(no subject)
Ben was meditating on his body, on the wound Juliet's chainsaw had left in it, encouraging regeneration. It was a slow way to heal it, but faster than just sleeping, and it didn't tax other healers, whose skills might be needed for real patients. And then-
The Force was not here.
Here was a circular room with smooth black stone walls and desks. It had the look of an office. He was seated with two others. One was a tall, spindly humanoid being, with hairless convoluted skin on her head, deeply recessed eyes, and a gaping narrow vertically-slit opening that led to a large, toothless mouth partially obscured by fleshy tendrils. A Kel Dor, Ben thought, and probably older. She wore simple off-white robes, contrasting with the walls.
The other was a teenaged human boy with red hair and a transparent mask covering his face. It was attached to some kind of backpack rig. Ben was wearing something similar.
That was why the Kel Dor wasn't masked. This was in atmosphere she could survive in, and humans couldn't.
They were both familiar, the teenager almost painfully so, and yet Ben did not look more closely at either of them, or around. He wasn't in control here. A prickle of alarm started to rise. He let it go.
It would all be fine. Better to just watch.
"We heard with sympathy and misgivings the news of your recent unpleasantness," the Kel Dor was saying. Her Basic was accented, lilting a little, and respectful but not submissive. Formal.
"Thank you." Ben gave her a little nod, matching her attitude and formality. "Because of those events and my status as exile, it would be inappropriate to refer to me as or accord me any of the benefits that would come to me as Grand Master of the Jedi Order."
She tipped her head slightly to the side and righted it again. "Then we shall limit ourselves to the benefits due the man who refounded the Jedi and helped break the hold the [enemy] had on the galaxy." The word she used wasn't enemy.
A faint smile came to his lips. Then he leaned forwards to tell her, "My recent unpleasantness is related to the Second Galactic Civil War. The war was, in part, due to the actions of Jacen Solo. I am trying to retrace the steps he took throughout the galaxy prior to the war, to find out more about what made him the way he was. Some time back, he demonstrated a Force technique that makes me think he may have been here during his travels-here, studying among the Baran Do Sages." Speaking for that long left condensation on the lower regions of his mask. It cleared soon enough.
She nodded. "He was here. Some nine years ago. He came seeking knowledge of our ways with the Force."
"May I ask, what did you teach him?"
"I, nothing. I was not Mistress at that time. Master of the Baran Do was then Koro Ziil, who has since accepted death."
He asked, and she - the Mistress of the Baran Do Sages - explained that in her order, upon deciding that one's time had come a Baran Do would make all necessary preparations, say farewell, and die peacefully.
"We simply offer up the life within us to merge with the Force. Life flees, the body perishes. It is a technique known to the Masters of our Order. The body is then cremated. This is a sign of great respect, as combustible materials are rarer here than on oxygen-rich worlds." He had a feeling, then - without the Force, it was difficult to tell what. Some sort of suspicion.
But Ben only nodded. "Was this one of the techniques Jacen learned?"
"I think not. He was more interested in the areas of our specialty- extension of the senses, detection of danger, detection of evil intent. Also of keeping himself from detection." The Mistress looked down, clearly recalling something. "We thought he was a good man. We hesitated not at all to teach him our methods."
"I think he was a good man then." He paused for a moment. Thinking, perhaps. "Would it be possible for me to learn the techniques Jacen learned?"
She gave Ben what he recognized, despite the difference in both species' facial expressions, as a hard, direct stare. "Would it be safe?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Our observation, thankfully distant, has been that Jacen Solo became a nryghat-a monster of nightmares, the sort that haunts the dreams of children. But he was not always so," the Mistress told him. "Could it be that the methods we taught him, Force techniques developed by our species for our own use, could affect the mind of a human in a bad way, a damaging way?"
"It's . . . possible," he allowed dubiously.
"Then you should not be subjected to the same danger. If Jacen Solo, a very powerful Jedi, were transformed by what we taught him, and did all that he did, what might []k Skywalker, the most famous, most powerful, and most experienced living Jedi, do if he were similarly affected?"
He met her stare steadily. "And yet I have to know."
"Teach me instead." The voice was from the teenager, who'd been silent until now. Ben found himself turning to see, and was peripherally aware of the Mistress doing so as well.
The boy looked from one to the other and said, "If I change the way Jacen did, well, I'm not as powerful as he was or my father is. I'm no danger. Well, less of a danger. My father could find a way to cure me." He was nervous and trying not to show it.
Ben shook his head. "I'm sorry, []. It needs to be someone as educated in as many subtleties of the Force as possible, and that means me." The name - he could hear it, most of it. One syllable. Flat 'e'. And very, very familiar.
"But if you do turn the way Jacen did-"
Ben smiled thinly. "It took Jacen years to become Darth Caedus, and in that time he exhibited signs that we missed or ignored... signs that I believe we are very much attuned to now. Yes?"
"Well, yes."
