A pinkish-gold droid as tall as Vernestra stomped over to where they stood. J-6, Avon’s protocol droid, was half warden, half nanny, all attitude. She spoke like no protocol droid Vernestra had ever met, and she suspected that Avon had something of a hand in that.
Avon sighed heavily and pushed her unruly hair out of her face before walking over to her scoot speeder and righting it to climb on. “Well, looks like the jig is up. I got it, Jay-Six, no sabotage necessary. You coming, Vern? You don’t want to be late.”
Vernestra smiled and nodded. She was excited to see Starlight Beacon, even if it meant she would have to work extra hard to keep Avon out of trouble. “Let’s go.”
As they walked toward the boarding ramp for the Steady Wing, Vernestra stumbled and gasped. Avon gave her a sidelong glance. “Everything okay?”
Vernestra put a hand to her chest and looked over to where an Aqualish mechanic was tinkering with an access panel near the boarding ramp. He stared back at Vernestra with three unblinking eyes. His lower right eye was missing, and blue-tinted scar tissue occupied the space instead. There was nothing else about him that was remarkable; he wore the same orange coveralls as every other member of the docking station’s maintenance crew.
“I’m fine,” Vernestra said, finally, in answer to Avon’s query. Vernestra gave the Aqualish man a small smile, and he turned away without reaction, going back to whatever he was doing. Something about the man made Vernestra feel more alert than was necessary, a spiky sensation that she couldn’t explain. She was just nervous and excited about the mission to Starlight, since this was her first real Jedi mission and she didn’t want to mess it up. That was why she was fixating on random mechanics doing their jobs.
At least, that was what she told herself, even if she didn’t truly feel it.
Pushing the strange feeling aside, Vernestra accompanied Avon and J-6 onto the Steady Wing and tried to focus on making sure the young girl did not try to escape before departure. Vernestra had her hands full enough without seeing phantoms in every corner of the Force.
Avon boarded the ship, J-6 and Vernestra on either side. Avon couldn’t help but stare at the lightsaber on Vernestra’s hip. The weapon was powered by a kyber crystal. She’d heard amazing things about them, and the one time she’d seen the Jedi use her lightsaber, the blade had glowed purple with pure energy. Avon had tried to talk Vernestra into letting her examine it more closely, but the older girl had politely refused.
“A Jedi and her kyber are linked through the Force. It sings to me and my spirit returns that call. It’s not a mere energy crystal, Avon. I am sorry. But no.”
Avon had decided long ago the worst thing about Vernestra was how aggravatingly nice she was. Always apologizing to Avon when she told her no. It was almost as bad as J-6’s constant nagging about her clothes.
“Mistress Avon, we must retire to the cabin set aside for you and prepare for dinner. I also have a dress for you that your mother sent along. It will be perfect for the dedication of Starlight, but it has to be altered before we get there,” the droid said, all rose-gold annoyance.
“Yes, that is a good idea,” Vernestra said. “Although, you should have a good bit of time to alter the dress. Master Douglas said that because of the recent hyperspace disasters we will be spending more time traveling by sublight until we can get to a safe jump point mid-system, and then entering lightspeed to continue our journey. So it would probably be a good idea to get comfortable since we’ll be aboard for a long while.”
“Oh, that is a delight to hear. This ship is state-of-the-art, unrivaled luxury,” J-6 said, her mechanical voice lilting with joy. “I cannot wait to plug in and update my programming. And it’s been so long since anyone oiled my sockets.” The droid gave Avon a meaningful look, and the girl snorted.
“Last time I tried to give you an upgrade you freaked out.”
“That is because you added an entire dictionary’s worth of Aqualish curse words to my lexicon! You are a terrible child who is ungrateful and mean.”
Avon grinned, because there was no real heat to J-6’s words. “Yeah, but think about how great it was when those wine haulers came through and you tried to greet their captain. I didn’t even know the Aqualish had a sense of humor, but that crew almost passed out from laughing so hard.”
