The Painted Bird

[Onika Zepparah]

As Onika Zepparah huddled at the edge of the table in a tiny, sterile exam room with a cryo pack pressed against the left side of her face, she grimly considered her options.

She was going to be expelled. That much was certain. She only hoped they would ship her back to the Chiba District, where she still had her only real friends in the world. And her mother. Not that that mattered. Her mother didn't care what she did.

But that would be ideal, really. She could go back to the way things were, with Kona and Dal and Brekka and all the others, working in her mother's shop when she could be bothered, and spending the evening making the city her own. Going where she pleased. Taking what she fancied off of unwary rich folk. Running packages for Kona's older brother and his friends.

Being with Kona again.

She shivered and pulled the ice pack from her puffy face, enough to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the side of a metal cart by the door: carnation-pink skin dusted with strawberry freckles, now purpling around her left eye and cheekbone as the bruises blossomed, her long brown hair hanging in tangles to mostly hide the fleshy membranous cones that covered her ears. It was a cloyingly human face, plainer than her Twi'lek mother's, with boyish round features and a thick starburst of freckles across her nose and cheeks, but between her candyfloss color palette and her conspicuous auricle domes, there was no mistaking her for anything but alien.

No, she decided, her eyebrows crashing down like stormclouds. There was no way they would allow her to return to her friends. She'd be sent off to some other institution, one for delinquent aliens who didn't know their place, where they could beat her down into a soft, meek lamb who could do nothing but run a flower shop and bat her eyes at every man in uniform who passed by her door.

So. She had to run. If she could make it out of the school, she could sneak her way onto an El Train that would take her as far as Little Ryloth, and then she could scrounge up for a fare back to Chiba. She wouldn't tell her mother what had happened. She'd just turn up. And...

Oh gods, what if they'd put a tracker on her? Like they used to do with slaves? Brekka had told her all about that. If they didn't blow her up like a Kubaza beetle, she'd be leading them straight to her friends!

But if she didn't go back... she'd have no one. No one else in the entire galaxy. Just another molecule of alien flotsam in the vast sea of Coruscant's population, washed invisibly away, to be preyed on by CPD, Black Sun, gangs of Humans First thugs, and every lowlife with a taste for colorful flesh.

I could call dad...

Hot tears stung her eyes, and she dug her fingers into the thin cushion beneath her and blinked the traitorous things away. No. That was something she could never do. Whatever doom she'd brought on herself, it was hers to face, and hers alone. She'd muddle through somehow.

She always had.

The door to the exam room clattered open, making her jump, and in walked Mrs. Pesh, the school's head nurse, carrying a flimsi and wearing a very curious expression, watery and somewhat strained. "Hello there, Onika. Feeling any better are you?"

Onika just stared in disbelief, still clutching the cryo pack in her freezing fingers.

"Yes, well," Mrs. Pesh went on, and she raised the flimsi. "We've just got the results from your bloodwork..."

***

Lord Eldrick Cawthorne, doctor of educational philosophy, stood in his best suit nervously massaging his own fingers as the official shuttle landed on the receiving pad at the edge of the stratoscraper dais on which the Wilhuff Tarkin Memorial School sat, recessed from the floor below to create a broad horseshoe-shaped parade grounds trimmed with verdant grass and abstract granite sculptures. Normally the headmaster of Tarkin School would await a visiting dignitary from the comfort of his own office, or at least the foyer, away from the glare of the sun and the whipping wind which carried pollutants he was certain could not be healthy for a man of his age. But after the last visit (https://www.theholo.net/forum/showthread.php?55916-Would-you-like-to-know-more) from members of the Order, he wasn't prepared to take any chances with a matter of such delicacy. Particularly given the, er, history of the student in question.

The headmaster was momentarily taken aback by the figure disembarking from the shuttle. But then that would explain the queer name he'd been given.

"Lady Iscandar," he shouted over the howl of the cooling repulsorlifts, putting the emphasis on quite the wrong syllable. "It is an honor - really, a privilege. When we notified your Order, I must admit I had no idea you would be sending a Knight personally. Or so quickly."

Lord Cawthorne was a tall man with thinning hair dyed badly blonde in a poor attempt to conceal his advancing age, and a mustache waxed to points on either side of his long mouth. He fidgeted between offering a handshake and offering a bow, not entirely sure of the proper protocol, and ended up simply gesturing down the long duracrete walk toward the school's main entrance.

