Forced Perspective

[Baastian Cain]

INT. Imperial HoloNews Studio B. Crane shot over cheering audience to stage. ORSON JINKS sits behind his desk exchanging pleasantries with KNIGHT BAASTIAN CAIN in the guest chair as the intro music fades.

ORSON: Welcome back to this special edition of The Forum, where we are joined by Sir Baastian Cain, a Knight of the Imperial Throne. Now, Sir Cain--

BAASTIAN: Please, call me Baastian. Titles make me nervous.

(Audience laughter)

ORSON: Of course - Baastian, then. In the last segment you gave us some impressive demonstrations, and once more for our viewing audience, there are no wires, no repulsorlifts, no holography or special effects of any kind on our soundstage tonight. What you saw is what actually happened. So the question on the forefront of my mind, and, I’m sure, of many minds in our audience, is this: just what are we seeing? What is the Force, and how does it allow you and your fellow Knights to perform what looks for all the galaxy like magic?

BAASTIAN: Well, the first thing I can tell you, Orson, is that it’s not magic. As mysterious as the Force may seem, it is a known phenomenon, proven and measured by science. It is an energy field that is invisible to most people’s senses, but there are a few of us who can sense it and manipulate it and use it to affect energy and matter.

ORSON: To be fair, we’ve heard so-called psychics or faith healers use the same sort of science, or, as some would call it, pseudoscience, to justify their own mystic powers.

BAASTIAN: That’s true! That’s definitely true. Well, I can tell you, if they were the real deal, they would’ve heard from us by now.

(Audience laughter)

BAASTIAN: No, but seriously, the study of the Force has been couched in mystical and religious terminology for… well, tens of thousands of years. As far back as our history goes. And I don’t think that’s by accident. When you see something powerful that you can’t explain, it’s only natural to be afraid of it. So if you shroud something like the Force in mystery, it gives the haves a great deal of power over the have-nots.

ORSON: So you would say that the power of the Force has a potential to corrupt?

BAASTIAN: Oh, absolutely. And for that we have to look no further than the Jedi. From guardians of peace in the Republic, to a decadent class of elites, to bloodthirsty warlords, to traitors to the Republic they swore to defend.

ORSON: To, some would say, puppets of a rebel government?

BAASTIAN: That’s assuming there’s even any connection between the group behind Alliance borders calling themselves Jedi, and the actual historic Jedi Order. If nothing else, they’re certainly trying to claim that legacy as their own. But that legacy is gone. Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader and countless other heroes of the New Order made sure of that. What we’re doing now in the Imperial Knights is building a new legacy. One that isn't constrained by ancient traditions and superstition. We don't just use the Force. We harness it. Like nuclear fusion, or hypermatter reaction. It's a source of power to keep the Empire safe.

ORSON: Well, that's certainly a comforting thought to anyone who lived through the Clone Wars. I guess there's just one question left about Force power: is it eco-friendly?

(Audience laughter, some scattered clapping. BAASTIAN laughs and shakes his head.)

BAASTIAN: Well, I can tell you one thing, Orson. It's one hundred percent organic.

(More laughter. Applause intensifies. Band begins playing outro music.)

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian Cain, face of the Imperial Knights, stood in one of the great ancient training halls of the Citadel. It was as large as a wegsphere pitch, with bleacher seating on either side for demonstrations, but the glossy black floor hid a vast array of modular platforms, barriers, and mechanisms to arrange them in a million different configurations depending on the needs of the training. Today's needs were simple, however. Just one raised square platform, fifteen meters to a side, about a meter off the ground for prime visibility, an obvious stage for sparring demonstrations. Baastian paced the perimeter of that platform, arms clasped at the small of his back, breathing in the cool, clear air of the cavernous room. It was rich with anticipation.

Of all the duties he carried out in the name of the Imperial Knights, it was training the next generation of the Empire's heroes that he found the most rewarding. It was a pity he didn't have more opportunities to interact with them. First reports from the current class were intriguing. Promising potential. Eclectic talents. Strong personalities, with a few stubborn contrarians. But you could say the same about any class of Knights - or their leadership, for that matter. Baastian wanted to see them for himself. Feel their kindling presence in the Force. Find out what drove them, what secret strengths they possessed.

