Private For Sentimental Reasons

[Starlin Rand]

Starlin Rand's apartment
Coruscant

Starlin Rand sat on his bed, an acoustic guitar slung across his lap. He was tuning the strings when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He knew who it was the moment that they entered the apartment, but he had been reluctant to get up and greet the visitor.

“Come in,” he said. The door opened and in walked Nimdok. Before he had a chance to say a word, Starlin looked him up and down and said, “Holy chit. You look like hell.”

“Thank you,” Nimdok immediately deadpanned. “Your mother said the same thing when she saw me at the door.”

But it was true. While he wasn’t exactly on death’s doorstep, Nimdok looked very unwell. He appeared to have lost weight and his skin was colorless and sallow. The presence of a long beige coat was obviously designed to hide the frailty of his body, but Starlin could still tell something was wrong.

“Are you sick?” the boy asked. “Because if you are, it better not be contagious, or else you're gonna have to stay away from me. I don’t need to get even skinnier and paler than I already am.”

Nimdok sighed and shook his head. “I’m not sick. I am… suffering from the effects of an injury.” Pausing, he closed the bedroom door behind him and lowered his voice. “I’d rather not involve you in matters of my personal life, Starlin, but I know you’re going to ask questions. For now, let’s focus on you. How was your trip to Zeffo?”

“Fethin’ insane, man!” Starlin hissed. “I almost died! Multiple times! The place was infested with these giant robot guards that tried to slice-and-dice me, and there was a coven of witches that had set up shop in the basement!”

“But you encountered Syd Celsius first, I presume.”

“Oh yeah.” The boy smiled. “I’m her Jedi Padawan now. Totally legit. You wanna see my lightsaber?” Without waiting for an answer, he got up, put aside his guitar, and reached into an old shoebox. Inside was a newly-constructed lightsaber hilt.

“I’d turn it on, but there’s not enough space in here for it,” Starlin said, showing the weapon off. “The blade is blue. Cerulean blue.”

Nimdok perched carefully on the edge of the bed, then raised an eyebrow. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Of course! I’ve been training with Syd for weeks now.” He frowned at the sight of Nimdok sitting on his bed, looking tired and forlorn. “You’ve been gone a long time, you know. I sent you a whole bunch of messages with pictures I took of the Silver Jedi Temple on Kashyyyk, but you never replied. I was worried about you, professor.”

“You mean you were worried I had forgotten about you.”

“That too.” Starlin sat beside Nimdok. “But seriously, what happened to you? Why didn’t you stay in touch? Or… do you not want to talk about it?”

For the first time, Nimdok became aware of Starlin probing his thoughts and emotions through the Force. The boy had indeed learned much. “I was traveling,” he replied. “I visited a friend who owns a private museum, and then I returned to my homeworld for a time. But when I arrived, I found that certain events were already set in motion which I was unaware of, and I got caught in the crossfire.” He shrugged. “That’s all it was, really. I made a mistake and faced the consequences for it.”

“...Riiiight,” Starlin drawled. “Well, as long as you’re not dead or dying… Hey, that reminds me. There’s somebody I met last week who I think you’ll find very interesting.”

“Given your track record, I’m sure I will,” Nimdok muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re the one who set me up with Syd, and she’s easily the strangest… okay, I take it back. This guy is probably weirder than her.” Clutching his lightsaber in his lap, Starlin began excitedly telling the story. “I was looking for somebody who could teach me some more martial forms and techniques, so I went on the Holonet and looked to see if anybody’s offering to teach. I found this guy named Val Drutin who happens to be right here on Coruscant. He sounded pretty cool over the comm, says he’s living out of his ship parked at the spaceport. So I go on down to meet him…” Starlin’s blue eyes widened. “He lives in an old Naboo yacht, he’s even shorter than I am, and he’s apparently a professional dancer-slash-pilot-slash-rogue knight who walks around wearing a costume and tights. This guy is totally, completely, utterly and without a doubt nuts. But get this—his master is the one who taught him how to duel, and she had a collection of really old lightsabers which he now owns and keeps on his ship.”

“Did he show them to you?” Nimdok asked, his interest piqued.

Starlin’s grin revealed all. “Oh yeah. I’ve never seen so many lightsabers in my life. He has his own mini lightsaber museum in there.” His smile dropped. “But none of them have labels. I asked Val if he knew where each of them had come from, and he said he had no idea. So…”

Nimdok cringed. Artifacts and antiques without names or a history attached to them drove him crazy. He hated not knowing what things were used for, who had made and owned them, and what sort of galactic events they had played a part in. But not all hope was lost.

“If we can find someone who is capable of psychometry, perhaps they could assist in discerning where each saber is from,” he suggested.

“Psychometry?”

“It’s a Jedi technique used to discover an object’s past,” Nimdok explained. “A few members of the Kiffar species have a natural affinity for it.”

“So do we need to find a Kiffar who will be willing to help us?”

“Not necessarily. Just someone who is capable.” Nimdok paused and clutched his elbows, his expression pinched as if in pain.