"I admit I could scarcely believe it, even after I saw the security footage... but I'm certain you have your own ways of confirming such things?"

[Palara Iscandar]

A girl, alone. By the hologram she looked human, her hair down and framing her face in the locker room.

“Honestly, Knight-General, my lord, could this not have --”

“Silence.”

The conference room was darkened; the only illumination aside from the glow of the hologram was the faint light coming from the sconces along the ceiling. Their faces reflected the glow of the hologram.

The boys entered the room, wearing their wegsphere uniforms. She could feel a chill run down her spine.

There was no sound attached to the hologram. She didn't need it. She could hear the echoes of their voices and laughter without it.

The boys cornered the girl.

She glanced over; Atrapes was looking at her and not the hologram, his face completely opaque.

She looked back at the hologram. One boy was pressing up against her, hands splayed out on the wall. She could hear his breath, panting.

His hand went to her shirt; Palara knew where this was going --

The boy went flying, hitting a bench and flipping back into the lockers. The other boys were quiet, looking at the girl and back before they started to swarm her again.

They all went flying, crashing into the walls and benches mercilessly. She could see broken arms and legs, the dark of blood.

And the girl's hair flew back as she shook her head in silent panic, eyes wide and mouth open.

Palara understood.



She wore the dress uniform, a stiffly tailored design that was classically Imperial. The elbows of the jacket were leathered, and the long coat was so dark blue as to be almost black.

Normally she forewent it, but the uniform was properly authoritative, especially with bureaucrats who spent their whole lives referring to titles and memos and reports.

Like the man before her was moulded to this stereotype. She was perfectly aware that it was an assumption of knowledge and character unbefitting a fair and impartial Knight of the Throne, but she had never claimed to be perfect.

“With such circumstances as zese, it is good to take care of zings quickly, no?” She replied, adjusting the cuff of her jacket. “Before it gets out of 'and. Take me to ze girl.”

[Onika Zepparah]

Though Lord Cawthorne was as eager to be finished with the business as Lady Iscandar was to start it, he nevertheless felt compelled to fill the air with chatter as he and two dour-faced provosts escorted the Knight through the school's opulent foyer and up into the student living quarters. It was the middle of the day, and with classes in session the dormitories were silent aside from the cleaning staff puttering about their rounds. The long corridor of the girls' dormitory was lined with magboards for the students to decorate as they pleased - artwork, holo-images, flimsis bearing news clips on sporting events and musical performances - the students of Tarkin School were very accomplished.

"...and of course a full investigation into the regrettable incident is still ongoing, but the boys involved have not been in a fit state to render testimony, and all their teammates are pleading ignorance. I can assure you we are all quite stunned, and keen to learn the truth of the matter, as are their families, as I'm sure you can imagine, and the girl herself has given us very little to go on, and even less where the, ah, unusual display of force is concerned--"

They were coming upon a stretch of wall that was almost entirely blank. In the middle of it, a lonely, undecorated door.

"Obviously we've had her confined to her room since the incident, for her own safety, of course - oh."

He stopped in front of the door and swallowed, causing his prodigious Adam's apple to sink into his throat. Across the faux wood veneer of the door were five crude letters etched with a small plasma torch:

W
H
O
R
E

"We'll review the security footage. We'll find out who did this. Mortified, positively mortified," Cawthorne said, and he raised a hand as if to try scratching out the offending letters, but stopped before making such a vain attempt. They had weathered in place, and looked old.

Instead he pressed the panel next to the door and announced in a conciliatory voice, "Onika? It's Dr. Cawthorne. I have a very important guest who would like to meet you."

No answer. Cawthorne glanced toward Palara with a tepid smile and cleared his throat. "Onika. We are coming in." He tapped in an access code, and the door slid open to reveal a small, windowless room with an unmade bed and a cluttered desk. Datapads with school texts were shoved to one side, and loose leaves of actual paper were scattered across the desk's surface, each one littered with dusty charcoal sketches, inexpertly rendered, but drawn with care. Faceless figures, some with hair, some with lekku, others that could have been fellow students. And then one face that showed up repeatedly and prominently: the face of a young Zabrak male with a bald crown of backswept horns and cocksure grin.

Onika was nowhere to be seen. The door panel on the inner wall had been pried away, and two loose wires had been fed into the back of a hanging datapad.