He knew they wouldn't all make it. Some would falter under the pressures of Knighthood and be ferried into less demanding, but still important positions. A few, tragically, would be undone completely. Dissidents who had to be hunted down, or broken shells who would be remanded to the labs below. It was harsh, but he couldn't justly complain. If not for that research, he wouldn't be standing here today.

But today wasn't about the losses. It was about the gains. They'd be arriving any minute now for their first group lesson in Force Praxis. And he'd made their instructors swear not to tell any of the cadets who their lecturer was to be.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Citadel life wasn't all that different from prison, Jensen had decided. You woke up when you were told to, dressed how you were told to, went to places you were told to, ate when you were told to and very rarely did anything ever happen that was unexpected or exemplary. There were even armed guards lurking about, though here they were called instructors and rather than idly standing by waiting for your rehabilitation to somehow come to you through the pure will of the system, they actively participated in coaching and molding their charges. For all his unfamiliarity with the Citadel itself and the nature of what it was to be a Knight, Jensen found it all strangely easy to step into, to go with the routine of it all and meet the daily expectations placed upon him.

The class he was headed to now, however, was different. It wasn't a lecture to be discussed, it wasn't theoretical, it was going to be real. Which meant actually facing what he could do, what the others could do. He doubted he was the only one that felt some trepidation at the thought, but he certainly wasn't going to be the one to make a show of it.

Upon entering the training hall, however, he felt that pit in his stomach threaten to swallow him whole. He was first, the over-eager seeming, in danger of causing himself to stand out. He couldn't quite decide if that was going to reflect poorly or not.

He wasn't alone, though. At first glance Jensen sized up the other individual as the potential instructor for the course, but a harder look as he continued towards the raised platform brought on the familiarity. The teen had only heard stories that made Baastian Cain something other than that stooge from the holonet, but stories were just that and cadet Par'Vizal was one of those who never took stock in a thing unless he witnessed it first hand. Apparently he was going to get his chance.

The cadet came to a stop and fell into a somewhat relaxed but orderly stance with his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't sure what was expected of him at this point and so would have to wait for the others to arrive to better adjust himself accordingly.

[Khoovi Wan]

It didn't take long for a second cadet to appear. Khoovi entered the hall with an air of trepidation and anxiety, and while he met Baastian and Jensen's eyes straight on, he said nothing to either of them, and simply stood at Jensen's side in mirrored posture.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

For an Imperial Knight Cadet, classes at the Citadel weren't so much about which ones you wanted to take, so much as they were about when you would take them. Coming off his second full quarter of the program, Hal studied his new class schedule, and followed the Citadel corridors until at last arriving in the proper room - which was much larger than expected, and yet not so engaging as the sight of who their new instructor would be.

It wasn't surprising that Cain would teach a course or two, but what was surprising was to see him back after a significant absence - an absence which had gone mostly unexplained, except in the various vagaries which never gave a complete or satisfactory answer. Hal had an idea about it, though, having done his homework, under cover of... actually doing his homework (which he did, as it was important to maintain a high grade point average).

I am so smart, S-M-R-T! His higher functions gloated.

Um, I don't think that's how you spell 'smart.' His base natures objected.

Shut up, you; I was making a joke!

Tuning out his internal dialogue, Hal returned to exposition, noting with a subtle smile that he knew something about Baastian Cain that very few others did. Upon their first meeting, there had been an overwhelming sense of familiarity not only with Baastian's face, but his name as well. It had taken time to connect the dots - especially since the Empire refused to let Hal take crayons out of the arts and crafts room - but they had been connected indeed. Baastian Cain was none other than Bastian Cain, a Jedi from Hal's own time, who was obviously frozen in carbonite just like he was, but was brainwashed by the Empire upon being thawed out and no longer remembered the good ol' days. Such a revelation was simultaneously a blessing and a curse for Hal. While Baastian did not remember him, and couldn't unmask his Kyle Rayner persona, it meant Hal had no secret ally in Baastian. Nor did he have a secret enemy, either. Neutral ground was never a truly terrible thing.