“You all right?” Starlin asked.

“I will be in a moment.” Nimdok exhaled slowly and opened his eyes again. “Are you busy right now?”

“No.”

“Then we should go today.” He stood up, ignoring the stunned and worried expression on the boy's face. “Get your stuff together. I’ll be waiting for you outside.” Hesitating, he added, “This Val Drutin—he isn’t a dangerous man, is he?”

Starlin thought for a moment. “...Nah. He’s crazy, but he couldn’t hurt a fly. Unless the fly attacked him, of course. Then he’d dismember it.”

Nimdok rolled his eyes, opened the door, and left the bedroom.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

In the living room of the apartment, Nimdok found Miri seated at a small table, drawing on a datapad with her fingers. Starlin’s mother Jen sat across from her, watching. There was no sign of Silo-Hur, Starlin’s stepfather, though the Zabrak had been there when Nimdok and Miri first arrived and took the time and effort to say something nasty to the archaeologist.

Jen looked up at him. “You’re going someplace with Starlin,” she guessed. Gesturing to Miri, she asked, “You need a babysitter?”

“I’ll take Miri with me,” he replied. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble.” She sighed. “I’d rather my son wasn’t running around the galaxy getting himself into all kinds of trouble… but then I also know that you and that Jedi woman are doing more for him than I ever could.”

“That’s a poor way of looking at yourself as a parent,” Nimdok remarked.

She shrugged. “It’s the way I see things.” She studied his face, her brow furrowing. “Did you get a haircut?”

In actuality, Nimdok had been forced to redistribute his “hidden flesh” to make up for what he had lost. That meant shaving off anything superfluous. His black hair was indeed much shorter, and he had gotten rid of his sideburns. The oddness of the look was a small price to pay in order to fill out some of his thin form.

“Yes,” he replied quickly. Tilting his head, he asked, “Do you like it?”

“No. You look like that one half-alien character on that old TV show. What was it called…”

“Daddy, you need to take your medicine now,” Miri interrupted. Scooting off her chair, she unzipped the black bag resting on the countertop, took out two small bottles, and tossed them one by one. Nimdok caught both in each hand.

Jen observed this with a soft smile. “You’re a little sweetheart,” she told Miri.

Her smile wavered, however, when she saw Nimdok swallow a large handful of pills from one bottle. At her questioning gaze, he explained, “They’re just vitamins, really.”

The other bottle was some sort of nasal spray. Nimdok handled it with obvious reluctance and turned away from the others before using it. Inhaling the substance caused him to break into a coughing fit.

“Phew, what is that stuff?” Jen asked, waving her hand in front of her face. Despite Nimdok’s efforts to shield them, the spray had released a sharp chemical smell into the air.

“It’s called GBG-7416,” Nimdok replied hoarsely once he was able to talk again. “It… It’s supposed to help me regain weight.”

That was indeed the long-term goal of him using the compound, whose street name was “Shiftglue”, but the drug was really keeping him from shapeshifting. This would (in theory) allow his body to recover its lost flesh faster. Of course, it also meant that in a combat situation he’d be at a great disadvantage—hence why he was carrying a weapon for once, a slugthrower pistol tucked away inside his coat.

Replacing the medications in the black bag, he picked it up off the counter and slung it over his shoulder. “Jen, what would be the best way to get out of here?”

“The safest, you mean? In a speeder with a closed roof and the windows up, putting the pedal to the metal. Don’t stop until you touch the sky.”

Behind him, Nimdok heard Starlin’s door open. “Would you happen to have such a speeder on hand for our use?”

“I might have something,” she said, standing up. “Right this way.”

 

[Starlin Rand]

An old man sat on a street corner in the Uscru Entertainment District. His hair and beard were long and white as snow, and his face was like that of a marble statue. He had not opened his eyes since he was sixteen years old, when he had unknowingly picked up an old Mandalorian explosive lying in a field on his homeworld and it detonated in his face, robbing him forever of sight.

Around him were musical instruments from a thousand different worlds. Two of them he had invented himself with pieces of discarded junk, a triangular percussion device set to 4/4 time and a weird harp that was played with a bow and produced a sound like a serpent slithering across smooth stone.

He was preparing to play a song when he heard three pairs of fast-moving footsteps approaching him. While he paused, the trio came to a stop before him.

“Hello Moondog,” one of them said. He recognized the deep voice and scholarly intonation.

“It’s good to see you again, Nimdok,” the old man replied, waving a withered hand in greeting. “And little miss Miri. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Starlin Rand, my assistant. There’s something he’d like to show the two of us, if you have the time.”

The boy gaped at the old man, who looked to him like something out of a fairytale illustration. A wizened wizard, argus-eyed—or he would be, if his eyes were to open. “Forget it, man,” Starlin muttered. “I wanna know more about you, sir. Why do people call you Moondog?”

Moondog pursed his thin lips. “Because it sounds cool, kid. I don’t remember the name I was born with, and I’ve already forgotten the one I’ll die in.”