[Palara Iscandar]

“Ah, dear stars, madame Knight I so sincerely apologise. I don't know what happened --”

“Obviously she 'as left. She bypassed ze lock on ze door with 'er data pad, and fled while unsupervised, staying long enough to reapply ze lock on ze door before escaping. I would suggest, if zings 'ave fallen to a point where she 'as epithets scored into 'er door, zat you find and collect 'er as soon as possible, before anozzer incident occurs, yes?”

Cawthorne turned to one of the provosts and hissed commands; Palara remained calm. She stepped into the room and looked around, her eyes falling to the pictures. She picked up the Zabrak.

“Ah,” Cawthorne spoke from behind her. She turned, still impassive. “Being mixed, her time before coming here was spent with unsavoury types, you know the Chiba ward…”

Upon catching her expression he trailed off awkwardly, and stepped back. She turned away, and walked over to the data pad, which was still displaying the blinking block, waiting for input.

Her fingers flew over the controls.

“She unlocked ze door...” she muttered to herself and trailed off and sighed, before dropping the data pad into Cawthorne's hands and pulling the thick sleeve of her coat back, revealing a slender wrist mounted device. A few commands had her inside the network of the school.

Cawthorne audibly choked as he looked over the pad.

“That long ago? That's -- how could she --”

“What is taking your people so long, Lord Cawzorne?” She asked, still focused on her wrist device. “Per’aps you should go and check up on zem, yes?”

Cawthorne, pale and sweating, nodded and left with the other provost. Iscandar hardly waited until they had left the hall. She turned the device off and walked back through the school, making her way with a firm long gaited stride. Despite the time, there were a few people out and about who stared at her; she ignored them.

She knew where the girl was. Or at least, what the girl was trying to do.



“Lady Iscandar! Lady Iscandar!”

Cawthorne panted. First that Zepparah girl disappears and then the Knight as well? Stars, the publicity if anything else happened would be horrendous.

People's eyes drifted from the uniformed Twilek to him, curiosity written plain on their faces.

“Lord Cawthorne, what is going --”

“Not now, not now very busy!”

She turned a corner; he was only a few steps behind --

“Lady Iscan…”

The corridor was empty.

[Onika Zepparah]

Two changes of clothes, a spare datapad, a hairbrush, a wad of credits tied up in a plastic bag with what little jewelry she owned, a handful of nutribars, and two bottles of water. That was as much as she could stuff into her backpack without making it suspiciously bulky. Students didn't carry backpacks from class to class. They pretty much only used the school-issued bags for excursions to the Government District or nature hikes in the biospheres. But if she was challenged she'd say she was carrying supplies for an art project. That would be believable, at least - it was the only class she cared enough about to make the effort.

The hoodie would be harder to explain, since it had been an unseasonably warm spring, but it was school issue, and she could pull the hood down over her bright pink face and ear cones and and go unidentified if she didn't go unnoticed. The first few minutes of skulking from corridor to corridor would be the most dangerous, but then the bell squealed to signal the change of period, and the school's broad hallways flooded with students piling their way from class to class like a herd of banthas.

Onika trudged through the press of humanity, certain that she would feel the heavy hand of a hall monitor clapping down on her shoulder at any moment. And when a line of broad-shouldered wegmen came swaggering in a row, boasting and jostling and changing the flow of traffic like a boulder in a stream, she had to fight down the urge to turn the other way and hide herself in a fresher until the corridor cleared again. But she ducked her head and marched straight on, and they took no notice of her. Finally she spotted the opening she was looking for - a narrow, dimly-lit hallway off the main one, unmarked and dingy. She stepped past a mop bucket full of dirty suds and found a door marked UTILITY, which was sealed with a keycard reader. She swiped the card she had stolen from a custodian earlier that week and slipped through the door.

She didn't know what the big, drum-shaped machines did - if they scrubbed the air, or ran the sewage, or did something with the lights to keep students calm and compliant. All she cared about was that they fed into a thick bundle of pipes and cables that ran into the wall and down into the service shaft that ran the entire one-point-nine-kilometer height of the stratoscraper, feeding power, water, and air from the grid down at level 20 all the way to the spire. You couldn't very well leave the school and walk down the street, not when the street was a mile beneath you, but she didn't have to go that far, just to the maglev train that ran through the building at level 100. There she could palm someone's ticket, jump the line, and be out of the District before anyone knew she was gone from her room.