So, Hal stood at ease alongside Khoovi and Jensen, curious as to what this class would entail with Knight Cain at its helm.

[Maalik]

Maalik entered the room slowly, almost with a swagger. Not a swagger that suggested he was superior or had an inflated ego, but simply that he was unafraid and, should anyone try anything, he would thoroughly enjoy the chance to show them it was a mistake. Such was the mind of the man from the jungles of Wayland. One minute he was filled with a happy excitement, the next a seething resentment for anything and everything. Through it all, however, his curiosity remained, begging to be sated like a starving man begs for food.

It was his curiosity that had driven him to volunteer to go with Knight Iscandar. Some might consider that insane in itself but, then again, there was no doubting that Maalik's grip on sanity and reality were tentative at best.

Leaning against the wall, he scowled at the others, sizing them up. Plucking a small, spherical seed about an half an inch in diameter from the pouch on his belt, he rolled it around on the palm of his hand, his wild, dark eyes following every fluid movement.

[Jeryd Redsun]

The F-Word. There it was again, taking pride of place at the top of his timetable, small, innocuous, and terrible. This time his torment was to come under the guise of Force Praxis, whatever the frak that meant. Jeryd allowed the datapad, dwarfed in his oversized hand, to fall to his side, in rhythm with his long steady stride. With every passing day, the Citadel maze was becoming unravelled in his mind, allowing him to navigate its myriad corridors with the same confidence that had accompanied him every step of the way through Manarai Military Prep and the Academy of Carida. Confidence and competence had always been the currency he traded for success - success in his training, education, and sports, with tutors, peers, and girls - and, with every step he took towards the training hall, he imagined all of that accumulated wealth tumbling through imaginary holes in his pockets, tinkling on the floor behind him.

Up ahead, the light from the hall plunged into the relative gloom of the corridor like a spotlight. Already, he could hear the buzz of eager voices. It reminded him of those electric moments before a wegsphere match, waiting to be deployed onto the pitch, huddled close in the narrow corridor with teammates, listening to the roar of the crowd, the chanting and the cheering. It had been one of the best feelings in the galaxy. This? This was hell. Jeryd was anxious and alone, and every voice he heard belonged to the opposition. So many people. How was he supposed to be able to learn to use the Force in front of them all? That shit was private!

Outside the hall, he paused. A moment to brace himself, to take a breath, before he stepped inside. There was the crowd of cadets, rising like a tide on the bleachers, directly in front of them stood a raised platform and their solitary instructor. He took one glimpse of who it was, performed a crisp about turn, and left the room again.

"Oh, shit!" Jeryd crashed against the wall in the corridor, folding under the weight of his disbelief. Had he lacked the presence of mind to clamp his hands on his knees, he may well have ended up on the floor. He sucked at the air like it was in danger of running out, "Oh, shit."

It was him. Him!

Baastian Cain, the Face of the Imperial Knights himself. The humble, salt-of-the-earth stormtrooper who served with unparalleled distinction throughout his military career, until he was called to greater things. He answered the Empire's call, enrolling in the Order of the Knights of the Imperial Throne, where he went on to excel in all fields, rising rapidly through the ranks to become Knight First Class. Of course, his service record was the envy and admiration of all his peers - if indeed he had any peers - leading the charge against the enemies of the Empire, stamping out corruption, conspiracy, insurrection, treachery, and injustice. All this, he did, while simultaneously inspiring entire generations of new patriots to believe in a future that was peaceful, prosperous, and fair. He was from Coruscant, just like Jeryd, started out in the Imperial Army, like Jeryd, he stood at an impressive 6'2", like Jeryd, he was broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, athletic, again, like Jeryd. Blue eyes? Check. Blonde hair? He could work on that.

"No way," he took another breath to steady his nerves, "No frakkin' way!"

With great effort, he managed to get himself upright again. He had to make a move. If he left it any longer, he'd be late. He bounced on his feet, shook out his hands, and advanced boldly into the light. And the split-second before he passed through the doorway, the broad grin was swept from his face.

"Jed!" That was Neb's voice. "Hey, Jed! Over here!"

