Stargazing

"No. Stop. You have to go a little more to the left," I ordered, looking back. "You're going to fall in."

"I don't see anything," my best friend objected, squinting into the grass at the base of the hillock, then glancing skyward for a moment. "We're going to miss it."

"We won't," I said, annoyed. "Just do what I did and go to the left."

He went too straight and one leg plunged through the roof of the abandoned huurton den. "Whoa!" Catching himself, he added, almost as an afterthought, "Ow."

I sighed. "I told you." Picking my way down, I directed him to lie flat on his belly, then took his arms and yanked him free.

It was too dark for even I to see it, but I could feel the heat as he flushed, embarrassed. Rather than call his attention to it, I turned and resumed the climb. "This time, watch me."

We made it to the hillock's crest without further incident. I checked the faintly-glowing chronometer on my wrist and tightened my lips, disappointed. "Aahh. We're early." A single spiky blba tree shared the hilltop with us. Looking up, I decided that the branches and leaves on the north side didn't obscure the sky too much, and sat.

'Lak dropped down besides me and pulled something out of a pocket. I leaned back into the grass and blba roots, crossing my arms behind my head. According to the chrono, it was another fifteen minutes. I reviewed my options mentally.

Well, there was just sitting here and waiting. Which was fine for now, but I knew that I'd get bored before long. There was meditation- no. No meditating; it took too long to start, and after I'd started I knew that I'd be in it for half an hour at least. There were the stretches, designed to make me stronger and tougher and more limber... no, not the stretches, either. Nemo had told me that if I did the stretches too often I'd have tendon problems. And today I'd already done them... ah... once right after I woke up, once before unarmed combat practice, once after unarmed practice, once after chasing Cimo around the Enclave, twice during the agility class, once after I was stiff from too long in the lotus position, once before and once after staff combat, once before and once after the flow state session, once after practicing with the low-powered trainee lightsabers...

I do a lot of stretching, I realized. Usually it's not even part of a class. I think I stretch more often than I meditate, actually. Huh. I turned my head to see what Malak was doing.

'Lak had a datapad out and was tapping busily away at it, the 'pad's screen casting its soft glow over his face. I turned on my side and propped my weight on one elbow to see what he was looking at, figuring that it was speeder or swoop statistics. It wasn't; instead, it was his copy of "This Year's Eligible Masters", a slightly tongue-in-cheek list that Janelle made each year to show Padawans hunting for Masters what they might hope for. He flicked between Aleco Stusea, Cale Berkona, Bala Nisi, and Quatra Ary'lya, studying each of their profiles in turn.

I raised my eyebrows. "Looking for a new Master?" None of them had taken a Padawan recently, but they all lived around here, in the Raioballo Sector. Bala Nisi was on the Dantooine Council, Aleco Stusea had been on the council once but had resigned, and both Cale and Quatra had been involved in the Great Hunt. They were all fairly high-profiled Jedi. Unlike either of our Masters.

"What? Oh, yeah. Wouldn't you?" He knew full well what my response would be. That didn't stop me from making it.

"In a Coruscant second," I said dryly, making the snapping-fingers gesture. I could not actually snap my fingers, not and make the proper snapping sound, but I could still convey the point. "Kreia's a terrible Master. I know she's not supposed to take me anywhere dangerous until I've finished my lightsaber and had it inspected, but you'd think she'd take us off-world. Or off-county. Or off-Temple-grounds. Or anywhere. She won't even teach me anything, just lectures and tells me to keep going to my Apprentice classes. I've tried hinting and outright asking, but she just gives me a load of bol spit that boils down to 'no'. But she has to agree to separate before I can leave and get another Master, and she won't do that."

"Mmm," 'Lak agreed. "We both drew the short straws; I got the lazy dawdler who should never have reached Knighthood, you got the stupid old biddy who's too wrapped up in her own mystery to teach anything worthwhile." He tapped at the datapad a little more as I pictured Kreia's profile.

My Master's profile, I knew from the times I had studied it, was marked with a bold red message declaring that she now had a Padawan and was no longer eligible, but the text below it stuck in my memory from all the times I'd scanned it. Kreia was a Master. Graduate of the Ossus Academy, which had few surviving records. Survivor of Exar Kun's Sith War; both her old Master and her newest Padawan had betrayed her, but otherwise no major recorded role. Vanished for about two years, came back and started taking assignments from the Dantooine Council. Supporting role during the Great Hunt. Vanished periodically, never told anyone where she went, but always came back. Specialties were listed as philosophy, prophecy, and subtle mental manipulation, personality was described as "acerbic, mysterious, and forbidding". She was known to show up and test certain younger Jedi, often under assumed names and altered appearances which were occasionally pierced, usually by non-humans. Despite that, she was also listed as "Unlikely to take any more Padawans". I'll have to remember to talk to Janelle about that. Get her to change it to "Has taken a Padawan, but is utterly useless as a teacher" or something.