With some effort she pried off the grating that covered the pipes' access into the service shaft. It was a tight squeeze even for her narrow shoulders, but she pushed her backpack on ahead of her and crawled through, picking up streaks of grime and rust on her sweatshirt and in her hair. Finally she emerged onto a metal catwalk that ran the circumference of a great, cylindrical shaft, twenty meters across and over a mile tall. She quailed at the vertiginous drop over the railing, but she swallowed back her fear and hurried for the first set of switchback stairs, focusing on the huge Aurabesh signs that marked each level as she dashed down the corrugated durasteel. Just fifty levels more to go...

[Palara Iscandar]

The maglev station was busy, but all it took was a small suggestion constantly pushed into the Force that she was not worth noticing to keep herself from acquiring the stares of the people surrounding her.

They weren't rich or posh, but they were still their servants or employees.

“No tricks?”

The boy's suspicious expression tickled her.

Palara’s expression managed to remain severe, but even so still conveyed amusement despite her best efforts.

“You are not worth ze time and 'eadache, no offence to you and your resourcefulness. I 'ave given you ze 'oo, ze why, and ze where. It is up to you wezzer you follow zrough.”

She cut the connection, and looked around. The girl had not yet arrived, but she stood anyway; the train was about to arrive, and she knew Miss Zepparah would not miss it.

In the meantime, however…

“Hey, Palara! Old grouchy over here and I are just giving you a heads up --”

“I am not grouchy --!”

“And we haven't heard from you for a couple weeks. I mean, I sent an apology right? Even Eluna forgave me!”

“But we finished up that thing on Malastare, you know --” here Shuvin winked, “and guess who was there?”

The Imperial Knight smiled.

[Onika Zepparah]

The first thing Onika did when she emerged into the concourse of the Petrarch-Tagge maglev station was to find a public restroom, duck into a stall, and change into a set of street clothes. Her school uniform had been camouflage fifteen minutes ago, but anyone who saw it down here would think she was skipping class. Which, admittedly, she was. Forever. She paused at the sink to wash the worst of the grime off her face and ventured out into the bustle of commuter traffic.

Next she eyed the crowds waiting along the eastbound rail. Her heart quickened as she found her mark and made her move, and then she had her ticket. 1040 hours - that was in five minutes. She arrived the trackside just as the train was gliding to a halt and joined the steady flow of humanoids filtering onto the two-story passenger train. Only when she'd slipped into a window seat did she allow herself to relax. The first step was finished. Her shoulders began to unknot themselves, and she rested her head against the window as, outside, a young man in a suit frantically patted his pockets.

[Palara Iscandar]

"So, ah, yeah. I'm --"

Palara settled herself into the seat next to Miss Zepparah, the long coat folded over her left arm, and the vidscreen on the device on her right wrist showing a dirty man with a smile holding up a handful of wires.

The picture blinked into nonexistence.

"Hello, Onika," she said. A slight application of the Force kept the girl in her seat if she decided to try and run. She glanced around. "Not ze best place for a quick chat, but I did not feel like trying to find you when you got off zis train."

She smoothed out her long coat.

"So ze first zing I 'ave to say is..."

She paused, looking at the teen before smiling slightly.

"Well done. Zere were a few errors in your escape, but you will learn more as time goes on."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika bolted up in her seat as the woman sat down beside her, cursing herself for letting her guard down. She turned with a biting remark on her lips when she saw the uniform, and the lekku, and she found her mind couldn't quite complete the circuit.

She knows my name. Onika's face went a paler shade of pink, and fear, or something, weighed her down into her seat.

The girl wet her lips with a nervous tongue as she scrambled for a handle on the situation. "Who are you, and how do you know my name?"

[Palara Iscandar]

People were looking. Palara kissed her teeth, and with a muttered, 'Rude, eavesdroppers,' she waved her hand. The people around them looked dazed for a moment, but seemed to look straight through them rather than at them.

"Better," the twilek said with satisfaction, and turned back to the mixed girl.

"My name, miss Zepparah, is Palara Iscandar, and I am a Knight of ze Imperial Zrone. And I am 'ere to see if you can be one also."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika felt rather dazed herself. She'd always had an innate sense of when she was being watched, and feeling everyone's attention go away just like that... it was uncanny. How did she do that?

