Private The Rhythm Divine

[Jacen Nimdok]

This is a short story which was originally written as part of the coronation of Queen Svana of Naboo. It was posted in three parts under an account which now hosts a different character. I am reposting it here for ease of reading, as it serves as a prelude to the events of this thread.

POV: Bithia
Current Configuration: Maternal Form
Wearing: A white shirt and black pants, but stylish
Tags: OPEN

When Bithia had suggested the family take a vacation on Naboo, she hadn't expected they would be there during not only a major festival, but the coronation of a new monarch. Traffic was absolutely horrible, the airways congested with visitors from countless worlds and dignitaries whose entourages blocked off entire highways. She felt less like a guest and more like an intruder on someone else's party.

At least Miri was enjoying herself. The eight year old had ice cream and was content to sit and eat it. Her mother, now lacking in taste buds, could only watch in envy, remembering the taste of the cold dessert as a distant memory.

Nimdok had gone into an antique store. Bithia and Miri sat on a bench outside, since food wasn't allowed inside. It was a warm summer evening, the atmosphere rather humid, almost stifling. Bithia sighed. She needed to talk to Nimdok about something important, but she wasn't sure how to broach the subject. Not when they were supposed to be celebrating.

Then there was Miri. She didn't even want to think about explaining this to Miri. Maybe she wouldn't have to, if things went according to plan…

Once Miri finished her ice cream, an eager Bithia threw the empty cup away and herded the child into the shop.

A dozen old clocks ticked in the first room by the entrance, painted faces and glowing visages counting down the seconds, minutes, and hours. So the visitor to this antique shop began in a chamber of time—clever. Beyond it, a dozen rooms stretched forward, silhouettes of a variety of different objects sketched in the dim lighting. Bithia imagined it smelled like most antique shops—faintly musty, but in a pleasant way. It would be the scent of aging wood and yellowed paper, rusted metal and decaying electronics. How she wished she could experience it.

“You can look, but don’t touch anything,” she told Miri. “It’s like you’re in a museum. You don’t want to break stuff.” Nodding, the girl wandered off to explore.

Bithia walked deeper into the shop, entering a room stacked with shelves of ancient books, datacrons, and various other means of preserving knowledge. A spiral staircase led up; she could hear voices above. She climbed the steps.

She emerged in a well-lit area full of locked cases displaying old jewelry and other fragile valuables. The voices, one of them unmistakably Nimdok’s, were conversing in the next room. She lingered a while, perusing the contents of the display cases and eavesdropping.

“How old would you say it is?” Nimdok asked.

“I’m no psychometrist. Your guess is as good as mine.” The other voice was that of an elderly woman, raspy and withered with age. “Look at these markings. Do you recognize the language?”

“No, but then I’m not a linguist.” There was a pause. “I suppose it could be an obscure planetary dialect. Do you have a record of who sold it to you?”

“Some no-name wandering adventurer. He said he’d bought it from some trader, who bought it from someone, who bought it from someone. Impossible to trace.” Another pause. “Would you… like to open it?”

“Not now, and certainly not here,” Nimdok replied. “These things can be quite dangerous, especially if you have no idea what might be inside. I would be interested in studying it, however. Is it for sale?”

“Hmm, maybe on loan. But not for mere credits. I have no use for money.”

“Really? You must be very fortunate.”

“Business is doing rather well.”

Bithia’s brow furrowed. Her psychology programming was picking up on qualities in the old woman’s vocal tones and word choice which indicated she was preparing for deception. It was so subtle, however, that Nimdok would have no clue he was being tricked. As she slowly approached the threshold, peering through, Bithia saw a little old Keshiri lady and Nimdok sitting across from each other at a small round table, at the center of which lay… a holocron. It was pyramid-shaped, engraved with strange runes, and the crystal lattice was an obvious Sith Red™.

“Well, what would you prefer as payment?” Nimdok asked.

The old woman adjusted her glasses. “Hmm, how about your soul?”

Nimdok blinked in surprise, then let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s one I haven’t heard before. What would you need my soul for?”

"A loan, of course. If you fail to return this in time, I'll come to collect..."

Before the old woman could say another word, Bithia crossed the threshold and entered the room. “I see you’ve managed to get yourself into trouble again,” she remarked, glaring at Nimdok with her hands on her hips.

