by Kevin Hearne
“Why am I involved in the Rebellion?” Nakari finished.
“Exactly.”
She looked down, clenched her jaw, and tightened her good hand into a fist, then made an effort to relax and speak calmly. “The Empire killed my mother over a song.”
“What?”
“My mother was a songwriter and vocalist. She sang backup harmonies for a band.”
“Really? What band?”
“Don’t laugh, okay? The name wasn’t her idea. They were called Hakko Drazlip and the Tootle Froots.”
“The Tootle Froots?”
Nakari sighed with a note of impatience. “I know how ridiculous it sounds to tell people your mom was a Tootle Froot. I don’t even know what a Tootle Froot is, okay? But anyway, she wrote a political song for the group and they recorded it and it became their biggest hit. Thing is, it got them all sent to the spice mines of Kessel.”
“But that means she could still be alive?”
“No,” she said flatly. “This was ten years ago. There’s no hope she’s alive now.”
We both knew that life expectancy in the mines wasn’t above a year or two. “Oh. I’m sorry. I totally understand how that would spur you to do something.” I paused, wanting to know more but not wishing to pry. Curiosity eventually got the better of me. “That’s a pretty extreme reaction to a song on the Empire’s part, though. What was it—would I know it?”
“Depends on your access to declared contraband. It was called ‘Vader’s Many Prosthetic Parts.’ ”
“Hey, I do know that! Hilarious song! I didn’t know the band had been punished for it, though.”
“Oh, it happened quickly.” She gazed down into her lap, her voice soft. “Mere days after its release. Lord Vader has no sense of humor.”
“Yeah, he doesn’t seem like the type.” I paused a moment, still having trouble saying it. “He’s responsible for my father’s death.”
“So we have that in common.”
“Except you know what your mother did. I have no idea why my father deserved his betrayal.”
“I’m sure he didn’t deserve it any more than my mother did, Luke.”
“Thanks. And of course the Empire probably took a long hard look at your dad after the business with your mother.”
“They did. Kelen Biolabs has some Imperial contracts that we would love to burn up, but we can’t. My father can’t afford to be anything but accommodating to them. And that’s also why he can’t give money to the Alliance; the Empire has spies in his organization he has to pretend not to notice, and they are watching his finances closely. I don’t have such chains around my wrists, though. I’m free to oppose them.”
“Free to oppose them—that’s a good way to put it. I think lots of people oppose the Empire but don’t feel able to do more than secretly despise them. The Empire kind of set me free, too, I suppose. Though they did it in the worst way possible. They were trying to recover the stolen plans to the Death Star and killed my aunt and uncle. There was nothing left for me on Tatooine after that.”
Nakari finally turned to look at me, a crinkle between her eyes and her mouth turned down in a concerned frown. “What about your mother?”
“Died when I was an infant. My aunt and uncle raised me.”
“Were they the ones who told you about your father the Jedi?”
“They avoided that topic as much as possible. If I asked them about it they would change the subject. It went like this—this is an actual conversation, okay? I said, ‘Tell me something about my father, Uncle,’ and he had a coughing fit before answering, ‘He was concerned about the vaporators on the western slope, like me. Go out there and check them.’ It’s like they bought the Imperial line that the Jedi were dishonorable.”
“What if they were?”
“What?”
“I know the Empire is probably lying about them—don’t get me wrong. But what if there was a grain of truth to what the Empire says about the Jedi?”
“A grain of truth won’t change my desire to know everything. It’s difficult to find anything out since the Empire’s done what they can to wipe out all records of the Jedi. But that in itself tells you that the truth contradicts what the Empire wants us to believe: otherwise they’d leave it all accessible.”
Mock outrage plain in every word, Nakari said, “You mean you don’t think the suppression of information is for our own good? I am shocked, sir, shocked, I say!”
Matching her tone, I said, “Not only that, but I had serious doubts that the Death Star would have brought peace to the galaxy!”