"I... what?" Her heart thundered in her chest, and her jewel-bright red eyes darted about looking for any likely escape vectors. Imperial Knights. They'd talked about them in Civics, and watched a bunch of holo adverts, and she'd written an essay explaining why she thought the whole thing was just lies and special effects, like that weird Wroonian lady who worked as a fortune teller next to her mom's flower shop. Her teacher had given her a C-minus.

"Did... did Cawthorne actually call you? Why?" She drew her arms up and hugged herself, resigned now that she wasn't going to find an easy out. Not unless she could somehow lose this woman when the train stopped. "How much trouble am I in?"

She hadn't missed the last part of Palara's introduction. It was just that her mind had considered it and summarily dismissed it from the realm of possibility.

[Palara Iscandar]

"None, if I 'ave anyzing to say about it, and I do," Palara answered. "I can and will 'ave proof of zeir actions by ze end of ze day. Not only will zey be expelled from zat school, but zey will face trial; and with ze Imperial Knights being ze plaintiff I doubt it will be quietly swept aside for credits."

There was a satisfactory air about her, even with her highly reserved demeanour.

"If my word as a Knight is pushed aside, I will 'ave words with the Knight-General," she muttered to herself, before continuing in a louder tone of voice which continued to garner no attention from the crowded train around them, "and what you did to zem, well it made zis whole incident the Knights' affair.

"Miss Zepparah, you used ze Force. You are aware of zings; you can read people wizzout knowing zem. You 'ave shown reflexes and instincts zat cannot be explained away as coincidence."

Palara pulled a brochure, a thin sheet that had several images and blocks of text programmed into it, and handed it to Onika.

"And ze Empire," here Palara gave the girl an intent look, "it 'as need of you."

The train stopped, and the soothing tone indicating that the doors were opening sounded. People got up and left, others entered; but no one occupied the spaces directly around them or acknowledged their existence.

[Onika Zepparah]

This didn't make any sense. It wasn't how things worked on Coruscant - a halfbreed girl with no standing on one side, three star student-athletes with family, wealth, and the weight of the New Order at their backs on the other. She wouldn't even attempt that fight. Who would even consider listening to the word of a...

Twi'lek. She's a full-blooded Twi'lek, and she's an Imperial Knight. The role of aliens in the Empire had come up in Civics, too, and she'd learned not to question it out loud. But Palara was destroying those arguments by her very existence.

But still, Onika couldn't believe it. She didn't move a muscle as the train exchanged its passengers like a whaladon coming up for breath, then sped along its way again toward Little Ryloth.

"I... I don't know what they told you about me," she said. "But what happened in that locker room... I... I didn't have any control over it. I just wanted them away from me, and then..."

She felt her throat tightening up, the horror once again fresh and chokingly real, and she clenched her fists and drove it away with anger.

"No one's ever needed me before. Until yesterday, I didn't even believe in the Force. I still don't know what I believe. But you're telling me the Imperial Knights want me? Why?"

[Palara Iscandar]

“Miss Zepparah, you 'ave been born into a power zat cannot be taught. It cannot be given; you cannot take it. Zat 'as been tried, and none have truly succeeded.”

The train exited the superscrapers, and the vista of Imperial Centre was laid out before them in its durasteel and frenetic glory, sunlight gleaming off the innumerable speeders in the sky and ships entering and exiting the atmosphere.

“It is more zan mere charm; more zan political prowess. Zose children in zat school -- zey can study zeir 'ole lives and not grasp it or use it. With it you can change ze galaxy.”

Palara gestured to the people around them.

“What you 'ave seen so far -- what you 'ave done so far -- is only ze merest glimpse of what can be done with it. It is a mark of destiny. With it, ze Empire was formed; with it, two men dominated ze galaxy, and brought order, as imperfect as it is, after one of ze most corrupt and bloody periods of galactic 'istory.

“Only two people accomplished such a zing. Ze implications, zey are incredible, no?”

Palara turned to regard the teen.

“And we 'ave zat same power. You 'ave zat power. Ze Empire wants you because of it. We wish to train you to use it, to develop it. If only two men, two 'umans, could bring about zis, what can a group of us do?”

Palara leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs.

