Chapter Text
“Kriff!”
Cal knew before the splox even scuttled away that his shot had missed. He’d always been awful with blasters; the clones’ attempts to teach him had a tendency to end in disaster so often that Master Tapal had ordered them to stop trying after he’d managed to get an AT-TE crushed by an inactive starfighter. His master had reasoned that Cal was sufficiently gifted with a lightsaber to be able to handle his defense and anything that went that awry would be a lesson he was meant to learn, anyway, so it wasn’t worth the continued risk to all involved.
Cere, however, takes a different approach. She shook her head from where she sat on an empty crate. “Close. You need to line up the sights a bit better. The circle on the front sights should be right between the rear sights. Just concentrate. Don’t let your frustration get the better of you.”
Cal took a deep breath and aimed at the splox again. It hadn’t gone far- not a lot of brainpower in that exoskeleton-lined up the sights as directed, and squeezed the trigger. The blaster bolt hit the splox and it sprawled out, dead.
“There you go!” Cere said, grinning, “Not so hard after all!”
Merrin, leaning against a rocky wall, nodded her approval as well. “A good shot.” It only took him twenty tries over the course of five lessons. Merrin, on the other hand, seemed to have been born a crack shot, despite never having touched a blaster before. One of Cere’s blasters was now on her hip.
Thinking of it, Cal glanced at the weatherbeaten weapon, and his eyes lingered on the location. He shook himself mentally when he realized what he was doing and hoped neither woman had noticed.
“We’ll practice every day,” Cere said, “Both of you are very capable of defending yourselves in other ways, but there are times when a lightsaber or green flame is going to end up drawing more attention, causing even more danger.”
“A fair point,” Merrin said. She dropped a hand to the blaster. “My sisters would be shocked to see me wield such a thing.” She shook her head and looked at Cal, giving him a soft smile. “But then again, that would the smallest of shocks, I think.”
Cal grinned back. “I’m pretty sure I’d shock even Master Tapal now.”
Cere snorted. “Jaro Tapal was no hardliner, Cal; it would take a lot more to shock him than you can imagine.” She stood and stretched. “Take my advice: don’t get old.” There was a joyous yelp from the open doorway behind them. “Sounds like Greez is content with the kitchen.”
Cal rubbed his neck. He better be. It had taken him most of yesterday to get Eno Cordova’s old kitchen up and running. A lot of it had been spent twisted into odd angles to repair electrical connections. It was the only way to get Greez off the Mantis. He probably wouldn’t join them in living in the place, but it would be able to eat together in a more spacious area. Also without Greez fretting about potential stains on his couch.
BD-1 came trotting out of the old hermitage and leapt up to Cal’s shoulder. He trilled something excitedly. “BD-1 figured out how to shut down those fans without shutting the whole electrical system off,” he translated, “Thanks buddy! That’s been a headache.”
“Good. I’d like to see fully see Cordova’s workshop.” Cere headed inside and Cal and Merrin trailed after her. Settling down on Bogano, at least for a time, meant restoring Cordova’s hermitage. The place was old, older than Cordova, and much bigger than what any lone hermit would have needed. Cal guessed it would have been built by homesteaders a long time ago.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to live in the shadow of the Vault and that…thing…inside. But Cere’s argument, that they needed a safe place to call home that wasn’t a ship meant for a crew of two, was too practical for him to deny.
He had never told her about the Zeffo mirror. He wasn’t sure she’d understand, or if it would just awaken the vague resentment he felt from her when it came to the holocron. She’d say something like it was just another deceptive vision, like on Darthomir, or that it had only been a vision of Trilla succeeding, which she hadn’t.
No. It had been the future forged by the holocron if they had kept it. He remembered the red blade in his hand, that Imperial uniform…he remembered the ghosts of Inquisitor Kestis’ thoughts overlaying his own, dark and hungry, the echoes of the future that he had stopped from coming to pass.
Cal shivered.
“Are you alright?” Merrin asked.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, just…bad memories.”
BD-1 nudged him comfortingly and made a metallic coo.
“Ah.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “While electrical repairs are important, they will not chase away bad memories. Come. There is much to see on this planet and daylight is brief.” She held out a hand.
Cal grinned wide and took it. “Cere, we’re going to do some more salvaging while there’s still daylight. There are some spots near Binog Mesa we haven’t gone over.”
Merrin didn’t wait for approval, just pulled him out into the full afternoon sun.
***
Cere didn’t bother to answer Cal, only sighed as the Nightsister led him into the wilds of Bogano. The young pair moved gracefully up a cliff, Cal helping Merrin, and were quickly out of view.
She shook her head and made her way further into her teacher’s old home. Her new home, she hoped.
Greez looked up from where he was organizing a series of jars full of spices. “Didn’t you have a couple tag-alongs?”
“They are out doing more salvaging.”
The Latero raised an eyebrow. “Right. ‘Salvaging.’ That’s what they call it these days.” He popped open one of his jars and took a sniff with great pleasure, sighing before he closed it again. “I still got money on the witch going for it first.”
Cere sat down on an old stool. “I’m not betting on that one way or another.” It was…well, it was inappropriate in any number of ways. Jedi avoided such attachments, and while there were always giggling stories in the Temple halls—Master Kenobi was rumored to be the real-life inspiration for several (contraband) romance holonovels— it had never been something real for most Jedi. The Order knew the risks of a broken heart. Look at how Cere had been brought so close to the edge by the ruin of her favorite Padawan, or even at what Malicos had become with his pride and glories thwarted.
“They’re kids,” Greez said, running a hand along the jars and nodding in satisfaction, “Even I can see how they look at each other when they think the other isn’t looking, and I’m not even a humanoid.” He gave her look. “It’s another Jedi thing, isn’t it?”
“Many of them.”
Greez scratched behind one ear. “What the kid did…” He pulled up a chair. “It, uh, it seemed pretty final to me. Like it or hate it.” Silence hung between them. “Cere…if the Jedi ever come back, I just don’t think it’ll be us who bring them back. And I don’t think they will be the same if they do. With the stories you tell, and the way it all went down, maybe, well, maybe it shouldn’t be.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t hate me for saying that, please.”
She smiled at her old friend, placing a hand on his briefly. “Never, Greez. You may even be right. I just want Cal to be safe. Merrin is dangerous.” Cere had grown fond of the girl, in a way, but she was still a Nightsister, strange and shadowy, and she had tried to kill them all at least once.
Greez chuckled. “Cal is no slouch himself. I’ve seen the kid cut his way through crack Stormtrooper squads like Naboo cheese. He was on his own on Bracca for years and that junkheap is not exactly the land of sunshine and smiles. Give the kid credit.” Greez grinned and leaned back in his chair. “Besides, I have plenty of pointers for him should nature start taking its course.”
Cere rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you know all about sweet-talking Nightsisters.”
He shuddered and hopped to his feet so he could begin bustling about the kitchen. “I meant in a more general sense. If it can work on a Wookie…which it did, if you’ll recall…”
Cere shook her head and picked up her hallikset, strumming idly while Greez recounted one of the more…hairy…encounters they’d had. Again.