Nakari laughed and then pointed at me with her right hand. “Seriously, Luke, there’s your answer. The Empire didn’t think of everything when they built the Death Star. And they didn’t succeed in getting rid of all knowledge concerning the Jedi, either. It’s a big galaxy. I’m sure they didn’t erase everything. There has to be something, or somebody, somewhere, that can help you learn whatever it is you want to learn.”
“Maybe.” I was going to leave it there, but then I realized I had a sympathetic ear and time to talk it through for once, so I continued. “I thought Ben Kenobi would teach me for a while. I’ve never told anyone except Leia, but I heard his voice in my head after he died on the Death Star.”
Nakari turned sharply and watched me to see what further craziness would next spew forth—or perhaps I was misinterpreting her expression. Chances were I was on target, for people who claimed to hear voices in their head were rarely thought sane. I was beginning to have doubts on that score myself.
“Or at least I thought I did. In a way I suppose it doesn’t matter—whether it really was him or I was simply imagining it in some kind of stress hallucination during a battle, his advice helped. But after that, I got nothing. I don’t know if that means he doesn’t have anything to say or if he’s faded away or if I’m doing something wrong … maybe he’s lost interest in me.”
A teasing note crept into Nakari’s voice. “So you mean it wasn’t a voice in your head that told you to wave your hand at that Rodian and tell him to take you to Soonta after he’d just told you he wouldn’t? Because that would explain a lot.”
Heat flushed my face as I remembered my failure. “No. But I did see Ben do that to a stormtrooper once. He used the Force and somehow convinced the troops to let us pass.”
“Was that hand thing a part of it?”
“I don’t know. I just did it because he did it. He never explained how exactly it was done, and I was hoping to muddle through on luck and good intentions.”
“Tell you what. When we’re finished with this, I’ll help you find someone to teach you how to be a Jedi.”
“Really? I mean, thank you, but why would you want to do that?”
Her eyes flickered over me and her expression turned to something that my imagination would call flirtatious. But then she faced forward and shrugged a shoulder. “You’ve helped me with my ship. Least I can do.”
DENON IS AN ECUMENOPOLIS like Coruscant, a vast city sprawling over all the landmass and dependent on imports for food and raw materials. Coming from a rural planet with a very scattered population, I wasn’t used to seeing an endless vista of buildings all lit up at night and ships buzzing around them like they were flowers to be pollinated. The planet did kind of seem that way, a field of stiff bright plants swarming with alien insects. Except it wasn’t nearly as peaceful as a field might be. The visual clutter was dizzying and even from orbit I imagined I could hear the constant throb of it pulsing in my bones.
Our coordinates led us to a rooftop berth on the edge of the Grammill district, which bordered the Lodos district where our target lay. Some arbitrary collection of streets formed the boundaries of Denon’s districts, which as far as I could tell were indistinguishable but might hold obvious differences to long-term residents. Our Kupohan contact, Sakhet, had assured Admiral Ackbar that landing in an adjacent district to the target would aid our escape, since each district had its own security and we’d be ab
le to take advantage of the small lag that resulted from any departmental coordination.
Our arrival shortly after sunset guaranteed an aerial slalom through rush-hour traffic as people in speeders and shuttles tried to get home or start the night shift or snag a dinner they didn’t have to cook for themselves. Leaving Artoo in our lodgings, we took a conservative droid taxi that was programmed for safety more than speed, and I didn’t mind its cautious progress since it gave me more time to appreciate the Lodos district at street level. Glowing signs for businesses were often presented in several alphabets in addition to Galactic Standard, many of them in letterforms that I didn’t recognize at all. Once down on the street we were buffeted by a cocktail of noises that ranged from pleasant music to shrill disagreement between a Neimoidian couple in matching gold robes. I felt a headache coming on and I didn’t know if it was from a bug I’d picked up earlier or overstimulation. I would put my credits on the latter.