From the front row, Nebbil Hoob waved, drawing his friend's attention to both himself, and the seat he'd saved for him. Even as he gave Jeryd the sort of dual thumbs-up that risked shattering every molecule of cool in his body, it didn't matter: in that moment, Jeryd could've kissed him. He walked with purpose, the kind expected of an Imperial Knight in training, while stealing precious glances at his hero as he approached. Stars, he was handsome. The posters did not do him justice, nor the holos, or the smashball cards, or the action figures. He looked taller than he expected, too. The guy was huge, like... two Jeryd's in one. So he had his work cut out for him, then. That was alright. Everyone needed an ideal to strive towards.

"Figured you'd want to be upfront for this one, buddy," Neb was grinning like the nexu that caught the nuna. After weathering hours of talk and analysis, chronicling Knight Cain's humble beginnings in the Il-Raz Home for Promising Youths, to his tours of duty with the 509th Legionnaires on Corellia, and Thyferra, to his heroic deeds on Sullust, Nebbil could consider himself a minor expert on the history of Baastian Cain, and also his friend's shameless obsession with him. "Go on, you can smile."

A flicker of a grin was all he got, "Shut up, man."

Nebbil, smug as ever, took a sly dig at his leg, "You shut up."

Jeryd returned in kind, gently, "No, you shut up."

"You shut up."

"Shut up," he said, and now he was smiling. After a pause pregnant with suspense, he finally whispered, "It's him!"

[Baastian Cain]

As Baastian slowly paced the leading edge of the raised platform, he seemed to be ignoring his students entirely, perhaps lost in thought. In reality he was keeping his senses open, feeling out the imprint each cadet made on the living Force, the ripples that surrounded them like pebbles dropped into a pond. Force Sense was among the weakest of his abilities - he didn't have Palara's keen perceptiveness, or Lúka's analytic brilliance, or anything like Vissica's dogmatic affinity for the truth. His senses tended to be more instinctive, attuned to power and threat. And there was a lot of power in this room, most of it untapped. As expected, Cadet Rayner's light burned the brightest, but it was oddly blurred, like a lantern viewed through a foggy window. Probably reflecting the lack of focus resulting from his truncated training under the Jedi Abin Sur. By comparison, Cadet Wan beside him was a small but brilliant spark, eager to be breathed into a greater flame. The others... Par'Vizal, smoldering like coals in a furnace, Hoob, a fragile, flashing candleflame, Redsun, a swirl of conflicting energies like luminous gases that refused to mix. And then Maalik, who was a steady warm glow, and... green. Huh. Did that mean anything?

He continued his patrol as the last of the cadets filtered in. Jolee. Catanna. Zepparah. Pharidae. Thida. Gradually, they filled in the bleacher seats. Some gawked like Cadets Redsun and Hoob. Some glowered suspiciously like Par'Vizal. A few seemed blissfully ignorant that Baastian was anything but just another Citadel instructor. That was as it should be, really. He accepted the burden of being the public face of the Knights along with all his other duties, but it was a rare occasion he didn't find himself battling other people's preconceptions.

The oversized chrono over the door ticked to the hour. Anyone else who was coming would have to be late.

"Good morning," he said, a strong, clear voice that cut through the hushed chatter over the bleachers like a lightsaber. "My name is Baastian Cain. Imperial Knight First Class, formerly Staff Sergeant of the 509th Imperial Legion, the Reek-Riders. Some of you may wonder why I bother with the second set of credentials. Well, it's not because I consider myself a rags-to-riches success story. I wore my Stormtrooper whites with the same pride as any TIE jockey, ISD skipper, or Imperial guardsman who ever pulled on a uniform. That hasn't changed just because I traded in my blaster rifle for a lightsaber. Service to the Empire, to her citizens, to Her Majesty, Empress Tarkin, is the highest honor that any of us can hope to achieve. Gloria Imperium!"

This pronouncement was punctuated with a salute, and the cadets returned it and echoed the pledge with varying degrees of enthusiasm. The collected effort hardly stirred the air. Baastian's eyebrows lowered. "I said: GLORIA IMPERIUM!"