“Bithia?” He sighed in relief. “Er, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.” She reached forward and snatched the holocron off the table. “I’m absolutely astonished that you still haven’t gotten it through your head how dangerous these things are.”

“I wasn’t going to—”

“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “I know how you are. Reckless, impatient, selfish—and a proven thief. Were you going to dupe this poor woman into giving you something valuable for nothing in return?”

Nimdok stared at her, one eyebrow raised, wondering what she was trying to accomplish. Meanwhile, the little old lady stood up from her chair, wringing her hands fretfully. “Please, oh please, put it down. It’s fragile, priceless! If you drop it, oh, I don’t know what I’ll do...”

Bithia turned to her, conducting a quick scan. Everything seemed normal, except… a very noticeable lack of higher brain functions. Such readings were found only in the sleeping and the comatose. “Fine. I’ll put it down—but somewhere out of his reach.”

“Give it to me, please.” The old woman held out her hands beseechingly. Bithia started to pass the holocron over to her… then dropped it.

“Bithia!” Nimdok yelped, though he quickly changed his tune after the old woman let out an unearthly shriek and dove down to catch it before it collided with the hardwood floor.

“I’m so sorry!” Bithia said, playacting a perfect imitation of guilt and remorse as she crouched down beside the old woman. One hand slid into her pocket, her fist closing around a tiny plastic spray bottle. “Here, let me help you...”

She took the bottle out of her pocket and quickly spritzed the old woman’s throat. The hag let out a wail, then gasped for breath, her body convulsing violently.

Nimdok practically fell out of his chair trying to get away from the resulting smell. “A little more warning would’ve been nice!” he exclaimed, covering his nose and mouth with his arm even as he backed out of the room. Bithia took the holocron from the old woman’s slackened grip, waiting for the shakes to pass and the exorcism to finish.

A substance like black smoke seeped out of the old woman’s pores, gathering as dark fog in the air. It took on the shape of a humanoid figure, vaguely feminine in shape, with two glowing white disks in place of eyes. It shuddered once, staring down at the host body it had just been forced out of, then whirled around to face Bithia. There was a moment’s pause as it attempted to vent its rage telepathically, but Bithia’s Force-voiding body blocked it so thoroughly, the Shadow could only seethe in silence. At least, until it opened a portal and slipped away to the safety of its native Netherworld.

With the Shadow gone, Bithia tended to the old woman. Her age-hooded eyelids fluttered as she came out of the trance she’d been put in. “Oh, I… my head…” She touched her brow. “What’s happened? What’s going on?”

“It’s all right, m’am,” Bithia reassured her. “You tripped and fell. Here.” She helped the woman up and into her chair. “Aside from your head, are you in pain anywhere else?”

“My arm—feels like I slammed it on something hard.” She touched her elbow where it had collided with the floor as the Shadow forced her to catch the falling holocron. As Bithia examined the limb, the old woman wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?” With her free hand, she plucked at the collar of her shirt, sniffing. “It smells like a candy I used to eat when I was a little girl… How strange. I don’t own any perfume like that.”

Smiling, Bithia set the spray bottle on the table. “It’s called Chthonic.”

“Well, I like it. But… why did you spray it on me?”

“You asked me to.”

The old woman looked puzzled, then shrugged, accepting this answer.

Nimdok slowly peered in from around the corner, holding his shirt over his nose and mouth. Bithia turned to him and laughed. “Sorry I didn’t warn you. I just knew I had to act fast.” At the old woman’s questioning glance, she added, “To catch the holocron, I mean.”

“Is that what happened?” the old woman queried.

“Yes. I accidentally knocked it off the table, and you, Ms…”

“Winsworth,” Nimdok supplied, his voice muffled by his clothes.

“Ms. Winsworth, you jumped up to catch it, lost your footing and fell.” She turned to the holocron. “Speaking of which, we were looking to buy this device from you.”

“Oh, that old trinket? I’ll give it to you for… hm, three hundred?”

“Two hundred,” Nimdok bartered. Bithia shot him a glare. “Two hundred fifty.”

Ms. Winsworth shrugged. “That sounds reasonable. Unless you suppose it’s worth more than that?”