Nakari and I joined a throng of beings coursing down a narrow alley of stalls selling trinkets and flavored ices and stim-sticks and all manner of goods that might be desirable but were strictly unnecessary. It broadened at one point to a miniature plaza anchored by a fountain in the middle. Aliens were sitting around the edge of it with food and drink purchased from nearby vendors. One of these on the northwest corner of the plaza sold noodles, and it was there we were supposed to make contact with the Kupohan spy, Sakhet.
“I don’t want to think about that nastiness we’re supposed to ask for,” Nakari said as we took places at the end of the long line. Obviously, Sakhet’s noodles were popular with the locals. “You order it.”
“What are you going to have?”
She perused the menu above the hut, hand-painted in Galactic Standard and repeated in other alphabets. “Buckwheat noodles and nerf nuggets with onions.”
When we got to the window I saw two Kupohans working inside, one taking orders and one in a tiny kitchen area, filling greased flimsicard take-out boxes with noodles, meat, and vegetables. I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to Sakhet or not, but I repeated Nakari’s order and then ordered the Corellian buckwheat with rancor sauce. The Kupohan gave no outward sign that my order was unusual beyond a small twitch of the primary and basal ears, scribbling on an old-fashioned paper ticket instead of the more common datapad and growling something at the cook, lips curled over her large flat teeth. She took my credits and I began to fear that I would, in fact, be given something with rancor sauce on it. She produced a receipt from her register and she scrawled on it.
“Order number eighty-nine,” the Kupohan growled at me, then sniffed wetly through her three nostrils, which did little to stimulate my appetite. “Don’t forget your receipt, friend.” She shoved it at me and twitched her head to my right. “Pick up your food at the window around the corner.”
“Thanks,” I replied, taking it from her. Nakari and I shuffled out of the way and I looked down at the receipt. The number 89 was large and circled at the top and then, at the bottom in tiny script, it said, Return at 0900 tomorrow.
I showed it to Nakari. “I doubt they’ll be selling noodles that early,” she said.
“I agree. Should give us plenty of time to talk.”
“So what do we do now? I’ve done some shady things for my dad before, but never something quite like this.”
“We follow through and get our noodles. We’re just two hungry humans out for a bite.”
“Excellent. I’m going to take a holo when you try the rancor sauce.”
“Oh, yeah. Right.” My stomach turned slightly. “I’m not that hungry, actually.”
She smiled. “We can get you something else.”
“That might be better,” I admitted.
“Order eighty-nine!” a voice called from the pickup window. I flashed my receipt and the Kupohan working there—a third one I hadn’t seen before, wearing a red bandanna that draped protectively over the frequency filter organs between the primary and basal ears—took a look at it and thanked me, pushing forward two hot cartons and disposable eating sticks.
“Don’t worry,” she said in a low voice, her four dark eyes glinting with amusement, “we just gave you two orders of the nerf nuggets.”
“Thanks,” I said, truly grateful. “See you around.”
Tray in hand, I looked back at the plaza area and saw that there was nowhere to sit. Nakari spied a small pavilion farther along the path that had six picnic tables. Most of them were occupied, but one of them had room for two more.
We carried our steaming cartons over to the table in question and asked the nice Gran couple there if they minded sharing some space. Six eyes on stalks swiveled to regard us, and the two Gran grunted agreeably.
“You can have it,” one of them said. “We were just finishing.” They scooped up their remainders and wished us a good evening. We discovered that the wooden table was well stocked with salt and pepper for our noodles, and the benches offered a wide range of splinters for our backsides.
“So how much do you know already about the—” Nakari paused, looked around, and lowered her voice. “That special group your father was in?” Using the word Jedi out loud probably would not be wise here. It was doubtful that anyone would be interested in our dinner conversation and unlikely that our voices could be picked out in the noise of the plaza, but there was no need to be careless, either. Nakari shook some pepper over her nerf nuggets. “Or should I ask what it is you still need to learn?”