“Do you play all these instruments?”

“I use them to play snake music.” He paused. “You like music, don’t you? So does Nimdok, though he doesn’t tell just anybody about it. Believe it or not, there are folks out there who don’t care for music. Lucky for them, they don’t know what they’re missing out on. Ignorance is bliss.”

Starlin knelt down before the rug on which Moondog sat with all his instruments. “Can you teach me how to play these? Or… or can you teach me about music? Musical theory and all that stuff?”

“Soon, you’ll know everything I know,” the old man replied, a faint smile touching his lips. “But Nimdok was my friend first, and I must honor him. We shouldn't make him wait for you to get a musical education.”

Nimdok scratched his head awkwardly, not wanting to admit that Moondog was right. The archaeologist was impatient to get to the lightsabers. Instead he said, “If you aren’t busy, we can go right now.”

“I’m not busy,” Moondog clarified. Standing up, he stepped off the rug and turned toward Starlin. “Would you mind helping me put these away?”

The two musicians stretched out with the Force, laying each instrument down and folding the rug around them. Then Starlin whisked the rug up into Moondog’s hiding place, somewhere the rush of Coruscanti traffic couldn’t reach. Miri watched them do this with rapt attention and clapped in delight when they succeeded in stowing the instruments away safely.

As they headed back into the speeder, Starlin whispered to Nimdok, “You better be paying this guy for every time he helps you. There’s no excuse for you to let him live like this.”

“He prefers it this way,” Nimdok replied, resting a hand on Starlin’s shoulder. “But it’s good that you care. Yes, I give him money whenever I can, and whenever he’ll accept it. He doesn’t like gifts, you see… thinks it makes people feel obligated to give something in return. I don’t agree, but friends don’t have to.”

 

[Val Drutin]

Val stirred. He sat alone in his meditation chamber, returning slowly to full awareness, blinking his sleepy eyes as if just awakening from a deep slumber. Slowly he stood, swaying slightly, then walked out of the room and into the ship proper. It was quiet save the muffled ticking of the hyperdrive, which had been silenced by the soundproofing in the chamber.

“Tamara?” he called, his voice as soft as a bird’s wing.

The ship maiden appeared at once, slippered feet padding across the deck. “I'm here, Val."

“We’re going to have visitors,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Three… no, four people are coming here.”

“Do you know these people?” she asked, tilting her head.

He tapped his lip with his finger. “...Only one of them. That kid I gave saber lessons to last week.” He yawned. “Oh, I’ve got to wake up if we’re going to have company. Meditation makes me so tired, sometimes I wonder why I do it. You know, Zana Rukh was always meditating...”

Quirking an eyebrow at the mention of his late master, Tamara busied herself elsewhere, tidying up the interior of the vessel. Though it had been thoroughly cleaned, repaired, and refurbished at the Scintilla, it was already becoming messy again. Val was simply not a neat person, though he always kept his personal quarters in good shape.

Her eyes were drawn to the mural on the wall, which he had finished not long before the refurbishment. (“I had no choice but to rush,” he had told her, blushing as he spoke. “They were already carting away all the pieces I had collected. I wish I had more time.”) Though she hadn’t been able to tell what it was when she first saw it, she knew now that it depicted a Corellian sunrise. Or at least, it was supposed to. Val wasn’t that great of an artist, though the mural did brighten up the place considerably by adding a splash of color.

“They’re very close now,” Val murmured, ruffling his hair. “The boy, a shapeshifter, an old man, and a little girl.”

Tamara’s head jerked. “A shapeshifter?”

“Oh yes.” He grinned. “He thinks people can’t tell, but I can. I can always tell. I have the soul of a shapeshifter, you see—I never look quite the same between one photo and the next. I put on a costume and am wholly transformed. It’s only natural that I can recognize a kindred spirit.” A crease formed between his brows. “But his spirit is funny somehow. Like only part of it is a shapeshifter’s… half of that, and half of something else. Or is it two spirits in one body?...”

Having said all that could be said on the subject, he shrugged, turned and headed into his quarters. “I’ve got to change. If they show up before I’m finished, go ahead and let them in.”

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Nimdok walked hand in hand with Miri, Moondog on his left and Starlin in front of him, guiding the quartet through the starport. When they reached the cheaply rented hangar bay that housed the Stardust, Miri gave a gasp of awe.

“It’s so pretty!” she exclaimed. “I want a ship like that!”

The silver Nabooian ship was indeed a lovely sight, its sleek silver hull and elegant design making it stand out. She was an aging beauty, Nimdok knew, but time had yet to dull her shine—or the speed of her hyperdrive.

“I’ll introduce you guys to the pilot,” Starlin said, grinning proudly. But no sooner had he started toward the ship, a female figure descended the ramp, already ahead of them. Nimdok was startled by her appearance—she was as beautiful and elegant as the ship, but for some reason she was dressed as a ballet dancer, complete with a white tutu, tights, and pointe shoes.

“Hello,” she greeted the group. Her gaze lingered on Starlin, whom she gave a friendly smile. “Starlin, how nice to see you again.”