Vernestra’s pale green skin darkened several shades, and her dark eyebrows shot so far up her head that they almost reached her hairline. “So that’s why Master Douglas had to come down to the docking bay and break up a fight amongst the Aqualish. And they weren’t laughing, Avon! Those whistles were Aqualish sounds of challenge. Och, one of these days your mischief is going to have real consequences.”
Avon shrugged and waved away Vernestra’s admonishment. “Whatever, Vern. You still in charge of making sure I show up to things on this trip?” Avon had planned on staying back at Port Haileap. With the Jedi off to Coruscant and out of the way (the Force always seemed to tell on Avon long before sensors and droid guards did), she’d been planning on finally finishing her latest invention, antigravity shoe inserts. But then J-6 had started packing up her room and said that they were traveling to Starlight Beacon with the diplomatic envoy from Dalna. The only upside was that Vernestra had been stuck with babysitting duty, which meant that maybe Avon would get to see the Jedi’s lightsaber again.
“Avon, you are old enough to get to dinner on your own,” Vernestra said with a friendly smile, the crinkling of her eyes compressing the designs in the outside corners. Like most Mirialans, Vernestra bore the markings of her family, six tiny black diamonds stacked in two rows of three on the outside corner of each eye. “I’m here to keep you and the ambassador’s son safe, not chase you from task to task. At your age I was a Padawan traveling the galaxy with my master. Dressing for a meal surely cannot be beyond your ability.”
Avon scowled at Vernestra. “That was only like two years ago. Stop acting like you’re so mature,” she muttered, realizing full well that talking back was the opposite of being grown-up about the matter.
Ugh.
Vernestra didn’t seem to mind. She gave a wave and disappeared down the corridor to find her room. Avon turned to J-6.
“I suppose you know where we’re staying?”
“Of course, Mistress Avon. That is my job, is it not?”
Avon turned and followed J-6, a little of her bad mood melting away. J-6’s response had been less than cordial, and while most would find that distasteful in a protocol droid, Avon was intrigued. A month before, she had uploaded a slow-acting code along with the lexicon of swears (there had been half a dozen) that would gradually strip away the factory programming and let J-6 in essence reprogram herself. Avon had always disliked how droid personalities seemed to be hardwired when they were built, and it seemed fairer to let J-6 decide what kind of droid she wanted to be.
Avon was hoping it was something more interesting than someone who cared way too much about etiquette.
They turned the corner to another corridor, and a human-looking woman with bright pink hair and a pair of greasy coveralls came running toward them. She was so busy looking over her shoulder that she didn’t notice Avon and J-6, and before Avon could call out a warning, the woman ran right into the protocol droid.
J-6 did not move, but the woman went stumbling backward before landing hard on her rear end. It was pretty funny, and Avon couldn’t help letting out a little laugh.
“Are you okay?” Avon asked. The woman jumped to her feet, refusing to meet Avon’s eyes. She had a piece of silver wire woven around her lip, the metal piercing the skin several times like it had been stitched into her face. It was a strange sight, and reminded Avon a bit of how the Mon Calamari liked to hang beads and other jewels from their barbels, those whiskers that grew around their mouths. It was fascinating, and Avon wanted to ask the woman if setting the wire in her face hurt, but the woman’s fierce expression didn’t exactly invite conversation.
“I’m fine,” the woman spit out. “You sh
ould teach your droid to watch where it’s going.”
“And you should actually watch where you are going,” J-6 said, and Avon’s breath hitched. Oh, that was definitely not part of the droid’s original protocol programming.
Excellent, this would require further observation.
The pink-haired woman said nothing else, just continued off in the direction she’d been headed. Avon and J-6 went to their quarters to prepare for dinner, the incident quickly forgotten by both the girl and her droid.
Honesty Weft did not want to be in space. He did not want to dress up or eat a formal dinner, and he did not want to be a good Dalnan ambassador’s son. But there he was, on the Steady Wing, about to do all those things.
No one ever cared much what he wanted.
“Are you going to keep scowling into the mirror, or are you going to finish getting dressed?”