The class responded with a roar that rang off the rafters, and he saw more than one of them go wide-eyed and white-knuckled, probably wondering where he fell on the spectrum between Knight Jibral's stern but well-ordered discipline, and Knight Vissica's bloody wrath. He'd let them wonder just a little longer. He nodded his approval at the correction.

"That's better. I'm sure you've all been wondering about that course title on your schedules. Force Praxis. Praxis is where theory meets practice. This course is where you will apply what you have learned in all your Force studies, along with your studies in tactics, field operations, command, and physical training. This where the rubber meets the road, Cadets. Your instructor for this course will vary from day to day. Each instructor will put his or her own personal fingerprints on the challenges you will face, and make no mistake: you will be challenged. If there is any weakness left in you, we will break it out of you. If there is any fear, or any doubt, we will burn it away. And when we're finished with you, you will not be ashamed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with your brothers and sisters in arms as a Knight of the Imperial Throne."

His eyes landed on Jeryd. Then slowly moved across the rest of the assembly.

"Before we begin, I would like to ask you all a simple question. What is the most powerful weapon an Imperial Knight possesses?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"The rest of the Empire at his or her back, earned by trust and respect!" Hal's reply was delivered loud and clear as he stood at attention.

Naturally it was total bollocks, but whoever spoke up first was bound to be wrong, and you might as well be wrong while touting the strength and glory of the Empire, even if for irony's sake.

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian met Cadet Rayner's effort with an appreciative nod. "Cadet Rayner has seen first-hand what a Knight can do with the might of the Imperial Navy and Army at her back. The result is nothing short of awe-inspiring. It is a power that none of us should take lightly. But..."

He turned on one heel, continuing his patrol as the echo of his voice floated to the ceiling.

"As Knights of the Imperial Throne, we are the tip of Her Majesty's spear. There are times that we must go where no one else can, to deliver order and justice to the farthest reaches of the galaxy, to seek the enemy in his deepest hiding places. At these times, we cannot depend on material support. We must be prepared to stand alone as the sole representative of Imperial power. Anyone else?"

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Jensen swore he could almost taste the overall reluctance of most of the other cadets to give an answer. True, there had to be some thinking the question over, trying to come up with something suitably impressive or perhaps just too nervous to look wrong in front of an instructor of such reputation. Not that Cain had been particularly brutal with his assessment of Rayner's answer, quite the opposite really.

He considered remaining among the mute for a while, giving someone with a real spark of insight a chance at answering but as the silence drew on, Jensen's own answer became a nagging urge in the back of his mind that refused to remain silent. Wrong, right, or somewhere in between; he had to know.

"Our minds." Jensen called out, blissfully managing to make it sound at least marginally confident rather than a question itself.

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian turned again, his black-gloved hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Would you care to expand on that answer, Cadet Par'Vizal?"

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

He admittedly felt uncomfortable with the way eyes turned his way, expectant; though whether to see him fail or not was up for debate. Jensen dealt with it the only way he knew how, by turning his full attention to the instructor.

"A strong mind is necessary to formulate tactics, to ensure we have control over our abilities, to have clear thought at all. It's where everything we do begins; intent starts there. Instinct can really only get someone so far. Conversely, a sickened mind just isn't capable of efficiency. It sets someone up for failure before they may even realize it."

It felt so inelegant, incomplete. There was more to it than just that but it was hard to put into words. It seemed like such a basic concept to think of the mind as the greatest weapon, or perhaps that was just teaching from his father. After all, he'd seen first hand how far someone could fall when their mind went amiss.

[Jeryd Redsun]

After Kyle Rayner had stolen his answer (and his opportunity to share it with Baastian Cain), Jeryd was at something of a loss for words. His next port of call was to consider the Force as an Imperial Knight's most powerful weapon - and he rather hated himself for that - because, of course, that was what an Imperial Knight wanted to hear. But he couldn't bring himself to say it. Despite the expansive silence, despite the fact that Baastian Cain was right there, and this was his opportunity to say something to him, he couldn't do it. Because he didn't believe it. His heart was pounding in his chest, fueling his brain, as it darted from thought to thought. He was running out of time. He had to say something. Anything...