“Hiya, Tamara,” Starlin croaked, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “I brought some friends of mine, they wanted to see the ship and meet Val.”

She nodded to the others. “Val is busy at the moment, but he’ll be finished soon. In the meantime, you can come aboard.” Heading back up the ramp, she gestured for them to follow.

“Is she a ballerina?” Miri asked her father.

Nimdok glanced at Starlin for an answer. The boy shrugged. “Val is a dancer. She’s his ship maiden. They’re these things that are generated by the ship using a crystal of some sort—”

“I know what a ship maiden is,” Nimdok interrupted. “I purchased some of my… medication from the same manufacturer as the ship maiden power crystals.”

Starlin blinked. “What kind of place sells both medication and crystals?”

“Clearly you’ve never been to an apothecary,” Nimdok replied with a smirk.

The group ascended the ramp, heading inside the ship. Moondog, guided by Nimdok, cautiously put his hand out and brushed his fingers against the hull, then quickly pulled back. “This ship is very old,” he said. “It has been through much. Long has it been tainted by the Dark Side…”

“The Dark Side?” Starlin echoed. “Since when?”

“Fifty years, at least, if not more.” Pushing Nimdok gently away, Moondog walked toward the center of the main room, his hands stretched out as he felt his way around. “I see why you wanted me to come with you. There are many things even older than the ship inside her bowels.”

“Yeah, well, that lightsaber collection is actually over here,” Starlin said, pointing in the opposite direction Moondog was shuffling towards.

The old Kiffar slowly turned around, his hands brushing the edges of a small alcove. Nimdok, following close behind him, gasped softly at the sight before him. There were dozens of sabers, their hilts gleaming, grimy, and rusty. He saw gold and electrum, silver and durasteel, the fair glint of songsteel and beautiful phrik. Elaborate symbols were etched into the sides of some; others were simple and undecorated. All of them hummed with power gone dormant, waiting to be awoken and wielded again.

But before he could reach out and touch any of them, Val Drutin came out of his quarters. The young man was amusingly short, but far from shrimpy—his limbs were thick with muscle, particularly his overdeveloped thighs. Clad in a dancer’s costume, complete with tights and slippers, he pushed back his longish hair and gazed shyly at the visitors with dark slanting eyes.

“Hello there!” He greeted them with a friendly wave. “Haven’t had guests in a while. Oh, and I just had the ship cleaned and repaired recently, so don’t be afraid to make new messes.”

Nimdok’s brow furrowed at this illogical statement, but Val was already in motion. It was clear from the graceful way he moved that he was indeed a dancer, and a very energetic one at that. He glided over to Starlin and began speaking to him enthusiastically, circling around him as the words tumbled out of his mouth. “Starlin, how have you been? I’ve been well. Have your fencing skills improved? Did you practice like I told you? How’s your mother? Who are your friends?”

Starlin struggled to answer all of Val’s questions. “Uh, I’m good. Everything’s going great, Mom’s good, practice is good. This is Nimdok, Miri, Moondog…”

“Nice to meet you,” Val said. He went down the line, shaking each of the trio’s hands. Miri giggled as he pinched and waggled her smaller fingers, whereas Moondog was far more wary, hesitating to accept the handshake.

“Oh, are you one of those people who are afraid of germs?” Val asked him. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I’m afraid of germs too. Don’t touch me, please, I beg you.”

Before Moondog could respond, Val’s attention was diverted by Tamara’s entrance. Moondog uttered a small gasp of relief. Nimdok frowned.

“Tamara, you let them in?”

“Of course. That’s what you told me to do.”

Val paused, his brow furrowing as he processed this. “Oh, right. Yes. Uh, well, what can I do for you all?”

Nimdok gnawed on his lip, not sure if this whole operation was a good idea. There was something off about Val, and Moondog wasn’t the only one who could sense it. Even if the dancer’s bizarre behavior and tics were all simply the symptoms of a nameless form of madness, there seemed to be something else at play. An aura of mystery and darkness surrounded him, impenetrable by those present.

“Nimdok is a professor,” Starlin explained. “Of Jedi and Sith history. I told him you had a big collection of ancient lightsabers, and he wanted to see it for himself. Moondog is here to help—he’s got, um, psycho-something?”

“Psychometry,” Nimdok said softly. “He can use it to determine whether the lightsabers are really as old as they look.”

“Didn’t believe Starlin, did you?” Val grinned. Due to a slight overbite, his smile looked a little goofy. “It’s a good thing Moondog is here, because I don’t really know much about the sabers. I inherited them from my master, you see, and… well. It’s a long story.” He glanced at Miri. “What about you?”

“She’s my daughter,” Nimdok replied, never taking his eyes off Val. “I take her everywhere with me.”

Miri had likewise never taken her eyes off Val, though her gaze had flicked briefly over to Tamara when the ship maiden returned. Now she suddenly blurted out, “Are you really ballet dancers?”

“Yes,” Val replied, brightening. “Do you like to dance?”

