Private Little Ghosts

[Briana Sal-Soren]

A Few Months Prior To: The Sword Returns

It'd been slow and dirge like, attempting to track down all of the lost younglings from the New Jedi Order after the fall of the Galactic Alliance. Sightings often led nowhere, while supposedly 'fresh' leads habitually arrived to them months after the fact. More than once, a promising trail ended with an empty apartment, a disconnected holonet account, or a neighbor who vaguely remembered seeing them leave.

There were many days where it was difficult not to assume the worst and wonder how many might never be accounted for, and if the names on her list already belonged to the dead. The mind had a way of creating narratives where a lack of one existed, trying to fill in the gaps with the worst imaginings possible, sometimes simultaneously. How many were swept into Imperial programs before the Empire's collapse? Or delivered into Sith hands afterwards? How many of those captured would be inundated with the dark side, their young minds twisted and polluted until they fit an ideal? She'd heard the stories, and seen first hand what the likes of Solipsis could do with a person.

It could keep you up at night, if you dwelt on it for too long. Better to put your focus where it counted, and your eyes on the victories project 'Little Ghosts' had claimed. Children found, questions answered. Even if it didn't end with them finding their way back to the Order, there was comfort in knowing what'd become of them and crossing off that name from the list.

Hopefully, today, she'd be able to cross off one that'd left a large red question mark on her heart for years.

Cailen had never technically belonged on her list.

He hadn't gone missing after the collapse of the Alliance, but rather, vanished much earlier. They'd been Padawans together, and although they were years apart in age, Briana had come to see him as something akin to a younger brother, if she'd ever had one. She didn't count Brandyn, even though she liked to hold being minutes older than him over his head, whenever she wanted to win an argument.

When Exegol happened, the names of Jedi lost were numerous. Although she'd asked after him on several occasions, Cailen could never be accounted for, one way or another, and she'd been too young herself to do anything truly meaningful about it.

The Underground changed that.

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jacket, Briana meandered along to her destination. Her mind combed over what she might say if it was indeed truly Cailen, while bracing herself for the very real possibility of hitting another dead end.

The directions she'd been given, eventually led her away from the busier thoroughfares and into a part of town that looked like it was one hard rain away from collapse. It was a wonder the buildings here were standing at all, with fresh repairs sitting atop older repairs, and a rusted framework supporting them. The house in question looked no better than the rest, the two-story structure squeezed between a machine shop and a vacant lot littered with scrap. It certainly wasn't anything worth giving more than a second glance, which made for a good cover.

With a deep breath pulled into her lungs, Briana moved up to the door. Her fist opened and closed in hesitation and lowered, before eventually moving to tap carefully on the paint-peeling door. Once, twice, and then a third, before she took a few steps back from the entrance as her heart gave a steady thump.

She supposed that all she had to do now, was wait.

TAG: Cailen Corso

​

 

[Cailen Corso]

Tags: Briana Sal-Soren

A bright arc of plasma jolted from the end of his fusion cutter as Cailen separated a faulty grasper arm from a battle-scarred R9 unit. It belonged to a scruffy looking freighter pilot who “didn’t trust a kid” to repair his droid, but couldn’t turn down such a good price. Cailen knew he was underselling his skills, but as long as he made enough to cover his room and at least one hot meal a day, he was satisfied.

“Sorry, little guy.” Cailen tossed the arm into a scrap pile and reached for a slightly used replacement. “You’re really banged up, huh?” The R9 was in an unresponsive state, disabled to avoid stressing it out while Cailen fixed it up, but he spoke to it all the same. It was probably once a bright white color with pale green and yellow accents, but deep pitting and blaster scoring had long since peeled away most of the original paint. Its seams were caked with old starship grease and dust.

A half-frown emerged. He hated when people treated their droids as if they were just hunks of metal. “I wish I could help ya out,” Cailen said as he tried wiping some of the grime away with little success. He sighed, set the rag down, and lined up the new arm with the exposed joint. White-hot flashes brightened the tiny Tosharan apartment as he superheated the metal, fusing it together.

“There. Good as new.” Cailen pushed up his welding goggles and stepped back to examine his work. Satisfied, he reached for his datapad to flag the job as complete, but an unexpected knock at the door made the boy jump.

The job he just finished hadn’t even been reported yet, and there weren’t any others in need of pickup. Cailen’s brows lowered as he fixed his gaze on the portal. People didn’t just visit him these days. Many of his friends died on Exegol. Even more died on Coruscant. The ones who survived—if there were any—hadn’t made contact with him… not that Cailen had made it himself to find.

Cautiously, he rose to his feet and crossed the tiny apartment to reach the door. A nervous hand tapped the control panel.

The door slid open, and on the other side was a familiar woman Cailen had not seen since his first trip to Ossus, when he was still considered a new initiate to the NJO. “Briana?” In the back of his mind, he supposed she deserved the title of ‘Master’ preceding her name, but they were quite far from anywhere that cared about the honorifics of Jedi. Cailen had learned the hard way that, contrary to what he had been taught, the Outer Rim didn’t want or need the help of his kind.

“W-what are you doing here?” Then he thought to ask a more pressing question. His eyes narrowed defensively. “How did you find me?” If she could do it, so could others—and he doubted there were many who’d come by just to catch up.