Honesty’s father entered his room. Ambassador Weft was already dressed in the plain, formal tunic of the Dalnan ambassadorial corps: a sedate tan tunic with a high collar and matching trousers. Even his boots were unremarkable. The Dalnans were not ones for frivolity, not even the usually ostentatious Pantorans who had made a home on the planet known for its agriculture.
“Perhaps you could pass along my regrets?” Honesty asked hopefully, tugging at the uncomfortable collar.
“That doesn’t sound like something a warrior would say,” the ambassador said, a smile flitting across his tanned face. He helped Honesty tuck the collar into place, the smile smoothing away into his usual bland expression as he worked. Honesty’s father had once explained that the hardest part of being an ambassador was not letting others know what you were thinking. Honesty had tried to match his father’s air of polite interest more than once, but his usual scowl always came through.
One more reason he would never be an ambassador.
“I’m not going to be anything since I’m missing my Metamorphosis.”
His father sighed, gave Honesty’s collar one last pat, and sat on the edge of his son’s bed. “This again.”
“Yes, this again,” Honesty said, not bothering to hide his frustration as he adjusted his formal tunic. “Everyone else is testing into their vocation right now, and I’m here! By the time I get back, everyone is going to be at least an apprentice in their field, and I’ll be stuck in the nursery with the rest of the babes.”
“There is something to be said for taking one’s time,” Ambassador Weft said. “Don’t always be in a hurry to be the first one out of the gate. Sometimes the first of the herd is just quickest to the slaughter.”
“I’m not talking about a stupid farm, I’m talking about my life!” Honesty shouted.
His father stood. “I am not going to spend the entirety of this trip arguing with you about why you are here. Your mother and I made a decision, and we expect you to respect that. Leaving Dalna will give a measure of perspective that will help you no matter what vocation you choose. If you don’t want to be considered a babe in the nursery, stop acting like one.” His voice was even and calm, even though the words felt to Honesty like a verbal slap. “You are going to be a witness to history. If Dalna joins the Republic we’ll get security and safety in our sector of the galaxy. You’ll get to see what diplomacy looks like firsthand, and maybe even get to meet the Chancellor. You should appreciate that instead of acting like a spoiled zeftgeist fat from too much grain.”
Honesty opened his mouth to argue, but the ambassador was already on his feet and moving toward the door. “Janex and the rest of the delegation will be here momentarily. I expect you to greet them with a smile and words of anticipation, not sulkiness. Do not disappoint me.”
With that the ambassador left the room, and Honesty was left with nothing but the angry tears of frustration that streamed down his pale cheeks.
Later, after takeoff and some deep meditation, Vernestra walked into the dining room where dinner would be taking place, feeling centered and eager to be on her journey. There were six dining areas located on the ship, but the best, most intimate one had been set aside for the Dalnan delegation, a server droid assured Vernestra. She was chagrined to find she was one of the last to arrive. Master Douglas and his Padawan, Imri Cantaros, were already seated at one end of the table next to a few men and women Vernestra did not recognize. Avon was nowhere to be found, but Vernestra was sure that J-6 would make certain the girl attended the formal affair, so she put those concerns aside and strode toward the table set with an almost impossible number of silver utensils.
“Vern! You’re just in time,” Master Douglas said with a grin.
Vernestra grimaced. “Master Douglas, I hope you know Avon Starros loves calling me Vern thanks to you. You are rubbing off on her.”
Douglas laughed, a hearty sound that made even the dour-faced Dalnans seated to either side of him smile briefly. “I should hope so! The girl is a genius. Avon will be one of the greatest minds of her generation. I would be honored to be counted amongst her influences.”
Vernestra smiled and took the seat that the server droid indicated, directly next to Imri. As she settled, Vernestra assessed her dining companions. Master Douglas was a tall human, stocky and effusive. He was chatty and relaxed in his demeanor, nothing like Vernestra’s master Stellan had been. Douglas’s dark beard grew thick and unkempt across his pale face, and his robes were rarely worn; instead he preferred to wear the simple tunic and trousers of the Outer Rim settlers of planets like Dalna. He did have his lightsaber, as a proper Jedi always would, but that was the only indication of his status. That night he had worn the required tabard of a Jedi Master, the gold scrollwork set against the snowy material impressive even if it was clear it had been hastily unpacked.