“Yeah. I wanna be a ballerina. But I never had any lessons.”

“I could teach you, if you like. Just like how I taught Starlin how to fence.” Val snapped his fingers. “I know! Why don’t we go outside the ship for a dance lesson, while your father and his wise old friend stay here and look at the lightsabers?”

“I’d rather not,” Nimdok said immediately, taking a step closer to Miri.

“Please, Daddy,” she whined. “I always wanted to be a ballerina.”

“I don’t want you going off by yourself with a stranger.”

“I’ll go with them,” Starlin offered. He glanced pointedly at Nimdok, then at the alcove full of elegant weapons from a more civilized age. “She won’t be alone with strangers then.”

His lips pursed, Nimdok took a deep breath, then exhaled in a sigh. “You’re only going just outside the ship?”

“We’ll stay in the hangar,” Val replied. “She won’t be far away at all. Tamara will go too—I need a dance partner for demonstrations.”

“... Okay,” Nimdok consented. Looking down at his exuberant daughter, he smiled a little. “Hopefully this won’t take long, then I can come out and watch.”

Jumping up and down in excitement, Miri hurried after the others as they descended the ramp. Nimdok shut his eyes, feeling her presence drifting away from him, then turned to Moondog. “Let’s get started.”

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

The pair turned their attention to the alcove and the treasures it held.

“I can feel the power coming from them,” Moondog muttered. “The lingering energies of so many lives, all concentrated in one place. Can you feel it too?”

“Yes,” Nimdok said. He felt a sense of foreboding just looking at the stockpile. “Starlin bought us some time alone with them. We better get to work.”

He guided Moondog’s hands to the first weapon that caught his eye: a beauty with an elegant phrik crossguard and a ruby red gem visible at its center. It was a little banged up and scratched, but otherwise in excellent condition.

Moondog rested his palms against the crossguard. “More recent. The Knights of Ren, I believe… No, no more than a few centuries old.”

“That fits with my conclusions.” Nimdok took Moondog’s hands and led him to a pair of double-bladed lightsabers. They were identical in appearance, and had thus been laid aside together.

Moondog’s fingertips lightly brushed one of the long hilts, his other hand hovering briefly before he touched the other. “These two are twins,” he said. “Built and wielded by a female Zabrak… a Sith priestess of great and terrible power…” His expression grew grave. “She killed many… youths, even children… sacrificing them to the Dark…”

Nimdok gently pried Moondog’s grip off the hilts. “It was long ago, my friend. All are at peace now.”

Moondog nodded, then let his hands drop to his sides. “Arimanes, I hate to disappoint you… but I am overwhelmed by all this. Every weapon so far has been a vile, tainted thing used to shed innocent blood, and I have had to live its life over again…”

“It’s alright. Here, let’s just do one more.” Nimdok’s eyes swept over the array of lightsabers, trying to find the most intriguing one—and promptly let out a gasp.

“What is it?” Moondog asked, startled.

Nimdok stared at an age-tarnished hilt. He hesitated to even touch it, his eyes wide with surprise and wonder. But eventually his fingers brushed the cool metal, stroking along the dirt-encrusted seams.

“This isn’t a lightsaber,” Nimdok replied softly. He carefully lifted the hilt, cradling it in both hands as if it were a newborn baby. “This… is a Forcesaber. The precursor to the lightsaber. It must be at least ten thousand years old…”

Moondog stretched out his hand gingerly, and Nimdok held out the Forcesaber so that he could touch it. “It is old,” the Kiffar whispered. “Very old. The imprint is faint. Most of the energies have long since dissipated by now… I’ve never felt anything like it. The Dark didn’t just permeate this… it passed through it. The ‘soul’ of the weapon is the Dark Side itself…”

“Forcesabers were powered by the Dark Side. It drew those energies from its wielder,” Nimdok explained. “They were created and used by the Force Hounds, slaves under the Rakata Empire. Only after the Je’daii accepted Xesh’s vision of a new weapon similar to the Forcesaber was the lightsaber born.”

“Does it still work?”

“I wouldn’t dare try it,” Nimdok said, carefully setting it down again. “As old as it is, it could explode. Besides, I’m no servant of the Dark Side. But I can’t just leave a prize like this here…”

Moondog suddenly turned away from him, clearly distracted. Nimdok carefully tucked the Forcesaber into his robes and asked, “What do you sense?”

“Soldiers,” Moondog replied. “Troops… They are looking for you.”

 

[Val Drutin]

“... Now, here’s fifth position,” Val said, manipulating Tamara’s body like a model into the desired pose. Her legs were crossed at the knees, feet together, toes pointing in opposite directions.

Looking down at her own sock-clad feet, Miri attempted to wiggle her way from fourth position to fifth. Chuckling, Val walked over to the girl. “Try not to look down—bending over like that will cause you to lose your balance. Here…” He kenlt down beside her to adjust her feet.

She immediately put her hand on his shoulder, leaning on him for support. “It feels weird.”