“Considering that nobody seems to know where it came from, likely not,” Nimdok said. “I am a historian, and I’m mainly interested in it for its historical value. There’s some strange unidentifiable writing along the edges which I mean to have deciphered by a linguist—”

“You don’t need to convince me, young man,” Ms. Winsworth said. “Any chance I get to rid myself of all this crap is one I’ll take. Only, would you mind calling a doctor for me first? I feel a little light-headed, and if that fall was worse than it looks...”

After paying for the holocron and calling a doctor, Nimdok, Bithia, and Miri left the shop and headed down the busy street outside. Nimdok, no longer shielding his face, was grinning from ear to ear.

“What’s so funny?” Bithia snapped. “It looked to me like you would’ve sold your soul to some freaky shadow demon thing in exchange for a Sith artifact if I hadn’t come in to stop you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he replied. “Maybe Arimanes would’ve sold his soul, but not me.”

“Arimanes,” she muttered. “Who was the one talking in there? Was it Arimanes or Errik? Who the hell am I talking to now?”

His smile faded. “Bithia, we’ve been over this before. It’s… more complicated than just one person interacting with the world at a time.”

“If that’s the case, then both of you might as well be dead.”

Nimdok stopped walking. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we are dead.”

She turned around to face him. “All right, then. Nothing has changed. I should take Miri home to Alderaan and continue as if nothing ever happened.”

He stared at her. No words passed between them, but the look alone said everything. Miri stood between them, looking up at either of her parents’ faces with a furrowed brow.

“Don’t act like it isn’t the right thing to do,” Bithia continued. “You know she would be safer with me. This arrangement between us, with me flying around the galaxy with you while you put yourself in danger—”

“I said I wouldn’t have let anything happen back there,” he interrupted. “I meant it.”

“You shouldn’t have been in a situation like that to begin with. Not with Miri around.” She threw her hands in the air. “You know what? Forget it. This isn’t working.”

“What exactly do you want?” he pressed. “Do you want me to just hand Miri over to you? I’d rarely ever see her if you took her back to Alderaan. We agreed to this arrangement so that we could both be with her.”

“I want my life back!” she exclaimed. Her cry was loud enough that several onlookers having dinner at a nearby café turned to stare.

“You want things to be the way they were?” he muttered. Rather than getting loud, his voice lowered to a growl as he grew more indignant. “You want me to be the way I was, and you to be the way you were. I get it, Bithia. I want that too, a lot. But it’s impossible. I’m sorry.”

“You’ve said that already. Multiple times.” Unable to weep, Bithia contented herself with crossing her arms over her chest and looking miserable. “It’s not your fault, anyway. Not… you as you are now, at least.”

Nimdok pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “Let’s just get home.” He looked around. “Where are we, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Let me check.” A local map appeared before her eyes, showing the route back to their ship. The traffic had gotten even worse as the coronation began.

“Where is Miri?”

At the panic creeping into his voice, Bithia’s head jerked, the map disappearing from her field of vision. “She was right here,” she said, turning all the way around as she scanned the thickening crowds. They were standing by one of Naboo’s many rustic bridges, this one arching over a waterway. A set of stone stairs led down to the water’s edge, a bank of yellow sand lapped at by small waves. Nimdok was already running down the steps.

“You’ve got to be fething kidding me,” she muttered, following him. “Of all the days she could’ve gone missing, it’s today…” Ahead of her, Nimdok nearly stumbled, caught himself, then sprinted along the water’s edge. He seemed to know where he was going. She followed, soon overtaking him in speed.

They found Miri further upriver, standing in bare feet and wet pants. She was shivering. Her socks and shoes lay in a pile nearby. Bithia was the first to reach her, questions leaving her mouth, while Nimdok scooped the girl up, carrying her away from the water’s edge.

“I was just playing,” Miri protested, afraid she would get in trouble. “It’s hot outside but the water is cold. I thought it would be warmer.”

“Miri, why did you leave without telling us where you were going?” Bithia asked. “We didn’t know where you were. You scared us.”

“You were arguing,” the girl replied, as though it explained everything. In a way, it did.

Bithia retrieved the socks and shoes and followed Nimdok, still carrying Miri, to the steps, where they set the girl down and let her put them back on. Silence fell between them, broken only by Bithia asking, “How did you know where she was?”

Nimdok sat beside Miri. He raised his head from his hands before replying, “We have a connection.”

“What do you mean? Like a Force bond?”