“Practically everything. Right now I can kind of feel the, uh …” I waited for Nakari’s eyes to look up and then I mouthed the word “Force.” When she nodded her understanding, I resumed. “It gives me heightened reflexes in battles, and maybe a tiny bit of predictive ability—like I’m really good at guessing how the other guy is going to move next. But I’m sure that’s just the first step into a larger world. There’s that suggestive power we discussed earlier, for example, and I don’t know how I’ll ever make my own … weapon.”
She squinted an eye at me. “Is that something you absolutely have to do?”
“I suppose not. I already have one. But the ability to make one would mean I have excellent control over the … powers.”
“How so?”
“You can’t construct one without moving the focusing crystals with your mind.”
“You mean telekinesis?”
“Yep. I can’t seem to get the hang of that, but I should be able to. If this power flows through and around everything, then manipulating it and using it to push and pull physical objects has to be part of the deal. For example, when I’m in a fight, it guides my actions—or at least influences my brain to guide my actions. Still, that’s a concrete manifestation of its power, not me simply saying that I believe it’s there. If it can physically affect me, then it should be able to physically affect other things, as well. And I should be able to make that happen.”
“Have you tried?”
“Yeah. I tried to move something small. I went after a little greasy vegetable on Rodia.”
“Did you succeed?”
“Failed. Though in my own defense, I was interrupted.”
Nakari pulled out a noodle from her bowl and plopped it on the table between us. It lay there like an anemic grassworm. “Fine. Move the noodle.”
“What, here?”
“Yes, here. Look at it, Luke. It is utterly lacking in strength, for it has been boiled into complete submission. It’s not going to put up a fight. So move it.”
“Aw, you’re making fun.”
“No, you can do it. Force that noodle to scoot over here. I won’t interrupt. I’ll just make yummy noises and enjoy my dinner.” So saying, she shoved an enormous portion into her mouth and moaned. “Oh yeah,” she said around the food, a few noodles still dangling past her lips, twitching like tentacles crying for help. “Mmm. Best nerf nuggets ever. I have no idea what you’re doing over there because I’m just eating over here. Being kinda gross about it, too.”
I cracked
a smile, which was probably her intention. There was no pressure, just friendly encouragement. I did feel encouraged, unlike on Rodia, where I had felt almost overwhelmed at the enormity of all I didn’t know. But I did know what everyone knows about noodles: They are not very good in contests of wills. Perhaps this single wet noodle was the perfect object on which to begin. And if nothing happened, no big deal, it was just dinner with a new friend.
I relaxed, closed my eyes, stretched out with my mind, felt the Force around me, and found the noodle. I imagined it moving away from me and back to the base of Nakari’s carton, a detailed animation in my mind, for perhaps half a minute, and I envisioned the Force flowing in such a way as to make that happen. Nakari’s whoop broke my concentration.
“You did it!”
“I did?” I opened my eyes and saw a damp squiggly line where the noodle had originally been resting, while the noodle itself lay in a completely different sine wave a few centimeters away from that position. It hadn’t traveled all the way back to her carton as I’d envisioned, but it had undeniably moved.
“Yes, indeed! Look at you, you little noodle scooter!”
“Wait, are you messing with me? Did you move it while my eyes were closed?”
Nakari’s brilliant smile disappeared and she reached out with her bandaged hand to cover mine. “No, of course not! I wouldn’t do that, Luke. I know this means a lot to you, and I swear you absolutely made that happen. It was a smooth undulation, like a snake taking a tour of the neighborhood.”
Despite my disbelief in my own success, I sensed that she was telling the truth—it was an absolute certainty in my mind, as if the Force had run a fact-check for me. I didn’t feel that way normally when speaking to people, but maybe my recent connection with the Force had something to do with it. It had everything to do with moving the noodle, the reality and significance of which were finally hitting me. “Incredible. I actually did it.”
Nakari’s smile returned, a bit smug, and she pointed at me with her eating sticks. “Knew you could.”