“Only because you’re not used to it.” Val stood up, taking her hands in his, and then slowly let go. “Try to hold still like this.”

She tried. Starlin, who was sitting on a crate in the corner trying to look like he wasn’t watching paying attention to the lesson, resisted the urge to laugh as Miri heaved a sigh and pouted. “This is kinda boring.”

“It’s hard work,” Val replied. “Takes a lot of practice and training. As much as it takes to learn how to use the Dark Side.”

Starlin startled (heh) at the reference. But much to his relief, Miri replied, “I don’t wanna learn how to use the Dark Side, then.” Little did any of them know, Val had just cured the child of a morbid interest and saved her from going down a bleak path in the future… but you, dear reader, might remember that post.

Miri relaxed and turned to Val and Tamara. “Can you do any cool stuff? The jumps and the spinning and the tiptoe dance?”

“Oh, you just wanna watch, do you?” Val grinned. Miri had taken to the positions with relative ease, since her body retained the flexibility of youth. But he could tell the little girl’s attention was wandering; she longed to play and be entertained, not work. Most children were a couple years older than her when they began dancing, unless they were gifted prodigies, so it came as no surprise that the biggest hindrance was her inability to focus on it for long periods of time.

But he was equally as mercurial in his temperament, and so he was happy to indulge her. Taking a step back, he slipped from the role of teacher to that of performer as easily as he slid into fifth. “This is how high I can jump without the Force,” he said, and proceeded to leap from one end of the hangar to the other. Whirling around after he landed, he thrust out his arm and cried, “Tamara!”

The ship maiden pressed her hands to her smiling cheeks as if to hide a blush, then glided over to him. She flung herself at him and he caught her in midair, holding her up over his head for several seconds before gracefully lowering her to the ground again.

Caught up in the spell of the moment, when it was over Miri shrieked with delight and jumped up and down. “Again! Again!”

“Wait, wait! There’s more! En pointe—dancing on tiptoe.” Taking hold of Tamara’s waist, he supported her as she went up on the shoebox of one foot, arabesque style, her arms outstretched. Then he moved to her other side, spinning her around as he did, and grabbed her hand in his. Putting absolute trust in his grip, she dipped her head back, back, as far back as she could and still stayed on her one foot’s toes, bending at the waist. Miri could see her beautiful face upside down, and the sloping planes of her white throat. Neither showed any signs of strain. When she glided upright again, Miri was dumbstruck with awe, and even Starlin was peering wide-eyed over the edge of his datapad.

Val moved away from his partner. “Pirouettes are the spins. My brother could only do eleven of those. Watch.”

Assuming fourth, he slid his feet, bowed his outstretched arms, and launched. He turned quickly, momentum spurring him along, the carefully calculated movements of his head helping to propel him further. He passed eleven in seconds, and kept going.

He would’ve gone further, too, if his danger sense hadn’t flared. Coming to a skidding halt, he yelled and hit the deck just in time for a stun bolt to arc over his head. It hit the far wall and fizzled out in a shower of sparks.

Starlin dove for cover behind the crates, cursing all the while. Tamara seized Miri in her arms and spirited her away up the ramp of the ship, stun bolts landing all around her.

Val rolled away to where Starlin was hiding, crouched, and pulled out his lightsaber. “Who are these guys and what are they doing in my swamp?!” he demanded.

Starlin blinked at him, caught off guard by the reference, then decided to simply answer the question. “They look like—uh, Sith to me! Are the Sith after you?”

“No!” Val yelled back. “If it were random criminals or bounty hunters, sure, maybe! But I don’t have any beef with the Sith!”

“I sort of do,” Starlin admitted. “But Nimdok definitely does! I think he got involved in something lately! Some bad business with the Sith—they hurt him real bad!”

“Then let’s hurt them real bad!” The violet blade ignited, Val hauled back and flung his lightsaber at their attackers.

The saber spun through the air like a boomerang, slicing through several of the troops before returning to Val’s hand.

“Whoa!” Starlin gaped. “How did you do that?”

“I’ll teach you sometime!” Val thrust out his arm, his fingers clenching. Someone began to choke. “If you’re not going back on the ship with your friends, a little help here would be nice!”

The remaining troops switched from stun bolts to real blaster fire, shooting to wound or kill. Starlin used the Force to slow them down, giving Val time to launch a series of QTE-like moves. Val used the crates as a launch pad, leaping into the air and deflecting blaster fire left and right as he flung himself forward. He gored the chest of one soldier, decapitated another, and then ran along the wall to deliver a flying kick to the face of a third. The guy fell dead, his nose mashed into his skull by Val’s slippered foot.

“Is that all of them?” Starlin asked, already a bit winded just from his use of Slow.

“I hope so!”

“Why are we still yelling?!”

“I don’t know! It’s dramatic, I guess!”

It wasn’t all of them. A Sith Knight strolled into the hangar, his red lightsaber already on. An invisible presence coiled around him, snakelike, and when he entered the cleared circle they had been using as an impromptu dance studio, the serpent slithered away from him.

