The Jedi And The Warrior

To Tatooine

Flyra arched out of bed, a scream tearing from her throat.

There were hands reaching for her in the darkness, evil hands, and she could not fight them because if she did they would kill her. The air was suffocating, and she thrashed against the bedclothes, her breaths coming short and sharp.

No one ever heard her silent cries for help when those hands found her. No one cared.

She succeeded in throwing the bedclothes off and sat up, panting, wrapping her arms around her knees. Tears were wet on her cheeks.

The door slid open, and she jumped with a cry. Malco strode through.

Flyra schooled her face to reveal nothing, but she could not hide the tears. Her commander's face softened.

"Oh, young one," he crooned, crossing the room and climbing onto her bed beside her. "Why do you cry?"

She didn't dare move away from him, but she prayed he would move no closer. "It was nothing," she whispered. "Just a dream."

"My darling." Malco placed his hand over her own and laced their fingers. "Nothing that brings you discomfort should be disregarded." His thumb dragged across the back of her hand. "Tell me about this dream."

Flyra swallowed hard, shaking her head. "Really, it was nothing," she said. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Of course, young one," murmured her commander. "I will never force you to do what you do not want."

She gave a tiny nod. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded, tightening his grip on her hand in a comforting gesture. "Would you like me to stay with you tonight?"

She stared into his piercing blue eyes. She wanted someone to hold her, because it had been so long since anyone held her that she had almost forgotten what it felt like. And Malco had been good to her, in his way. "Yes," she breathed, her hands still shaking slightly.

A soft smile crinkled Malco's eyes, as he gently lay her down. His arms wrapped around her and he pulled her into his chest. He was warm, and large, and his slow breathing became a guide for hers as she lay pressed against him.

This wasn't so bad, she told herself.

***

The next morning dawned grey and foggy. Their ship battled through impenetrable cloud, groaning with wetness. Flyra strode into the main chamber of the ship, adjusting the buckle on her leather vambrace, surveying the situation. They'd hoped to make for Jabime today, but in this weather it didn't look like they'd get very far.

The chamber was mostly empty, but she spotted Samm in one corner, hunched over a steaming cup of liquid. The scar that slashed his face in half gleamed angrily today, and his face was set and weary. Flyra approached him across the silent floor.

"Any other leads?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from him.

The old man glanced up. "No," he grunted. "The Jedi are mostly all gone, I don't know why we're still hunting them."

Flyra watched him for a moment. "You seem troubled," she said, quiet enough that only he would hear. "You have not been yourself for many days."

He shot her a quick glance from under his lashes. "I have been preoccupied, that is all," he said. "Jedi are hard to track."

Flyra nodded slowly, though she was not fooled. "It's him, isn't it?" she pressed. "Your son."

Samm's jaw clenched. He did not look at her. "My son is nothing to me," he said, the old mantra.

"Your son is most likely dead," was all Flyra said. "And you grieve for him."

"You don't know that!" Samm's hiss was loud. Too loud, and Flyra glanced around the morning-quiet ship, checking for any intruding ears.

There was nothing. Outside the dawn was hidden in black mist.

"No," she agreed at last. "And the not knowing makes it even harder to bear."

He gave her a long, shrewd look from under his bushy eyebrows. "You speak as if you share my torment," he observed.

Flyra looked away, studying her hands and the whiteness of her knuckles. "I knew one of them," she admitted. "A Jedi. He was... he was better than I could ever be, wiser and kinder and just... good." She shook her head. "And if he is dead then the galaxy can have my fists, if that is how it tallies."

Samm's eyes, dark in the half light, stayed steady on her.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Truly I am."

Flyra gave him a twitch of a smile. "He was your son's mentor," she told him. "I met him once. He's a good man, Samm. He does you credit."

A shadow flickered in the old man's eyes, and he looked away, clenching his hand into a fist upon the table. Flyra cocked her head.

"What happened?" she murmured. "What happened on Tatooine all those years ago?"

She'd never heard the full story, just hints, snatches of his time with Anakin's mother. He was a quiet man at the best of times, and he never spoke of those few months that he had once called the happiest and most regrettable of his life.

But today, he gave her an unfaltering, steady stare, unbroken by a blink or a lowering of eyes. He took a deep breath.

"I was not a young man," he confessed, slowly, hesitantly. "But I took the body of one, because I... because I was a fool and thought I'd gain more favour that way." He closed his eyes. "Tatooine was a place of work, nothing more. Until I met her. A slave, a nobody and an inferior, but she was gentle and good, and she loved me." His hand, clenched knuckle-white on the table, was trembling. "If I'd known, if she had told me before I left, or... or if I had known what my son was fated to become..."

Flyra frowned. "And what is that?" she murmured.

He looked at her, a brief glance up from where he'd been studying a knot in the wood. "Did Malco not tell you?"

She shook her head. "I did not need to know."

A silence fell, and Samm grimaced. "Sometimes I wonder if I could have stopped it. His birth, the things he's done. Your friend..." A shadow passed across the old man's face. "If you ever meet him again, remember that I will regret my idleness until the end."

Flyra leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms over her chest. "What has he done, Samm?" she breathed.

Samm clenched his jaw. "Nothing for certain," he murmured. "But if we could find him, of all the Jedi, we would be paid..." But he trailed off. His eyes had widened, as though the wheels had started turning in his brain.

"Samm?"

He stood up, pushing aside the table and striding towards the cockpit. Flyra got to her feet and peered after him.

"What are you doing?"

He glanced back at her, hope shining in his hollow cheeks as he flicked switches on the control panel. "I'm setting the course for Tatooine," he said.