“No, it’s… familiarity more than anything else.” His eyelids lowered. “I can sense where she is, how she feels, and what she’s thinking much more easily than with other people. It works both ways—we can even communicate telepathically. I never told you about it, because I was afraid you would see it as unfair. Like I had some special connection to Miri that you could never have.”

“I’m getting used to things being unfair,” she muttered. Taking a moment to glance at the map again, she suppressed a groan of frustration. “The way things are right now, it would take us hours to get home. We’re better off waiting for all the coronation buzz to die down.”

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

A hotel room in Theed, Naboo
Shortly after the coronation...

The bathroom door opened slowly, sending a shaft of sickly yellowish light crawling across the carpet toward the bed. Nimdok lay on his side, his back turned. When the cheap glow of artificial light reached him, he stirred, disturbed by the brightness blaring in the corner of his eye.

Bithia stood in the doorway, a tall, feminine silhouette. She crept forward into the darkness of the bedroom beyond and hovered over him. “Errik,” she said softly.

He rolled over, squinting at her. “Hm?”

She stood over him in silence. The light behind her illuminated the curves and hollows of her unmoving form. He started to sit up, his brow furrowing, but Bithia rested a hand on his chest, preventing him.

“I didn’t realize you were already asleep,” she said. “What I have to say can wait until the morning.”

“No, no. It’s all right.” He sat up anyway and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Still clothed for the most part, he had laid down with the intention of merely resting, only to nod off. “What is it?”

She hesitated, looking over his shoulder rather than at him. “It has to do with what I said earlier. About wanting my life back… It wasn’t fair of me to say those things. I wanted to apologize.”

“Apology accepted.” He reached forward and took both her hands in his. They felt warm to the touch despite her biotic nature. She still wouldn’t look at him.

“An apology isn’t enough. I’d have to change my attitude. But the way things are going, I don’t think it’s realistic… to expect things to change.” Now she glanced down at him, taking in his puzzled expression. “This isn’t going to work. Our arrangement…”

“We can make it work—”

But she was already shaking her head. “It’s too hard on us. We’re hurting each other. Today I realized we’re hurting Miri, too.”

“No, Bithia,” he insisted, fear belying his words. “She needs both of us.”

“She needs you more than she needs me.”

Nimdok was taken off guard by her response. He had expected her to say she would take Miri with her if they separated. “How can that be?”

“She’s happy with you. You’re her daddy. I can’t take you away from her. That would be cruel.”

“You’re mistaken. When we didn’t know where you were, she asked about you every day. She cried when she thought you were dead, Bithia—”

“But she got over it.”

“You’re her mother.”

Bithia pursed her lips. “I don’t know how to say this, but… Do you remember me ever mentioning to you before we got married that I wanted to be a mother?” In the stark silence that followed, she eventually added, “I wasn’t against the idea, but it was never a dream of mine. I did it for you. Because I knew how much it meant to you.”

Releasing a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, Nimdok sighed. “I wish you had told me this earlier," he said. It was the kindest thing he could have said.

“If I had, you would’ve accepted never becoming a father and Miri would’ve never been born.” She smiled a little. “That’s one thing I don’t regret. But the rest of this…" He expression crumpled. "Ugh, I can’t cry no matter how I feel. I want you to hold me, but I won’t be able to feel your touch. I can’t hold Miri either, or smell her—”

“Shhh,” he murmured soothingly. “Are you suffering that much? Do you want to go?”

She stared at him. “Are you asking if I want to die?”

“I don’t mean suicide. I mean… release. If living like this is causing you so much pain and grief, then I won't try to force you to stay.”

“Then you’ll let us go our separate ways?”

“Yes. You can do whatever you want to do.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “But I don’t want to hurt Miri either.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say. You don’t care whether or not I stay, except where Miri is concerned.” Sitting on the bed beside him, Bithia touched his cheek with her hand. “You loved me when you died. I don’t doubt that. Probably still loved me when you came back. But somewhere along the way, you fell out of love…”

“Love is different when you’re dead,” he said, smirking a little. “It’s all spiritual, idealistic. When I joined Arimanes, things were different. I loved what he loved, and feared what he feared.” He paused. "Maybe the difference is simple... physicality. Having a body."

“You have no interest in me now," she said softly.

“Oh, no, Bithia... you make me sound shallow." He gestured. "I figured you wouldn’t get anything out of my interest. You can’t feel anything anymore.” In a way, their roles were now reversed. Now Bithia was the one for whom love was a purely spiritual affair, stripped of physicality and perhaps even emotion. She had become the dead one, while he felt more alive than ever.