“Zere are ozzers. Ze Jedi of course 'ave returned to ze galaxy, but zey 'ave shut zemselves away, effecting little change. Zere are zose who 'ave lost zemselves to zis power, 'oo wish for ze galaxy to descend into war and chaos, because zey feed off of death, pain, and fear like carrion birds feed off ze corpses of ze dead.”

Palara grimaced slightly, the only tell of her own feelings on that matter.

“And we do not want you to disappear into some corner of ze galaxy, forsaking ze passions which drive you; we do not wish for you to descend into a murderous madness, drunk off of your own power. If zat were to 'appen, we would be forced to 'unt you down to protect ze galaxy against you, because zat is 'ow real zis is.

“We wish to train you to control zis inborn ability, to use it to make real change and see real justice done. In ze name of ze Empire of course.”

Palara added that last bit after a slight pause, as if it were an afterthought.

[Onika Zepparah]

That is how real this is.

It didn't feel real. It felt like a conversation about someone else, someone for whom words like "power" and "destiny" actually had meaning. Bring order to the galaxy? Change the course of history? That was the heroine from a holonovel, not some mixed-species kid from the Chiba District. Except Palara said otherwise. She said that Onika was fated for greatness, for good or for ill, that she was rare enough and important enough to command the attention of an Empire.

Important enough that the Empire would hunt her like a mongrel dog if she didn't comply. That brought her back to reality with bone-chilling clarity.

Onika was silent as the train carved its path across the Coruscant skylanes, turning the whole thing over and over in her mind. No matter what Palara said, she didn't believe in destiny. Destiny only meant someone else had more power over your life than you did. She wasn't yet ready to admit that power lay with the knights, even though it almost certainly did. Palara had already run her down once without a trace of effort.

"So what happens now?" she asked. "I go with you to... some kind of training center?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "A re-education center?"

[Palara Iscandar]

"You will come with me to ze Citadel, where we will train you and ozzers like you. Zere will be education, from Galactic Politics to Biology; Military 'istory to Ezics. You take zese subjects, which you choose aside from ze mandatory courses, with your peers.

"Afterwards, you will 'ave your pick of fields, from COMPNOR," Palara sniffed in derision, "to Intelligence or ze Imperial Security Bureau, or you can take ze blue cloak and become a Knight of ze Imperial Zrone."

Palara's expression turned wry.

"Re-education and indoctrination of ze type you are alluding to tends to produce lacklustre results for ze sort of zings you will be doing, unless it is required due to mental 'ealth and instability. Mental fortitude is crucial."

Palara's brow furrowed slightly.

"Are you implying zat it is necessary for you?"

[Onika Zepparah]

"No!"

Onika tensed as if she was about to spring out of her seat. Where to, she had no idea. They were well past the part where running made sense. But despite Palara's reassurances, if you could call them that, she could name one or two teachers at Tarkin who probably would have called her a prime candidate for re-education.

"I just... I'm still trying to get my head around this. I'm used to things always coming with a catch."

Her eyes roamed to the window, where stratoscrapers crowded the horizon like distant mountains, while wisps of smog wreathed the industrial district below, a tangle of factories and pipelines and flare stacks that burned like candleflames.

"The Citadel's a long way from here," she said. "Do you ever get time off? To visit..." She stumbled over the word family, because it felt like a lie, and she didn't trust herself to sell it in her current state of mind. Not to a Knight. "...friends?"

She hoped it didn't make her seem weak. But as long as she was maintaining the illusion of choice, she wanted to know what she was giving up. And who.

[Palara Iscandar]

"You will be very busy. Most of your connections will be made in ze course of your duties and studies with your peers in ze Citadel. Zere is no patience for useless frivolity."

Palara glanced down at her wrist.

"If it is useful, zen allowances can be made. Students may be allowed leave when you ask properly, but it will be rare and each request is noted."

Palara leaned back.

The subtext: convince us to let you keep your friends. Show us you can think and act critically in pursuit of a goal, even if that goal was personal.

The Knight wouldn't come out say those baldly; the girl was not unintelligent and Palara would not pander to her.

[Onika Zepparah]

It had been a clumsy question, but the answer told Onika what she needed to know. She wouldn't be dead to her former life - not all of it, anyway. There was enough of it she would be glad to be rid of, but those few islands of happiness had been hard-won, and she wasn't ready to give them up completely.

She slumped a little in her seat, just enough that she no longer looked like she was on the cusp of trying to bolt, and aimed a wry smile at her recruiter. "Don't worry, it's not like I have that many friends. I'm sure as frell not going back to Tarkin if I can help it."