"If something happens to my thinking processes, to the way I feel about people and my duties, I suspect I'll notice the change and seek help. Even if I don't, you will."
"No, Dad. What if it's sudden and total? What if you're []k Skywalker today and Darth Starkiller tomorrow?" His son - his son! - pleaded.
Ben hesitated. "Then it would be your job to find a way to stop me. Even kill me."
"No."
"[], I don't think anything like that will happen. But if it does, you need to be a Jedi first. To put personal loyalties behind your responsibility to the innocent, to the Force. If you can't promise me you can do that, you may need to return to Coruscant." His voice was firm. Final.
The boy stared at him, stricken. It hurt Ben to see him like that, but his gaze never wavered. In time the boy swallowed hard and gave an abbreviated nod.
"All right, Dad."
"Promise me, []."
"You have my word. As a Jedi." The boy sounded half strangled, and there was agony in his eyes. But he was sincere.
Ben held his gaze for a moment later, then sat back and looked again at the Mistress of the Baran Do, who had been silent during this exchange.
She nodded slowly. "Very well. Return tomorrow at dawn. You may want to bring food of your own choice, as humans do not much care for ours. There is a shop catering to human needs near the street market."
Ben smiled. "We'll be here."
His perceptions became fuzzy for a moment - he was aware of walking, leaving the room and the building, though he had only a vague image of it. Some time passed - not that much - and then he and his son were outside, walking through streets among rounded buildings. There were people around, though none close at the moment.
The boy kicked a rock so that it bounced off of a wall. "I think I'd rather be tortured again than go through another conversation like that."
Ben nodded. "Me, too."
"You seemed to take it well enough. Making me promise to kill you." It was half an accusation.
"Only under certain circumstances. Not just because I insist you eat your vegetables." Ben kept a straight face.
His son snorted, misting his mask for a moment. "If you start to feel evil, tell me as soon as possible. Don't wait and cut my hand off first. There are some family traditions that don't need passing on, and I don't think Mom would like it."
Now Ben's voice changed, becoming thoughtful. "Did you notice that she was lying?"
"The Mistress?" He frowned. "About what?"
"I'm not sure. It wasn't as though I had a little spike of perception saying, Ah, she's just lied about her name. It was a conviction that grew throughout the conversation, like she was hiding some fact, sitting on it and smothering it so we wouldn't notice it."
"Sort of like trying to not think about the pink bantha in the corner."
"Exactly."
His son tossed his head dismissively. "Nah, you're imagining things. Masters of ancient orders who study the Force never have secrets. Never have shameful events in their families ..."
"Ben, I think your words alone might turn me evil."
The Force was not here.
Here was a circular room with smooth black stone walls and desks. It had the look of an office. He was seated with two others. One was a tall, spindly humanoid being, with hairless convoluted skin on her head, deeply recessed eyes, and a gaping narrow vertically-slit opening that led to a large, toothless mouth partially obscured by fleshy tendrils. A Kel Dor, Ben thought, and probably older. She wore simple off-white robes, contrasting with the walls.
The other was a teenaged human boy with red hair and a transparent mask covering his face. It was attached to some kind of backpack rig. Ben was wearing something similar.
That was why the Kel Dor wasn't masked. This was in atmosphere she could survive in, and humans couldn't.
They were both familiar, the teenager almost painfully so, and yet Ben did not look more closely at either of them, or around. He wasn't in control here. A prickle of alarm started to rise. He let it go.
It would all be fine. Better to just watch.
"We heard with sympathy and misgivings the news of your recent unpleasantness," the Kel Dor was saying. Her Basic was accented, lilting a little, and respectful but not submissive. Formal.
"Thank you." Ben gave her a little nod, matching her attitude and formality. "Because of those events and my status as exile, it would be inappropriate to refer to me as or accord me any of the benefits that would come to me as Grand Master of the Jedi Order."
She tipped her head slightly to the side and righted it again. "Then we shall limit ourselves to the benefits due the man who refounded the Jedi and helped break the hold the [enemy] had on the galaxy." The word she used wasn't enemy.
A faint smile came to his lips. Then he leaned forwards to tell her, "My recent unpleasantness is related to the Second Galactic Civil War. The war was, in part, due to the actions of Jacen Solo. I am trying to retrace the steps he took throughout the galaxy prior to the war, to find out more about what made him the way he was. Some time back, he demonstrated a Force technique that makes me think he may have been here during his travels-here, studying among the Baran Do Sages." Speaking for that long left condensation on the lower regions of his mask. It cleared soon enough.
She nodded. "He was here. Some nine years ago. He came seeking knowledge of our ways with the Force."
"May I ask, what did you teach him?"
"I, nothing. I was not Mistress at that time. Master of the Baran Do was then Koro Ziil, who has since accepted death."
He asked, and she - the Mistress of the Baran Do Sages - explained that in her order, upon deciding that one's time had come a Baran Do would make all necessary preparations, say farewell, and die peacefully.