“You're right," she muttered glumly. "That’s very unselfish of you, I suppose."

A few moments passed between them. Neither spoke, though both were thinking.

"I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself," Bithia said suddenly. "I'd like to use this body and all its abilities for... good, decent purposes. Mmm, do you suppose I could become a cop?"

"I think you could do whatever you set your mind to," he replied. “What about Messala’s business?”

“I’ll keep the boys in line, don’t worry.” She paused. “And I’ll come and visit every now and then. Miri will still have me in her life.”

Nimdok hesitated. “If Arimanes still wants me gone—”

“He won’t ever want you gone," she interrupted, meeting his gaze steadily. "He’s you, and you’re him. There’s no difference anymore, no clear dividing line where he ends and you begin. You’re one and the same.”

“I don’t know about that…” He trailed off as she leaned forward, planting a kiss in the corner of his mouth.

“I still love you,” she whispered. “That hasn’t changed.” He started to speak, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. “Don’t say that you love me, too.”

“As you say, it’s more complicated than that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But part of me is always going to love you, Bithia.”

The ghost of a smile drifted over her lips. “One more thing,” she said, standing up. “I’m taking Ayreon with me, assuming Inanna doesn’t want him back. You’ll need a pilot.”

“I can hire someone—” But even as he spoke, he saw her walking over to her luggage and pulling out a gamma ray lamp. “Oh my. You’re going to do what Meleena did on ExGal Alpha?”

“A copy of me won’t be me,” Bithia said, heading for the bathroom. “Won’t even necessarily have to look like me. But she will be able to pilot for you, protect you, help you…”

Nimdok followed her. He watched as she held her left hand over the bathtub, severing her index finger. Already the bleeding stub was beginning to grow back. In the meantime, she turned on the lamp, bombarding the severed finger with gamma rays.

It melted into a malleable putty-like substance, then began to expand and reform. Before long, a humanoid being lay in the tub, rapidly developing shape and detail. Hair sprouted from the scalp; eyelids formed and opened; fingernails curled over each individual fingertip. Finally, an exact copy of Bithia sat up, getting her bearings, and looked at the two of them, awaiting orders.

“First of all, switch to a different form,” Bithia said. “Actually, no—I have a better idea. Combine the Maternal and Civilian Forms into one.”

The copy began to shift, her flesh wriggling and writhing. Bithia’s familiar features were replaced by that of a stunning young woman of Atrisian descent, with exotic green eyes, black hair, and olive skin.

Bithia nodded in approval. “Good.” Turning to Nimdok, she asked, “What should she be named?”

Nimdok shrugged.

"Come now, she's to be your assistant. Surely you can come up with a name."

He ran his thumb over his lower lip thoughtfully. "Jaina."

“Jaina it is.” Bithia crossed her arms. “Well, Jaina. You’re going to serve Professor Nimdok from here on out. You’ll be his assistant, bodyguard, and pilot. You’ll obey his orders, so long as they don’t conflict with your programming. Understood?”

“Yes.” Jaina stood up. She had arrived already clothed in a lovely black dress. “May I go out and find something to eat?” she asked Nimdok.

“Whenever you need to,” he replied. “I’ll introduce you to Miri in the morning.”

Jaina departed. Nimdok turned to Bithia. “When will you be leaving?”

“After our vacation here is done,” she said. “Let’s hold off on explaining it to Miri until then. I don’t want to spoil things for her.”

“I hate to make her upset.”

“I don’t think it will bother her half as much as it would if you were the one leaving. And Errik…” She leaned in close. “Try to tell the truth from here on out. Be honest. Not just with other people, but with yourself, too.”

“I’ll try.”

“Promise me you will.”

He smiled wanly at her. “I can't make any promises."

"You can't, or you just don't want to?"

He didn't have an answer for that.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Aldera, Alderaan
Ten years earlier...

Bithia’s skates rolled across the duracrete sidewalk. Like the other waitresses, she glided around the parking lot, her movements efficient, if not graceful.

She had used repulsor skates before as a child and was quite familiar with them. Other diners gave their waitresses repulsor skates, but not the Rock Cafe. They all got roller skates with rubber wheels, like droids. She'd had to learn how to move in them, to go with the flow and allow her momentum to carry her.