The train started the slow arcing turn that would take it into the Bosch Tower station, about ten levels above the sprawl of low-price tenements and bazaars known as Little Ryloth. Onika leaned into the turn without thinking about it. She'd made this trip whenever she could, even if she couldn't make it all the way back to Chiba, just to be somewhere that felt like home. She wondered if the Knights knew. If that was why they sent someone like Palara. They wanted to set her at ease. More than that, they wanted to make her curious.

It had worked.

"Are there any others in the Knights?" she asked. "Other people like... like us? It's just... with a name like The Imperial Throne, it's the last place I'd expect to see any non-humans."

[Palara Iscandar]

"Zere are many," Palara answered. "And more are coming. Zere are four ozzer twilek zere, you know. Young boys. Ze oldest is twenty."

One of her Lekku twitched in irritation. The Huttese speaking male made no secret of his desire for Palara, though he'd learned enough to keep to himself with it.

"Zere are Khaleesh, Shistavanen, Chiss, Falleen, and Nautolans, just to name a few. We give zem education, training, rights of citizenship, and authority zey ozzerwise would never have been able to reach in ze Empire. "

Palara stood as the train came to a halt.

"You will be given a day to gazzer yourself and prepare to leave. Bring no clozing. Everyzing will be provided for you."

She gestured to the open doors.

"After you."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika stood and sidled her way along the aisle toward the egress, noting with startling clarity how much room the other passengers were giving the two of them. She was used to jostling for space in these trains, but people were actually pressing back into their seats as she passed. Not for her, of course, but for the Twi'lek Knight behind her. She wasn't sure if it was because they recognized the uniform from the holo adverts, or simply because they were unnerved to see an alien walking with such undeniable authority.

It could have been empowering. But Onika couldn't shake the feeling that she was being marched to her execution. She'd never had much of a life, but the Empire was intent on taking it away, all because of some power they thought she had. And to be what? A soldier? A COMPNOR shill? A government spook? She had no political aspirations. She just wanted to be left alone.

The noise of the station greeted her as she stepped into the threshold, and she felt Palara's presence at her back, unthreatening, but unshakable, obliterating any thoughts she may have had of bolting then and there. She hesitated and gave Palara a weak smile, hoping the woman would think she was still on board.

Maybe there was still a way out. She'd been given a day. She could do a lot in a day. Transport offworld? Not likely. Even if she had the means, a ship could be interdicted. She could sink lower. Head into the bowels of the Undercity, where people went to disappear. It was a terrifying prospect even if half the hellish tales she'd heard were true, of lawless gangs and radioactive fires, of junkworms and flesh-eating slimes and reanimated corpses...

She suppressed a shudder. That was a last resort. They wanted her because of this power. All she had to do was make them think she didn't have it after all. And hope they didn't kill her for wasting their time.

Maybe she could--

"Onya!"

She startled at the voice - strong, clear, ringing over the bustle of the disembarking passengers, and froze, all her pretensions shattered. What was... how could he be here?

A Zabrak teenager came squeezing through the throng, bald with a crown of backswept horns. He burst onto the platform and caught her by the shoulders. "Hey. I heard... are you all right?"

Onika stared back at Kona in disbelief. "I... yeah. But how did you..."

She stared into his warm, dark eyes, then turned her own question toward Palara.

[Palara Iscandar]

Palara seemed completely opaque, returning Onika's look with one that held a hint of curiosity: her brows slightly raised, her held tilted slightly, and an ever-so-slight lean forward.

"Should I leave you two alone for a moment?" She asked. "Zere is a great noodle shop nearby I 'ave not been to in weeks zat is calling my name. Per'aps I shall go zere."

[Onika Zepparah]

Noodles. Onika might have laughed if she had any breath in her lungs. She watched Palara slip away and then turned back to the anxiously waiting Zabrak. His skin was tan and smooth, lightly pebbled near the base of his horns, with noble features that could have been carved on a marble statue, his face pristine and unmarked, too young to have earned his family tattoos. He was nearly a head taller than her, and she wasn't short, but he was wiry with youth, with lean muscles coiled tight like springs, and passions wound just as tight. Every time Onika saw him, he seemed to be itching for a provocation, dangerous, volatile. It was part of why he fascinated her.

"Kona, what are you doing here?"