“I spent all afternoon looking for it. Luckily, I had ordered another one,” Imri whispered conspiratorially to Vernestra. The human boy was from Genetia originally, even though he had spent his youngling years in the main temple on Coruscant. Imri was tall and broad-shouldered, and his hefty frame was a perfect match for his master’s. He had pale skin, a mop of golden hair, kind brown eyes, and an uncanny knack for perceiving the feelings and thoughts of those around him.
“Master Douglas is fortunate to have you,” Vernestra said with a kind smile.
Imri laughed. “I’m lucky to have him. I still haven’t managed to finish reconstructing my lightsaber. And it was so easy the first time I did it! But now, it just feels wrong every time I piece it back together.”
“It happens. But don’t worry, you’ll get it. Did you ever consider asking Douglas to take you to the temple for the empath tests?” Vernestra asked. The capacity to perceive the feelings of others was a rare Force ability, but these were marvelous times. More and more it seemed that the Jedi would spread their light throughout the galaxy and make life better for all. Wasn’t that why the Republic had undertaken construction of Starlight Beacon? Because of the benevolence of the Jedi?
Imri shook his head. “It’s not the Force, Vernestra, it’s just paying attention. Hey, do you think you could tell me a little bit about your trials?” he whispered. “Douglas thinks I should start training for them, but I don’t know. I don’t feel ready.”
Vernestra smiled and leaned in close to Imri. “You have a while. I took mine early because Master Stellan thought I was ready.” Imri’s hopeful expression fell just a bit, and Vernestra put a comforting hand on his should. “Don’t worry, Imri! You have lots of time. Didn’t you just turn fourteen?”
“Yes, but . . .” Imri’s voice trailed off and he sighed. “I’m ready to be a Knight.”
“You’ll be ready when the Force says you are,” Vernestra said gently.
Imri sighed again. “Yes, Master Douglas says much the same thing. By the way, don’t let him forget to introduce you to the Dalnans. They’ve heard stories about you and they’re very excited to meet our local celebrity.”
Vernestra felt a flush of happy embarrassment, but Douglas stood and cleared his throat, hearing Imri’s words.
“What exactly happens during the Jedi trials? Is it a test of strength or intellect?” Ambassador Weft asked. The man’s face bore deep furrows, as thought he had lived a difficult life. His hair was fiery red and his skin tanned, though not nearly as dark as Avon’s. He looked to spend a lot of time out in the warmth of a sun, of which Dalna had two. He and his son were the only humans from his delegation; the rest of the Dalnans were Pantoran, Trandoshan, or Weequay. All wore plain tunics and trousers, their knee-high boots simple and utilitarian. They each bore the same somber expression and carried a small arsenal of blasters, a show of strength that had intimidated other Republic envoys to the planet. There had been a war on Dalna a century or so before, and the population had responded by becoming a formidable culture that trained constantly for battle.
“The trials are both,” Vernestra said with a smile, answering the ambassador’s question. “They are designed to test an individual Jedi’s strengths and weaknesses.”
“No two trials are the same,” Douglas interjected, clapping the ambassador on the shoulder like they were old friends. “I have heard that your Metamorphosis Trials on Dalna are similar.”
“Not quite,” said a Pantoran female, Ambassador Janex, with a polite smile. She wore the same khaki uniform as the rest of the Dalnan delegation, the brown material making her blue skin seem even more vibrant. “Our Metamorphosis does test the strengths of our children, but only to prepare them for the harsh realities of life on our planet. They are more job-specific than anything else.”
“Yes,” agreed Ambassador Weft, his voice even and soft. “For example, my son Honesty’s trials will be focused on hand-to-hand combat since he has expressed interest in joining our military.” At the mention of the Metamorphosis, Honesty had looked down at his lap, and Vernestra wondered if he was excited or afraid of his trials. But then Ambassador Weft continued speaking and she turned her attention back to the older man. “He will be tested in his ability to defend himself and survive harsh conditions, both skills necessary to endure battle.”
A Test of Courage Page 2