Holding a tray laden with food in her hand, she rolled outside, making her way past a row of speeders on a route she knew like the back of her hand. She paused to check the order, making sure she was headed for the right vehicle—and then, the world dipped. Her wheels caught on something and her feet seemed to slide out from underneath her, sending her crashing to the ground.

Her rear end hit the duracrete, her legs splayed out in front of her, while the tray she had been holding went flying. Burger, fries, and a chocolate shake splattered against the windshield of a nearby speeder.

Bithia blinked in shock, then cringed. She hobbled to her feet, brushing herself off, but when she tried to put her weight on her right foot, pain shot up her leg. Had she sprained her ankle? She leaned against the food-covered speeder, clinging to it for support. “I’m so sorry,” she blurted, fumbling at the pockets of the apron around her waist for napkins to try and clean up the mess. “Whatever you order, I’ll make sure it’s free—”

Wiping the window revealed a familiar face inside. She froze, staring with wide eyes.

“Professor… ?”

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Professor Nimdok rolled down his window and peered out at her. The expression on his face mirrored hers.

“Miss Cervantes?”

In retrospect, she didn’t know why she was so surprised to find him here. The Rock Cafe was a popular hangout for students and staff alike at the University of Alderaan, yet this was the first time she had ever seen Professor Nimdok there. It just seemed so… out of character for him to be in a place like this.

“I… um,” she struggled to find her voice. “I slipped.”

“I noticed,” he replied. Pointing to the windshield, he asked, “Do you need help?”

“Oh no, a cleaning droid will be here soon. We have nice ones, don’t worry. Your speeder will come out of this squeaky clean.” Remembering that the Café did indeed have droids on standby to clean up messes, she pressed a button on her work datapad to summon one, as well as pinging the kitchen to prepare the meal all over again. “So, uh, professor—have you ordered anything yet?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Would you like to order something? I can take it, free of charge.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do for throwing perfectly good food at your speeder.”

He cracked a small smile, but quickly looked away from her. “No thanks.” After a long pause, however, he said, “Maybe just a caf.”

She typed in the order, voiding the charge. As the little cleaning droid floated over, Nimdok cringed at the sound of the windshield wipers squeaking across the glass. "Actually, I think I’ll take it inside.”

He opened the door and stepped out. As he passed her by on his way to the entrance, she noticed his clothes. She was used to seeing him in a suit, looking very nerdy and every inch the college professor, but here he was dressed in casual clothes, a white shirt and jeans. While he wasn’t sloppy or rumpled, he looked far less remote and scholarly. It was… interesting, getting to see him like this.

Bithia tried to skate back toward the kitchen, but the pain in her ankle was unbearable. She sent a message to her boss, Adela Gogol, trying to explain. The response came quickly. Get off your feet. No more roller skates for you. Bithia flushed, then sighed with relief. She crouched down to remove the skates and limped barefoot through the entrance.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

Inside the cafe it was quiet, the only significant noises that of silverware clanking against plates and glasses. Nostalgic pop songs from ten, fifteen, twenty years ago played softly over the speakers. Within a few minutes, muffled dance music would begin to blare upstairs, overpowering the speakers below. People were still being served in their speeders outside, but most of the diners would leave right around the same time the college-age party goers started heading for the club on the second floor.

Bithia exchanged her skates for her shoes, sat down at an empty booth, and checked her ankle. Nothing visibly amiss. It was just a little sore now that she wasn’t trying to stand on it—she had probably strained something rather than sprained it. She slowly put on her shoes, half expecting her ankle to swell up in the time it took her to tie her laces.

She glanced toward the counter. Professor Nimdok was sitting on a stool, drinking his caf. He looked a little lonely… until a pretty Twi’lek with lavender skin sauntered over. Adela smiled at him in greeting, and the two seemed to be conversing like old friends.

Not one to be left on the sidelines, Bithia limped over to see if she could make herself useful. While she collected used cutlery and dishes from the tables, she caught bits and pieces of the conversation between the two.

“She didn’t show up?” Adela asked, eyebrows raised in sympathy. “Not even a call or a message, ‘sorry, I can’t come’?”