“No!” Starlin screamed instinctively. It was headed for the ship, unseen but felt through the Force along with its hunger and malicious intent. “Val! There’s something here!”

But Val had already engaged the Knight in combat. Red and violet light clashed, the plasma blades crackling as they struck together. As always, Val was a sight to behold, combining the fencer’s finesse with a dancer’s grace. The Knight, burly and brawny, sought to overwhelm him, but Val kept darting out of the way.

Starlin’s own lightsaber hummed in his hand, cool blue and thrumming in tune with his spirit. He followed the snake up the ramp and lunged at it with his blade.

It didn’t react to the stab, but he sensed it tasting his aura, as if taking a sip of a new drink. But the Light within him repelled it and it recoiled, arcing up the ramp and into the Stardust. Fighting Starlin was too risky, and its mission was too important to waste time anyway…

“Val!” Starlin tried again, practically wailing in anguish and terror. Nimdok, Moondog, Miri—they were all in there, trapped with this thing. “What do I do? It’s going to kill them—what do I do?!”

The clash of lightsabers was his only answer.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Tamara could neither see nor sense the Shroud as it entered the Stardust, but it was nearly impossible to hear the frantic screams of Starlin from outside. Having let Miri run to her father’s side, she reached for the button to raise the ramp, hoping to prevent whatever he was shouting about from entering, but it was too late.

The Shroud slithered inside, unseen and unheard. It showed no interest in the ship maiden, since she held no Force energies for it to suck dry. She did, however, hear a bloodcurdling scream from Miri as the girl cowered behind her father.

The look on Nimdok’s face betrayed not only his terror, but recognition. He had faced this threat once before, on Monastery. It had nearly killed him. Now it was headed straight for him again, intent on finishing the job while he was in a weakened state.

Only Moondog remained in control under the circumstances. The old Kiffar took a step forward, his arms outstretched. “Unholy thing,” he growled. “You will go no further.”

“Don’t!” Nimdok gasped. “It’ll kill you! Don’t go anywhere near it!”

The Shroud veered up like a cobra, fangs flashing, but it didn’t strike. Instead it rolled and thrashed across the floor, fighting against the invisible walls which had sprung up around it. Moondog had formed a barrier with the Force to entrap the demon. But it wouldn’t hold it forever. Already Moondog was straining to maintain the cage.

Miri was breathing hard and whimpering as she clung to her father’s side. The sounds of her terror cut him like a knife. It was too soon, much too soon after what had happened to them on Monastery and Lao-mon. But they had to do something, and fast.

Nimdok crouched in front of Miri. “I need you to give me your necklace,” he said.

She reached behind her neck and fumbled with the clasp, untying it. While the dragon pendant appeared to be a piece of cheap jewelry, Nimdok knew better. The round sphere of amethyst held a trapped demon of its own, one enslaved to whoever wore it. It would protect its master at all cost. But Nimdok wouldn’t risk Miri’s life, not with the Shroud.

“Moondog, when I say to let go, you have to release the barrier!” he called out, hanging the amulet around his own neck. He felt weak and dizzy from all the excitement and stress, but he shook his head and pressed on.

“What are you going to do?” Moondog replied. His outstretched hands trembled.

“Just trust me!” Nimdok replied. “It’ll be completely taken care of. We’ll give it a taste of its own medicine!”

Moondog didn’t respond. Nimdok started to pull away from Miri, but she screamed “No!” and clung tighter to him. His attempts to reason with her fell on deaf ears, until finally he pried her little hand off his and shoved her away from him. He might as well have thrust a blade into his own heart.

Instead, he shouted, “Now! Release it!”

The barrier collapsed. The Shroud coiled as it rose up from the cowering position it had been forced into, immediately honed in on its target, and lunged.

“No!”

Nimdok saw Starlin out of the corner of his eye, a boy with a blue lightsaber, just before the Shroud struck. The flow of Force energies in the room abruptly ground to a halt as Starlin seized the Shroud. All of the air seemed to leave the ship; everything froze in place.

Then the Shroud began to wrestle with Starlin, and the atmosphere became charged with electricity, thrumming with power. The resulting explosion of Force Light made the Dark Side amulet burn against Nimdok’s chest. He tore it off, the chain dangling from his shaking hand while he shielded his eyes from the harsh glare with the other.

He heard an unhuman cry which he presumed came from the Shroud as it was burned away by the Light. When the flare finally died down, Nimdok lowered his arm and squinted in the comparative dimness.

“Starlin!”

The boy was lying on the floor, his lightsaber discarded. Nimdok crawled over to him and felt for a pulse. There was none.

Tamara, seeing Nimdok tear Starlin’s shirt open and start frantic chest compressions, ran to get the first aid supplies. Moondog sank to his knees on the floor, utterly spent. Miri stood behind him, her small hands covering her face as she sobbed.

Everything had gone horribly wrong.

 

[Val Drutin]

Everything was going so very right!