Kona was looking her over, grim-faced at the sight of the bruises puckering around around her eye socket and the scabbed-over cut on her lip. "She called me," he said. "She said there was trouble at school, and you needed me. I didn't know what to believe. Onika, what the frell is going on?"

Onika winced at his tone, almost accusatory. She wasn't sure which was more astounding - that Palara had known to contact Kona, or that Kona had trusted her enough to come. Either the Knight had made a very persuasive case, or...

She was conscious of eyes all around them, some fleeting, some lingering on the two alien teenagers huddled together on the platform. "Not here," Onika said. "Let's get out of the way."

They stole off together through the crowd, her hand in his, Onika half-jogging to keep up with Kona's long, wiry stride, until they had rounded a corner into a little-used maintenance hallway. A droid trundled by whistling cheekily to itself, completely inured to the problems of organics, and disappeared through a waist-high hatch in the side of the alley.

Onika pulled away from Kona's grasp and swept a few loose strand of black hair from her eyes as she caught her breath. Kona stepped beside her, impatient. She could feel his attention heating up the air around her.

"Some rich sleemos cornered me in the locker room at school," she said. "I... I handled it."

"The frell you did!" Kona spat, and he paced in a circle, hands clenching and unclenching like the talons of a hawkbat. "Ee cho paa bashu... what's the point of being in that drenhole if you have to fight your way through it? At least in the District we watch each other's backs!"

"Kona, it's handled," Onika insisted. "That's not the problem anymore. School's not a problem. I've got bigger problems now."

Kona's hairless brows descended, and his nostrils flared like a reek ready to charge. "That government sneak. Who is she?"

Onika lowered her head, bracing for the storm. "She's a Knight. An Imperial Knight. She... wants to recruit me."

Kona stared, his face draining of all expression. For a moment, an agonizing, heart-stopping moment, it looked as though he didn't recognize the person in front of him.

"Recruit you. Why?"

Onika drew in a deep, sharp breath, as if she were about to dive off a cliff into uncertain waters. And then she told him. About the struggle in the locker room, which ended in twisted bodies and broken limbs, cast aside as if by the vengeful hand of God. The panicked flight from her room, only to be met on the train and congratulated for her initiative. The strange conversation that followed, leading her, and Kona, to where they stood.

She forced herself to hold his eyes as he processed it. She knew he could see the angles as well as she could. And then he stepped in, slipped his arms under hers, and pulled her close against him. She sighed and pressed her forehead against his shoulder, solid and warm and unyielding, while he kissed her hair and teased it with his fingertips.

"I don't imagine you could just say 'no,'" he said in a low voice.

"They'd hunt me," Onika said, muffled against his chest. "She was pretty clear about that. She made it sound like this power can change the galaxy. I don't get it. That isn't me. I'm nobody."

Kona's embrace tightened like a steel trap. "Not nobody. And you're nobody's fool, either. If you've got this power, can't you fight them?"

"I don't know how to use it. And they're the only ones who can teach me." She pushed back so she could look him in the eyes, flashing her teeth in a melancholy smile. "Catch twenty-two."

"What if you learned?"

Onika stared, her smile fading. "I... you're kidding, right?"

"Maybe not." Kona let his hands slip down to take hers again. "If the Empire wants your power so much, it must be valuable, right? What if you could make it work for yourself? Learn enough to be dangerous... learn to slip their nets. Then... whatever. Black Sun, the Hutts, there's gotta be someone willing to pay a ransom for what you can do. It'd be like robbing the Empire."

She looked back at him in horror. "Kona, that's crazy. I don't want to be some kind of commodity. I just want my life back. I just want to be normal."

Kona stared back, hard at first, and then relented with a sigh. He rubbed her hands between his callused palms. "Sorry. I was just... trying to spin it, you know? So what are you gonna do?"

"I don't think I have a choice," Onika said glumly. "Play along. Look for a way out. Maybe if they think I'm no good... the fight in the locker room was just a lucky shot. Maybe they'll send me back."

Kona frowned, stone-faced and stormy. "Yeah. It's worth a try." He clasped her hands tightly and then leaned to kiss her hairline. "I guess you got some packing to do?"

Onika nodded. "I've got a day. Packing won't take that long."

They stood in each other's arms for a few more fragile moments. Then they stole away into the depths of little Ryloth for one last night of freedom.