That was when Jensen intervened. His voice pierced the silence like a trumpet call, drawing all eyes in his direction. It was a good simple answer. At least, to begin with. When Jensen elaborated, his words fell upon Jeryd's ears like the eloquent wisdom of a veteran instructor. Damn, he was smart. And, while, outwardly, his eyebrows lifted in surprise, inwardly, his heart sank. There was no way he could follow that up.

[Korsh Irana]

The Pantoran resisted crossing his mechanical arm over his good one. Instead, Korsh sat with his hands in his lap, as expected by the Empire. He had returned to his seat after the Gloria Imperium! excitement. Korsh watched the wordplay. He felt none of it. He stared at these... mostly children.

Being here was irksome, but he obeyed orders. Right now his order was to be here, and attend this class. In this uniform, which he felt nothing towards.

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian listened patiently until Par'Vizal had said his piece. Only then did he nod, with just a hint of a smile crinkling around his eyes.

"Well done, Cadet. I hope everyone was listening. Make no mistake, the Force is the greatest power that you will ever wield. But your command of the Force is only as great as your mind allows it to be."

He turned to pace back down the edge of the platform. "On Chandrila, there is a festival that honors ancient explorers who traveled the seas instead of the stars. They set out in vessels made of wood, driven by sheets of cloth that catch the wind. The Chandrilans hold races with such vessels. But if two ships are using the same wind, how can one be faster?"

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Multiple reasons," Hal replied - for once his planet's lower-tech status working in his favor. "While they're using the same wind, one could have larger sails, or more efficiently designed sails. One could also have a sleeker profile to their ship, creating less drag in the water, or a flat bottom to create a plane on which to ride, further reducing drag. The weight of the ships would also be a factor, as lightness equals speed in such an environment. But I think what you're getting at is the state of the crew, and their experience and discipline upon the water. A more experienced crew would know how to tack the sails correctly to catch the most wind, and to steer the ship through the waves at angles which flow with the water instead of fighting against it. A sharp crew can anticipate instead of having to react, and a crew that can think as one can both anticipate and react faster and more efficiently than a crew of novices. Our minds should be like that experienced crew, sharp and alert, using lessons learned here to guide us to the correct outcome of whatever situation we find ourselves in."

[Baastian Cain]

Cadet Rayner was full of surprises. Apparently among them was a more than superficial working knowledge of ancient sailing vessels. It was a more technical answer than Baastian required, but he couldn't fault the effort.

"Exactly right, Cadet Rayner. As Knights, we are the first line of defense against unregistered and hostile Force users. These individuals may have different training, different techniques at their disposal, but ultimately we all use the same Force. What sets us apart is up here."

He tapped his temple with a gloved finger. "Our discipline. Our resolve. Our commitment to the ideals of the Empire. The Force becomes a reflection of the mind that wields it. This class is going to reveal to all of us who you really are."

Baastian paced back to the center of the platform. "I need a volunteer. Someone who can demonstrate a Force technique they've practiced." With a sweep of his hand he indicated the stairs leading up - an invitation for a brave cadet to join him. "Now's not the time to be timid, Cadets."

[Maalik]

Maalik stepped forward, a smile on his face that would give great cause for concern in normal circumstances. He made his way to the platform, eager to show these Cadets and, indeed, the instructor, something that they might never have seen before.

The seed he had been holding was held firmly in his fist as Maalik reached out, feeling the life and the Force around him. It was more difficult here than it had been in the jungles, taxing his energy a little more than usual. He held his hand up, opening the clenched fist and allowing the seed to be seen.

"Mine is a little different..." he giggled, his usually warm eyes taking on a bright green shine.

The seed split, several thin shoots sprouting rapidly and wrapping themselves around his wrist. They advanced, quick and purposeful, growing thicker as they seemed to consume his forearm in ever increasing numbers as they hardened. Green stems became grey-brown branches lined with sharp, wicked looking thorns; these stretched along the wildman's fingers, culminating in what looked like a living, clawed gauntlet.

Since Maalik had arrived at the Citadel, he had attempted to apply his natural talents to a situation he was more likely to encounter as a part of the Imperial Knights. He would be building no tree-homes here, he knew, so applying the same principles to something like armour intrigued him greatly. This gauntlet was just the beginning...