Nimdok shook his head. “No. I was just sitting out there waiting, feeling sorry for myself.” He glanced up toward the ceiling. “Although now that I’m here, maybe this wouldn’t have been the best place for a date. I don’t remember it being this noisy here…”

As Bithia moved towards the kitchen, Adela noticed and stopped her. “Girl, I thought I told you to get off your feet!”

“I’m fine, really. I think I just strained a muscle or something—”

Taking the dishes from Bithia’s hands, Adela nonetheless ushered her toward a stool at the counter, the nearest seat available. “Sit down and stay down, or you’re going to really hurt yourself. Believe me, I’ve done it. You don’t want it.”

As Adela disappeared into the kitchen with the dishes, Bithia glanced over at Nimdok. There were only two stools between them. He met her gaze, and she felt as if she should say something.

“Is your caf good?”

He nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

Well, that wasn’t the best ice breaker. She hesitated before speaking again. “Hey uh, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop or anything, but it seemed like you and Adela knew each other.”

“Mmm, yes, we’re old friends.”

“Really? I was just surprised, since I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.”

“I used to come here all the time back when I was a student at the university. After I became faculty, I just didn’t have the time anymore.” He shrugged. “Some of the other professors still come here regularly, but I’m… just not as good at balancing my responsibilities, I suppose. Even if I finish early, I’m too tired, I just want to go home and relax.”

“Right, yeah… I feel the same way after class and work.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“Since I started college. I don’t usually trip and fall like that, you know. I’m very well-practiced with roller skates.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Nimdok sipped his caf thoughtfully. “Miss Cervantes, may I ask you a question?”

“Sure. As long as it has nothing to do with history.”

He snorted. “No, not at all. It has to do with me, or rather your perception of me.” He paused, folding his hands in front of him, then asked, “Do you find me strange?”

Had he noticed her staring at his casual clothes, or wondering what he was doing at the Cafe? Shoot. She hadn’t meant to be that obvious. “Uh, not really,” she replied carefully. “You’re a little bit, um, eccentric, but not much more than plenty of other college professors I’ve had.”

He chuckled, apparently finding her answer amusing. “Yes, I’m very aware of that. I’m the charmingly eccentric professor.” Resting his head on his hands, he sobered. “I guess what I’m really asking is, have I ever made you feel… uncomfortable, or do I seem awkward, antisocial?”

“I wouldn’t say that.” Yet she had considered it weird just to be seeing him out and about. “It’s not a bad thing to be a little unusual, you know. Life would be boring if everyone was the same.”

“Maybe it’s not that I’m strange, then,” he murmured. “Maybe it’s that I’m too ordinary. I survived the Netherworld Crisis, multiple wars, the rise and fall of a dozen star empires—you’d think I’d be interesting just for having lived through all that history. But instead, my life has unfolded depressingly average.”

“Well, that’s the way it is for most people. We’re all mostly average, unadventurous, just going through life doing what makes us happy.”

She realized belatedly the key word of his statement: depressingly average. He was not happy with his current state of mediocrity. To be frank, she wasn’t happy with her boring, typical life either. Was that why she put up with Troy and his goons? Was it why she spent her evenings refining spice and cooking glitterstim in the basement? Because she couldn’t stand the mediocre alternative?

“You have no business being average, Miss Cervantes,” Nimdok said, jarring her out of her thoughts. “Not as long as you’re working here.”

She snorted. “What’s so special about this place?”

Looking around to see if anyone was listening, he gestured for her to come closer. “The jukebox is extraordinary,” he whispered. “Some might even say magical.”

“What?”

“Here, let me show you.” He stood up. She glanced to and fro, making sure Adela wasn't around to see her abandon the stool, before she followed him.

 

[Jacen Nimdok]

The jukebox was an old wood-paneled machine, lined with iridescent neon lights. A metal logo pronounced the word “Wurlitzer” above the buttons, the labels long since worn off by decades of pressing fingers. The songs weren’t even listed anymore.

“People see this, they look for a place to put their money in, and when they can’t find a credit scanner or chip reader, they assume it’s just for decoration. But there is a slot, it’s just not designed for credits or chits.” Nimdok pointed. “It’s for coins.”

“How anachronistic,” she remarked, resting her hands on her hips. “It definitely suits this place.”

“Yes, but that’s not all there is to it. You see, one day a Jedi came in. He walked through the door, stopped suddenly, then turned toward the jukebox with this look on his face like he’d been electrified. ‘Where did you get that?’ he asked Adela. She eventually told him she’d gotten it during a raid of a bounty hunter’s ship—”

“A raid?” Bithia snorted to hide her shock. “When did Adela go on a raid?”

