. They closed in on him an hour after he left me that evening, as he made the ill-advised decision to keep my device for some unknown purpose. And then, he met justice.

 

Without prodding and in the interests of full disclosure, I told the Lord what Dr. Staren told me; that allegedly mine was removed before this point-of-no-return event occurred. I also relayed the bit about the children I'd lost to it, and his instructions to flee for my life, such as it was. This information, above all, angered Lord Broc; three possible Sith dead, and two deaths at least that Dr. Staren could have prevented. Instead, he chose to work with traitors to hand me over to our enemies.

 

I told him those were my thoughts exactly.

 

The Lord’s puzzlement gave way to a kind of modified amusement. And he didn’t strike me as a man that was often amused.

 

He asked me what I wanted. I replied that he'd obviously meted out punishment to the doctor and his friend. However, I said that what I wanted was out of my reach. He looked at me, puzzled. Eye to eye, I told him that in a perfect world, I could have my parents account for what they did to me. He folded his hands under his chin. I said after all, I could have been so much more than I was; a simpering idiot spending my life trying to please someone who was unworthy. Who were they to decide what I would become? Lord Broc nodded slowly.

 

In all cases, he said, the Force decides.

 

And I understood; because it had done just that. And so, a short time later, I arrived here.

 

I have to say I was a little more than concerned those first weeks. The Academy has a…reputation, after all. However, I was in the unique position of no longer having my will subverted by unknown forces to other people’s ends.

 

My nerves were initially guarded around the other students. After all, the older ones were always marked as weak and exploitable. Surely, most were. But not me; those that made that assumption suffered for it, in short order.

 

For instance, a young Acolyte of approximately 18 decided one day (damned if I know why) to sneak behind me and jam his thumb into my implant scar, telling me he considered it his duty to rid the academy of "refugees." It's a shame that the friends laughing with him weren't there on the scaffolding some days later, when it was just he and I, alone together.

 

He was just a mere boy, after all. Apparently, he wasn’t putting his lessons to optimal use. Control is key to what we do, or so we were instructed, and I decided that morning that this is what he would learn.

 

I spent the better part of the afternoon choking him, releasing him, and choking him again in the hot sun. But unlike Gael, there was no one to pound his breath back into him. In between his pathetic sputtering, I spoke to him about the need to reflect in your own company, but that one must pick that time carefully; after all one never knows when one is truly alone. This was a valuable lesson I’d learned my last night on Dromund Kaas.

 

He stopped struggling after the first three hours. After that, I really believe we made true progress. I gave him credit for that; he had a strong will. I approached him after he was unconscious and pushed the dirt-caked hair out of his face. The thought occurred to me that I might have made an adequate parent, and I felt a twinge of sadness that my path had been altered, at least for the time being. I rose with a start as a wild boar howled in the distance. I brushed myself off and scolded myself for wallowing in the past; that can a fatal indulgence here.

 

I climbed down and kicked the scaffolding away, so he had some uninterrupted time to reflect on our conversation in a quiet place. I was told he was rescued by an excavation team the next morning. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him since. After all, not all who come here leave here in the state they arrived. Life leaves no one unscathed, after all.

 

Some lessons are harder than others. But if I can still learn, so can anyone. For instance, Lord Broc messaged me the other day to congratulate me on the end of my training, which draws near. As an aside, he told me that Gael's childbearing permit had been revoked; apparently the charged he faced for his association with Dr. Staren had finally been adjudicated, and the authorities thought it best. I can only hope Gael learned something useful from all this. I know I certainly did. One cannot stop learning. Only the dead have nothing more to learn, though they may teach.

 

My children teach me every day, and I always listen.

 

He also told me that if I am available, he will apprentice me in his work. After all, my experiences would make me an ideal investigator, and the young man previously with him has been reassigned to the front. Grimly, he related that an implant refugee inadvertently destroyed a transport in Kaas city last month, and that sort of thing doesn't benefit anyone.

 

I thanked him for the offer and advised it was acceptable to me. And so it appears I return to the beginning, to start anew. One rarely gets a true second chance, and I will cherish it.

 

For now, as my time here comes to an end, so do the entries in this data pad. I think I’ll keep it. We may find it useful in finding others like me, who are desperately in search of a way home. As I tap-tap-tap away. I watch as the other students pass by, some more quickly than others. Given my reputation, they find it in their best interest to move along.

 

Ultimately, they leave me to myself, and I am unbothered. In that, the Code rang true. My peace was a lie. When the lie lay broken, I found it again. It's a peace of perfection I've come to cherish in life.

 

And I am content.

* * *

 

The End