I rolled onto my back, frustrated. "I wish I knew what she wanted me to do! She watches me, all the time, and I know she's waiting for something-"

"But what?" Malak had heard my complaint so many times that he knew it by heart. He snapped the datapad shut, slid it back into its pocket, and lay back. "Wish I could help you, Revan. But my Master isn't any better."

"I dunno about that," I told him, reaching down the front of my robes to pull out my lightsaber crystal on its leathery cord. "He's every bit as useless, but at least Elz doesn't insult everyone. Lazy spatter of Huttspawn that he is."

"Mmm," 'Lak agreed again, reaching down his own robes to pull out his synthetic crystal on its chain to fiddle with.

Both crystals were shapeless things, coated by an opaque cheesy-textured yellowish-brown substance. We'd made ours, together, about a week ago, without the help of our respective Masters, both of whom had been missing. Kreia had been wherever she went, disappeared somewhere; Elz had been at the spaceport. We suspected that he was getting drunk, but there really wasn't any evidence of that. Nemo had taken pity on us and supervised, telling us the right ratios of the various chemicals to make the growth matrix, and watching us closely as we used the crystal furnace, instructing us in the mantras we needed to use, meditating, to imbue our creations with the Force. When the synth-crystals had formed and were stable enough to pull out of the kiln, both had glowed whitely and sweated that odd yellow-brown coating as they cooled. Nemo had told us not to worry, that this happened to nearly every Padawan who made a crystal instead of finding it, and advised that we do as the others did and keep the things on our bodies for a month or so before we started cutting and polishing them.

I bounced the thumb-sized rock between my fingers, watching its dull gleam and wondering what color it was, or would be. According to Nemo, a synth-crystal's color and structure was based on a combination of the exact ratios of its chemical ingredients, the heat and pressure of the crystal kiln it was formed in, and the meditations of its creator. He'd told us that Coruscant taught that a crystal's color was indicative of its creator's personality and specialties, but Nemo personally believed that it was more complex than that. Besides, Coruscant's instructors couldn't agree past a basic "Blue for the physical warriors, green for the scholarly diplomats, yellow for the investigators in between", and even they had to admit that the exceptions were almost as numerous as the ones who proved the rule.

I daydreamed about the color sometimes. Blue, green, and yellow were the most common colors, yes, but there were great variations in the shades and hues of each of them. Blue, for instance, was often nearly white, but I had seen one that was as dark as the stigma of a cloudflower, and others that seemed indigo or turquoise. There were also other, less common colors. Orange, silver, purple, bronze. Red. Sith thousands of years ago had red crystals in their lightsabers. But Exar Kun's Sith had used all the same colors as Jedi. One of the great Jedi heroes, Sylvar, had had a red blade.

The chronometer told me that it would be another eight minutes. I sighed, wondering if we should have chosen a hill farther from the Enclave. Or perhaps we should have brought someone else with us. But who? All of our other friends - Laury, Nareaux, Arin, Olocc, Ranas, Nehya, and everyone else in our age group - were gone, part of the Jedi Service Corps or taken offworld by their new Masters. It would be a bad idea to take along someone younger, and I knew better than to bring Cimo anywhere.

"Oh, hey!" Malak sat up, turning his head to stare blankly into the air. "Company."

"Where?"

"Over- that way. Yeah." I followed his pointing finger, picking myself up and peering down the hillock, out over the waving grass heads. My eyes, dark-adapted as they were, weren't as sharp as they could be in daylight, so for a moment I saw nothing but the grass and, distant, the bulking shadows of the Enclave. Then a pair of humanoid figures resolved, walking towards us down one of the paths that had been worn through the grass. Distance made them almost doll-like.

I squinted. Hmm... "I think one is that one shy kid. The Twi'lek. What's his name. Deesra. The other one with him, I think he's a headblind." Extending my arm, I reached out in the Force and "tasted" the two, cautiously. Deesra's presence - it was definitely Deesra - changed slightly as he recognized the contact. "Yeah, it's Deesra and a non-Sensitive. Someone we've seen before. I don't know who." They started picking their way down the path at a slightly faster rate.

"What are they doing out here at this time of night?" Malak asked, curious. "It's almost late enough to be morning. How old is Deesra anyway? Seven? He should be asleep. He's got classes in the morning."