Val laughed as the Sith Knight once more tried to hit him, and once again failed as the dancer darted out of the way. The red blade sliced clean through a storage crate, spilling its contents (several pounds worth of luxury fabric) onto the hangar bay floor.

With a wordless cry of frustrated annoyance, the Knight swivelled around and lunged at Val, who jumped up onto higher ground. “Is that the best you can do?” the dancer jeered.

He blocked the blast of infuriated Force lightning that followed, then countered with electricity of his own. The Knight was struck square in the chest; in seconds, it proved fatal.

Val threw back his head and laughed. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” Hopping down to the floor again, he headed back into the Stardust, moving at a leisurely pace.

Inside he found pandemonium. A sobbing Miri was comforted by Moondog as Nimdok frantically performed CPR on Starlin. Tamara appeared with a medkit, tore it open, and began prepping the defibrillators inside. Nimdok took them from her, screaming “Call for help! He needs medical attention! CPR will only prolong the inevitable!”

The Ship Maiden stood up and rushed to the comm, while Nimdok jolted the teen with electricity, trying to restart his heart. The boy lay deathly still, his complexion waxy.

Nimdok waited impatiently for the defibrillator to recharge. Val approached slowly, a bit afraid that the professor would yell at him if it looked like he was interfering. The machine beeped; Nimdok shocked Starlin again, muttering prayers and pleas under his breath.

“Professor?” Val asked tentatively. “May I try to help?”

Nimdok glanced up at him, a stricken look on his face. He stared, comprehending but uncertain, until wordlessly he nodded his consent.

Val pressed his palms, soft and uncalloused, against either side of Starlin’s face. The dancer’s eyelids drooped and his body sagged to one side as he sank into the boy’s mind.

<Hello? Starlin? Are you there?>

A faint awareness answered him, weak and distant.

<Don’t be silly. No one is waiting for you there. Here everyone wants you to stay.>

The awareness floundered, unable to find his way home. Val found him and seized him, bearing him back to the surface.

Pulling his hands away from Starlin’s head, Val heard the defibrillator chime. “Shock him again,” he said.

Nimdok jolted Starlin’s bare chest. This time, the boy’s eyes flew open. His chest expanded as he took a gasping breath, as if he had emerged from a dark sea after nearly drowning. Then he began to cough, then spit up. Nimdok helped him onto his side as he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the floor.

Paramedics arrived shortly after. While they tended to Starlin, Nimdok went to Moondog and Miri. The little girl’s face was red and wet. Knowing that her tears were because he had been rough with her, even for her own safety, tore at his heart. He wasn’t sure if she could understand why he had done it, but he tried to explain.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said. “I pushed you out of the way so the monster wouldn’t hit you. And I took your necklace…” He held up the dragon pendant. “...because I thought I could use it to kill the monster. I’m sorry.”

He held it out to her. She took the pendant, sniffling, and accepted the tissues he offered her, dabbing delicately at her eyes. “Such a little lady,” he murmured, gently pushing strands of tears-slicked hair out of her face.

“Put it back on, please,” she said, giving him the necklace, then turning around and lifting her hair. He clasped it around her neck.

“Arimanes, my friend,” Moondog said softly. “You are in more trouble than I ever could’ve guessed. Who was it that sent these things to kill you?”

“Adrian Vandiir, most likely,” Nimdok replied with a sigh. “He’s a Sith Lord I angered… I’ve dealt with this type of creature before. It’s a Shroud, a kind of Sithspawn. It attacked me on Monastery when we visited my stepdaughter at her home.”

“I see.” Moondog’s brow furrowed. “This Adrian Vandiir is a formidable enemy, clearly. Perhaps you should try to make peace with him.” After a pause, he added, “I didn’t know you had a stepdaughter.”

“Kurenai, yes. A new stepdaughter, though she’s a few centuries older than me, at least.” Nimdok shrugged. “I don’t know how I would make peace with a Sith. Perhaps… perhaps if I could bargain with him, give him a gift…”

He couldn’t return the holocron he had stolen, the one which Vandiir had coveted. That was on Saleucami, in Elise’s private museum. But perhaps… the Forcesaber. Oh, it would kill him to part with it, let alone give it to that snotty Serennian prick, but if it meant all this violence and insanity would end…

He sank into a chair beside Moondog, utterly exhausted. Miri climbed up beside him. “I wanna go back to the hotel,” she said.

“I do too,” he replied. Given his condition, the stress of this little incident had likely set back his healing by an entire week.

Yet his gaze still drifted toward the collection of lightsabers. If he was going to have to give up the Forcesaber to a Sith Lord, he wanted a consolation prize or two…

Glancing around—the paramedics were busy with Starlin, and there was no sign of Val or Tamara—Nimdok stood and approached the display. Moondog gave him a knowing sigh as he passed, but didn’t say anything. The professor took the three lightsabers the Kiffar had already identified, the Knights of Ren one with a jeweled crossguard and the two double-bladed hilts which had belonged to a vicious Sith priestess. He pocketed them all in his robes beside the Forcesaber, then turned to Miri with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Time to go, sweetheart.”