“Adela’s done a lot of things most people don’t know about,” he said with a smile. “Anyway, the Jedi went and brought a whole team of his fellow Knights and Masters here to examine the jukebox, but they couldn’t find out where it came from no matter how hard they tried. Eventually they gave up.” He smirked. “But I was intrigued. I went and got some coins to see what would happen.” Pausing for effect, he leaned against the Wurlitzer. “Here’s what I’ve concluded: this jukebox contains every song anyone has ever loved. When you put a coin in, it chooses a song for you. The choice of song matters. It may be a prophecy written into the lyrics, or a revelation of some kind, or even a command from the Force itself. But it always has something to say. Er, sing.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a coin and held it out to her. “Would you like to try?”

Bithia cast a doubtful glance at the coin in his hand, biting her lip. “What the hell, why not.” Taking the coin, she looked at both sides before inserting it into the slot.

Music started to play from the speakers, soft and melancholy. Bithia’s smirk slipped from her face within the first few notes. She recognized the song immediately. More than that, it meant something to her. Something she’d never told anyone about—certainly not her history professor. Her gaze darted to him now. He was watching her intently, but he hadn’t said a word.

“You want me to tell you what it means,” she said, the phrase almost a question.

“You can tell me if you like, but you don’t have to,” he replied. “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“That’s funny,” she mumbled, smiling awkwardly as she looked away and rubbed the back of her neck. She felt exposed. “I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut. Only when it counts, at least. Like in… matters of the heart.”

They were silent as the rest of the song played. When it ended, Nimdok reached into his pocket and pulled out another coin. “My turn.” He inserted the coin into the jukebox.

The same song played again. Bithia’s expression soured. “Okay, wait a minute. Are you playing some kind of trick on me?”

His brow furrowed as he stared at the machine, frowning. “It’s never done that before,” he said. “Played the same song twice for two different people…”

“Does it mean anything to you?” she asked, almost scared of the answer.

Nimdok didn’t look up immediately, and she thought he might not have been able to hear her over the music. But then he replied, “I know it, but I can’t quite place it. I must’ve heard it when I was a kid. Maybe my parents used to play it…” His face lit up. “Yeah, my parents would dance to it in the living room when I was a kid…” He trailed off, his expression pained. “They died when I was seventeen. Taken in the Netherworld Crisis.”

Bithia continued to gnaw on her lip. “It’s one of my favorites,” she said at last, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze. “A song I… wanted to share with somebody someday…”

She broke off as he reached out and cupped her cheek. The gesture was careful, giving her plenty of room to escape. But she leaned into the warmth of his touch, letting her eyes drift closed. Her mouth continued to work, her voice a nervous whisper.

“It was like… a dream I had, almost a vision...”

His lips barely brushed hers in the gentlest, most feather-light of kisses. She didn’t hesitate to kiss him back, surprising him with how into it she was. After just a few seconds of passionate lip-locking, however, he pulled away.

“We really shouldn’t… at least, not in public…” He looked around breathlessly, afraid they had been seen, then turned back to her. “I could lose my job, and you could be expelled, and—”

“Oh.” The seriousness of the situation finally hit her and she quickly let go of him, smoothing her dress. “Um, I should probably leave anyway, what with my ankle and all—”

“Yeah, I should go home too.” The look she gave him actually made him shudder, and he added in a low voice, “Would you, I mean… like to meet somewhere after this…?”

“I’d love to, professor.”

He laughed, his face reddening. “You don’t have to call me that outside of class, you know. My first name is Errik.”

“Don’t call me Miss Cervantes then, either. Just call me Bithia.”

“Bithia,” he echoed quietly.

“Errik,” she said, imitating his softer tone.

They both burst into giggles.

“All right, all right,” he said once he had recovered enough to speak. “Where do you want to go?”

“Right now? To bed. Don’t laugh! My ankle, remember?” She started to hobble back toward the kitchen. “I’ll ask to leave, I’m sure Adela will let me go.”

“We probably shouldn’t leave together, though…”

“Who gives a chit? Say that you were giving me a ride home after I hurt my ankle." Looking back at him, she smiled. "It’ll be fine—we’ll be fine!”