"So do we," I reminded him, climbing to my feet. "And I think he's a little older than seven. It's kind of hard to tell with Twi'leks, they grow up pretty fast." They were almost close enough - just a little bit farther-

"HEY!" Malak jolted in place, then tried to look as if I hadn't startled him. I cupped my hands around my mouth in an amplifier shape and shouted again. "HEY! HEY! OVER HERE!" Just in case they hadn't heard me clearly enough, I waved one arm vigorously and considered leaping as high as I could, but decided against it.

The two figures definitely turned towards us. The one-who-was-not-Deesra waved back, and both of them started to come towards us.

It occurred to me that my best friend might have preferred that we keep the hilltop to ourselves. "I could wave them away, 'Lak."

"No, it's okay. I don't mind. There's not much else to do. I'm not going to show them the way up, though." He settled back down against the blba's trunk, assuming a posture of indifference.

Nodding, I picked my way back down the steep-sided hillock to greet our "guests". Deesra had brought a surprise.

"Hello, Casus." I pursed my lips. "What are you doing out at here this time of the night? I know your father lets you run with the apprentices. But isn't this a bit much?"

"Heya, Revan. You sound like my mom. 'Why won't you stop teasing your sister? Why aren't you eating your stewfruit? Why do you smell like bol sweat?'" I reminded myself to be patient with the kid. His father let him tag along with the apprentices on their morning run, but Casus Sandral didn't have the benefit of the bulk of our schooling. He might seem immature by my standards, but he wasn't too bad. "And Father doesn't know I'm out."

"We're a couple of klicks away from your family's estate, Casus. I won't make you go back," I added hastily, sensing him about to go on the defensive. "And you don't have to tell me how you got here. But why are you out here?"

"Why are you out here?" Casus wanted to know, his expression as sulky as that of an affronted bol calf. "Just because you're older 'n me doesn't mean you can do anything you want."

Deesra, looking at the ground as was his custom, mumbled something. I looked at him and ran through the hearing-enhancement technique that Ranas had taught me last time we met. "Speak up."

"He said we're here to see the Dancing Maidens Show." Casus's voice hurt my enhanced ears. I winced a little and fiddled with my hearing some more. "Father said they were bad luck, but since I wanted to see them he let me out. He thinks I'm out somewhere in the garden. But Deesra said this was a better place."

"I didn't say Dancing Maidens Show," Deesra muttered at his feet. "I said the Danneseine Meteor Shower."

"Dancing Maidens sounds better," Casus muttered back. "You just want me to mess up my words and sound stupid again."

I hid a smile and decided to pretend that I hadn't heard that aside. "Well, you can see it with us. We - 'Lak and I - are on the top of that hill. The view will be best from there."

After a bit of muttered discussion, they agreed, and I lead them up the narrow "safe pass" to the crest. They managed not to suffer too many mishaps, but Deesra was sucking at a scratched hand by the time I got them to the top. Once we were up, I discovered a new bleeding puncture on my own hand, or perhaps one of the scabbed-over scratches had opened up again. Without Laury to ensure that every little injury was sealed over, this happened a lot. I didn't always know when I'd hurt myself. How many times, in combat practice, had I seen blood on the floor and only then realized that it was coming from me?

It stung, and I sensed that I would lose face if either of the two saw me licking at it. "Deesra, sit over there. Casus, sit with him." That way, Malak could be between them and me, and I could focus on the scratch.

Tongue and saliva made it sting even more, but I kept at it. Monitor Janelle might let Malak and I out at night on account of our age and the fact that we were restless, but she would revoke the privilege if I came back with my hands all bloody again.

Despite the stinging, there was just something about licking a scratch that was compelling. The feel of ragged edges, maybe. The wetness. Or the taste, bittersweet and metallic and salty. It was just more satisfying than adhering a patch of bandage over the hole, even if it did leave more of a chance for infection. Human saliva isn't exactly an antiseptic.

"Not as many stars here as back on Alderaan, right Revan?"

"Uh?" I blinked, swallowed, and looked up reflexively. The only change in the sky since last time we'd been out here was the positioning of the sparse clouds, and of course the seasonal changes. My brain caught up with me, and I realized that Malak was trying to lure our "guests" into a conversation. "No, they aren't quite as close together either." I pitched my voice just a little bit differently and paused, expectant.

Deesra said something. Casus apparently heard it, because it was he who responded. "'Cause Alderaan is one of the Core Worlds, but Dantooine is out on the Rim. Not so many stars around here, and they're a bit more spread out."