[Baastian Cain]

Baastian watched, fascinated, as the seed sprang to life, feeding off the warm, green glow he'd sensed earlier emanating from Maalik. He'd known the Force could be used to manipulate biological forms, from Force healing to more exotic forms of bio-engineering, alchemy as it was called in some of the old texts. But he'd never seen it unfolding in real time. Hadn't even known it was possible, really, outside of Palara's own processing report on the boy.

"That's a little more exotic than I was expecting, but it's a good starting point. In case you weren't aware, Cadet Maalik can use the Force to manipulate plant-based bioforms. He's shown us one application: improvised armor and weaponry. May I?"

He took Maalik's wooden gauntlet in his hands, careful to avoid the thorns, and pressed against the woody stems. He flexed the limb this way and that, tested the flexibility of the clawed fingers. Finally he straightened out the gauntlet and positioned his hands on either side of it. The Knight's brow furrowed in concentration, and Maalik felt an enormous pressure close over the gauntlet like a vice. Wooden fibers groaned as they were pushed, pulled, and twisted to within a few newtons of their breaking point. Even from the bleachers, it was hard to miss the discomfort on the Cadet's face.

And then the pressure was gone, and Baastian stood back with a nod of grim approval. "By my estimation, it's comparable in tensile strength and impact resistance to our mainline battle armor. A fair bit heavier, of course, but I sense that's not going to be a problem for you. All right, Cadets, tactical analysis. Think of Cadet Maalik both as a potential ally, and as a potential enemy. How could this ability be used in the field? What are its strengths? Its drawbacks? What sort of roles might Cadet Maalik be suited for?"

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Sir," Jeryd blurted out at once, "The cadet's armour has potential for useful application in close quarters and hand-to-hand combat, sir."

He was standing. Wait. Why was he standing? No-one else had bothered to stand up. Baastian Cain was looking right at him. His thoughts raced to catch up with his galloping heart. He had to say more, which at once forced him to consider the eccentric wilderness man, himself. In the limited time they had spent in each other's company, not more than an utterance had passed between them. And, to be fair, that appeared to be standard procedure with Maalik. He didn't even have a surname, for star's sake. In order to get more than two words out of him, you had to be a Nabooian water lily, or something. But, there he was, bold as you please, turning a tiny seed into a brutal-looking gauntlet.

Jeryd had no idea he could that. Even where the Force was concerned, as vast and unknown as it might be, this was something that had to be seen to be believed. It was artistic, even. Onika would appreciate that, he reckoned. But he wasn't supposed to be thinking about Onika Zepparah; it was Maalik he had to consider, not only as a fellow cadet, but as a potential ally in the battlefield. Suddenly, his imagination took flight:

"Cadet Maalik would be a useful ally in situations where armour is required, but not readily available. His... talent may have other defensive applications, too, such as providing cover for fixed positions. And, though it is strong, this armour may be weak against blasters, and prone to catching fire, sir."

There was a quiet tremor of laughter that ran through the bleachers. Undeterred, Jeryd pressed on.

"Sir, from a tactical perspective, an ally with Cadet Maalik's unique skills would be best suited for non-urban combat environments, such as forests and woodland. The forest moon of Endor, for example, sir."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than he found himself wishing that he could take them all back. In his eagerness to impress, Jeryd had plucked out the first forest world that had sprung to mind, and he chose the site of one of the Empire's most embarrassing defeats. He could've said Thyferra, Kashyyyk, Dathomir, even, anything other than the blasted Sanctuary Moon. And, of course, that was the moment Gorm Jolee decided to pipe up.

"Aw, is Redsun scared of the little teddy bears?"

[Khoovi Wan]

"The Ewoks managed to defeat some of the most experienced and well trained Stormtroopers of the Empire," Khoovi responded, not looking at Jolee. "Another weakness of the Cadet's ability is that by its nature he needs something to work with, which bolsters Cadet Redsun's assertion that he would be most useful in terrain featuring plant life. If he were caught without some seed or plant, he would be at a disadvantage."