"We simply offer up the life within us to merge with the Force. Life flees, the body perishes. It is a technique known to the Masters of our Order. The body is then cremated. This is a sign of great respect, as combustible materials are rarer here than on oxygen-rich worlds." He had a feeling, then - without the Force, it was difficult to tell what. Some sort of suspicion.
But Ben only nodded. "Was this one of the techniques Jacen learned?"
"I think not. He was more interested in the areas of our specialty- extension of the senses, detection of danger, detection of evil intent. Also of keeping himself from detection." The Mistress looked down, clearly recalling something. "We thought he was a good man. We hesitated not at all to teach him our methods."
"I think he was a good man then." He paused for a moment. Thinking, perhaps. "Would it be possible for me to learn the techniques Jacen learned?"
She gave Ben what he recognized, despite the difference in both species' facial expressions, as a hard, direct stare. "Would it be safe?"
"I'm not sure what you mean."
"Our observation, thankfully distant, has been that Jacen Solo became a nryghat-a monster of nightmares, the sort that haunts the dreams of children. But he was not always so," the Mistress told him. "Could it be that the methods we taught him, Force techniques developed by our species for our own use, could affect the mind of a human in a bad way, a damaging way?"
"It's . . . possible," he allowed dubiously.
"Then you should not be subjected to the same danger. If Jacen Solo, a very powerful Jedi, were transformed by what we taught him, and did all that he did, what might []k Skywalker, the most famous, most powerful, and most experienced living Jedi, do if he were similarly affected?"
He met her stare steadily. "And yet I have to know."
"Teach me instead." The voice was from the teenager, who'd been silent until now. Ben found himself turning to see, and was peripherally aware of the Mistress doing so as well.
The boy looked from one to the other and said, "If I change the way Jacen did, well, I'm not as powerful as he was or my father is. I'm no danger. Well, less of a danger. My father could find a way to cure me." He was nervous and trying not to show it.
Ben shook his head. "I'm sorry, []. It needs to be someone as educated in as many subtleties of the Force as possible, and that means me." The name - he could hear it, most of it. One syllable. Flat 'e'. And very, very familiar.
"But if you do turn the way Jacen did-"
Ben smiled thinly. "It took Jacen years to become Darth Caedus, and in that time he exhibited signs that we missed or ignored... signs that I believe we are very much attuned to now. Yes?"
"Well, yes."
"If something happens to my thinking processes, to the way I feel about people and my duties, I suspect I'll notice the change and seek help. Even if I don't, you will."
"No, Dad. What if it's sudden and total? What if you're []k Skywalker today and Darth Starkiller tomorrow?" His son - his son! - pleaded.
Ben hesitated. "Then it would be your job to find a way to stop me. Even kill me."
"No."
"[], I don't think anything like that will happen. But if it does, you need to be a Jedi first. To put personal loyalties behind your responsibility to the innocent, to the Force. If you can't promise me you can do that, you may need to return to Coruscant." His voice was firm. Final.
The boy stared at him, stricken. It hurt Ben to see him like that, but his gaze never wavered. In time the boy swallowed hard and gave an abbreviated nod.
"All right, Dad."
"Promise me, []."
"You have my word. As a Jedi." The boy sounded half strangled, and there was agony in his eyes. But he was sincere.
Ben held his gaze for a moment later, then sat back and looked again at the Mistress of the Baran Do, who had been silent during this exchange.
She nodded slowly. "Very well. Return tomorrow at dawn. You may want to bring food of your own choice, as humans do not much care for ours. There is a shop catering to human needs near the street market."
Ben smiled. "We'll be here."
His perceptions became fuzzy for a moment - he was aware of walking, leaving the room and the building, though he had only a vague image of it. Some time passed - not that much - and then he and his son were outside, walking through streets among rounded buildings. There were people around, though none close at the moment.
The boy kicked a rock so that it bounced off of a wall. "I think I'd rather be tortured again than go through another conversation like that."
Ben nodded. "Me, too."
"You seemed to take it well enough. Making me promise to kill you." It was half an accusation.
"Only under certain circumstances. Not just because I insist you eat your vegetables." Ben kept a straight face.
His son snorted, misting his mask for a moment. "If you start to feel evil, tell me as soon as possible. Don't wait and cut my hand off first. There are some family traditions that don't need passing on, and I don't think Mom would like it."
Now Ben's voice changed, becoming thoughtful. "Did you notice that she was lying?"
"The Mistress?" He frowned. "About what?"
"I'm not sure. It wasn't as though I had a little spike of perception saying, Ah, she's just lied about her name. It was a conviction that grew throughout the conversation, like she was hiding some fact, sitting on it and smothering it so we wouldn't notice it."
"Sort of like trying to not think about the pink bantha in the corner."
"Exactly."
His son tossed his head dismissively. "Nah, you're imagining things. Masters of ancient orders who study the Force never have secrets. Never have shameful events in their families ..."
"Ben, I think your words alone might turn me evil."