"That's right," I told them. "We're not in wild space or the unknown regions, or anywhere near the edge of the galaxy, really, but there's still a lot more empty space. That's one reason. The other is air pollution." I smiled faintly, knowing that neither of them would see it. "Alderaanians take great pride in the purity of their atmosphere. Not that Dantooinians are messing up the air much, but there are all the spores and whatnot."

"It's a frontier planet, so it's got to be cleaner than Eriadu or Kuat," 'Lak opined. He'd studied those, and some other planets, as part of a class years ago.

"They're both better than Duros or Coruscant," Deesra relayed through Casus.

"And Coruscant's got all those purification systems, so it's still better than Nar Shadda or Balosar," I said, putting just a hint of finality into my voice.

Not enough, apparently, or else 'Lak chose to ignore it. "Which still manage to be more livable than Vulpter or Bonadan. Or Varl." This could go on for a long time... 'civilization' isn't kind to the environment. At all.

"Hey! Shooting star!" Casus cried excitedly. He'd spotted the first meteor streaking through the sky. "Quick! Make a wish!"

Taken aback, I turned over on my side to look at him. "Why?"

"It's- I dunno. It's just something you do. There's another one - oh. Yeah. Meteor shower. I get it." He paused for several seconds, and I laid back and watched the ion trails stretching and fading. Beautiful. "I wish... I wish I could do what I really want to do. I want to be an archaeologist, maybe get into the Obroan Institute."

Huh. Deesra said something. Casus translated. "Deesra says that he just wants to be able to talk to people." Deesra said something else, this time more intently. "Okay, okay. He wants to spend as much time in the Archives as he wants, maybe to become Chronicler. Happy now?"

"So it's wishes, then..." 'Lak mused. I could guess at where he was going. It wouldn't do to share Master troubles with them. Both of the boys had shared, roughly, what they wanted to be when they were older, but neither of them was older than ten. A twelve-year-old's answer needs a bit more thought. It would have to be something else, something relatively trivial or vague so the little ones wouldn't be bothered or have to think too hard. "I wish we could have a little excitement now and then. A change. I'd like to go offworld and travel, to learn how to fly a starship, to be someone. I want to be out there, doing something." Malak's eyes were fixed on the stars, and his voice didn't quite manage to hide a kind of fierce longing.

And what about you, Revan? Nobody said it, but I could feel the question. I was the only one who hadn't wished yet.

I let my breath out slowly. It would be nice if I could tell them what I really wanted. It was connected to part of what Malak had said.

I wish, one day, that I'll have the chance to do something that matters. To make my mark on the galaxy. I want to be like my heroes, like Sylvar, loved and feared by so many of my allies, respected and loathed by my enemies. I want to do something that lasts. Of course I would never say that in front of kids like Deesra and Casus. If they laughed at such a serious wish, I would have lost all the respect they might have for me. And it would have been frustrating if they took it wrong.

Far, far above, an especially bright meteor broke into trailing fragments. They stretched like fingers reaching for Dantooine's surface. Something to lighten the mood a bit, I think. A minor complaint came to me, and I let a smile touch my lips. It'll do.

"I wish that I could do something so great, so impressive, that if someone says 'Revan', people will think of me, not my namesake."

"Namesake... You mean the actor?" Casus asked, confused. "Derali Revann? You're named for him?"

"Of course she is." Malak sounded confident. Well, he should be. We looked it and about forty other names up together. "What did you think she was named for? 'Revving' as in engines? She's old enough to be born right when he was getting really popular, too."

Deesra spoke up, this time loud enough to hear. "I always thought... well, there's a group of Neimoidian freighters called Revenue-class... I guess that doesn't make sense. Why would anyone call a kid that?"

I laughed quietly. "I think I'd rather be named after the actor. At least he's got some style." This set things up perfectly for Malak to say-

"Yeah, she's mooned after him ever since she saw that awful drama. What was it called? 'The Fractured Lives of Kyat of Kali?' The visual effects were pathetic, the plot was maudlin, and the supporting cast- ugh. Exar Kun and the dark side of the Force wouldn't have been able to improve on it, not with a few thousand years and all the Republic's riches to work with."

"I do not moon after him. He's fifty if he's a day. Besides, you took that straight out of that one review from Coruscant Star," I accused good-naturedly. "The one that said 'Fractured Lives' was ripping off this one ancient classic. Besides, it wouldn't matter what you gave Kun. The man never made anything better in his life, why would that be any different now?"

Deesra managed to be audible again. "Could we just watch the meteors?"

So we did.