By the Vector of a Blade part I
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away
STAR WARS
BY THE VECTOR OF A BLADE
YODA and CHANCELLOR PALPATINE have both fallen during their duel in the senator’s chambers. Most of the Jedi are dead, killed by their erstwhile clone allies, and the remainder are in chaos. Halfway to Mustafar, intending to duel his former Padawan, OBI-WAN KENOBI, senses the death of his order’s Grandmaster and the Chancellor and turns back towards Coruscant to rally his political allies, ANAKIN SKYWALKER follows close behind, intending much the same. Order must be restored, but whose order?
…
…
…
A clone squadron on Planet Red Nebula
Twelve clone troopers sit in the Salon pod of a Consular-class cruiser, that rests on the landing strip of a tiny spaceport. An honor guard for a Jedi Padawan sent out to Red Nebula as a diplomat. It was one of the most distant planets in the known galaxy, but every asset and ally counted in a galactic war, even if only as a symbol or, more realistically, a real-world training simulation for a novice Jedi diplomat. Approximately two hours ago they’d be ordered to execute their charge who was miles away at the time. Dutifully they’d begun arranging an ambush for when she returned to the cruiser. Now, they were informed, the order was revoked until someone could establish what was happening, though they were still to take their Jedi charge into custody pending further orders “if they could do so with minimal risk of casulties”.
Little chance of that mused Sergeant Arcti. Hence all twelve sat in the salon, not talking much, staring ahead or flipping finger-greased Pazaak cards. No foot soldier liked high command, but it was troubling to think that, right now, the high command didn’t exist. No one was, strictly speaking, in charge. His head ached around and behind the eyes. Was it the inhibitor chip? Where did it end and where did he begin? He’d been intending to follow order 66. Would he have felt the same way, if not for that chip?
Clones were not made for philosophy, a good thing, then, that some Jedi yet lived.
The galactic senate
Given that eighty percent of the Jedi were dead and no one knew why, rumor had it something had happened to the Chancellor and the Republic teetered on the brink of anarchy, Davin Rimarch was surprised to be called into work. He would have figured they’d shut down the tours, but who knew the will of the bureaucracy?
So here he was, guiding fat and obnoxious core-worlders through the galactic senate building. Perhaps they’d simply forgotten to shut it down? Perhaps no one with sufficient seniority remembered the tours were open?
Given his secrets, he’d debated going on the run, but it seemed to him his best strategy right now was to remain obscure in plain sight and rely on the far-sung inadequacy of Republic records. Besides, the killing of Jedi had stopped, his inner sense of the force seemed optimistic about staying, and, to be wholly honest, the pay and benefits in this job were phenomenal, the work was light, and he didn’t fancy fleeing and starting over with his CV.
He’d failed to make it as a Jedi very early on in the training They wouldn’t even train him up for the medical core! His parents hadn’t wanted him back so he’d been sent by the order to a tiny special orphanage for those in exactly his situation. In that orphanage he’d been given every opportunity and kindness to make a future or career for himself, only he’d ignored it all, spending, in vain, the better part of a decade trying to convince the order to take him back. In the end, they’d set him up with this job, most likely to keep him quiet and make sure he didn’t join the criminal underworld with his talent for thought manipulation. What a fuck up, what a wasteful child he…
“Hey! I said no flash photography”
The Alderaanian tourist just sneered at him, deigning no reply. Davin took a quick look around, satisfying himself no one was looking. His hand, resting near his thigh, waved ever so slightly in the direction of the rotund Alderaanian.
“You do not want to engage in flash photography”
“I do not want to engage in flash photography”
“You will tip your tour guide generously for his patience and care”
The words were halting and the man’s eye twitched but nonetheless the words came out:
“I… will… tip the tour… guide… gen…er…ously…. for his paitence… and… ccc…. are.”
A few minutes later on a bathroom break, after the vindictive moment passed, Davin smiled with distilled self-hatred.
The Jedi were right about me.
A few more seconds of guilt. He imagined Yoda slowly shaking his head, eyes downcast. Plo Koon was crying.
Okay, I’ll give the tip to charity.
And he did, though not before spending a fifth of it on a cup of Caf.
The tunnels of the Jedi Temple
Jaa Adik sat in the tunnels of the Jedi temple, hiding from the butchers. Hungry, tired, and severed from almost everyone she had ever loved. There were few clones above her now. She could sense no more deaths. Although, she observed as if it were a novelty or an insight, Darro is still dead.
He doesn’t have to be dead. His body is fresh, dead less than a few hours. In the confusion, it was left behind. The wound was far more superficial than it looked, only barely lethal. A great master might raise him.
Jaa snorted. What cruel absurdity to barb herself with such a thought. She doubted even a master could do it, but more to the point she was no master. With a severe introspective distance, she considered that she may be going mad.
There is a certain artifact. Your order has never known what to do with it, never known whether it belonged to the light or the dark. It is in Master Yoda’s room, and it can bring life to the recently dead. The door is unlocked, you will not even need to sneak to fetch it. There are no clone troops or Jedi between you and there.
She pondered the voice’s offer briefly. Ultimately, what made her decision for her was the possibility of being shot en route. It was enticing. Moreover, in this moment there was something attractive about the possibility of giving into the voices, of going mad. When the mass of those you loved were dead, sanity seemed … cruel? Disrespectful? No, that wasn’t quite it- sacrilegious perhaps?
She began to walk. And how do you know of this artifact? She thought at the voice, mocking this little game of insanity.
A hesitation.
Have you heard of the tragedy of Darth Plagueis the wise?
A dark room
“Let me be absolutely clear. This is your judgment. You are in the judgment place. You have committed the flesh violation. Your judgment is coming, your judgment is here. This is clarity. The savor of obedience will not rescue you from case exception 11-12. This is power. You are in the judgment place and you are going to the judgment place. The possibility of mercy exists only in nonbeing. You are absolutely guilty in being. All power exists to expedite your punishment. You belong not in that body, but in the punishment body. You will be punished. My judgment upon you is punishment-flower. Let me be absolutely clear. You belong in the punishment world. Where is the clarity? The clarify is in the punishment place in which you belong in circular time. The bad place is empty, yet it is full of horrors. I will place you in the punishment zone for your flesh crime. I”
The rat looked at the figure, wiggling by its tail, trying to escape. The rat, of course, didn’t speak basic, and what higher cognitive functions it did have were not presently active. Even still, the rat assigned to its tormentor the closest analogy it had to an adequate concept- sickness. This thing had the smell of infectious death, the smell of meat left days in the sun. Only it wasn’t a smell.
“The torture is your location. The punishment world is your location. I am your keeper, I am your sender, you will not survive because you were born a dead thing and let me be absolutely clear on that. This is part of your flesh crime, yet separate from it as lightning from the sky. I”
Mid-sentence the tormentor dangled the rat out the window. Though the drop was kilometers he flung it planetward with terrifying force. He did not pause his litany of judgment.
“The hateful doctrine will be propounded against your flesh, I will propound that cruel pronounce…”
The end to Part I of “By the Vector of a Blade”.
A note on canon
In this fan fiction, episodes I, II & III are canon, you can assume anything in them up till Palpatine and Yoda’s duel happened. I reserve, however, the right to change and contradict even these and I’m sure I will, even if only even by accident. All other Star Wars material is used or not used as I please. I will mention that Jaa Adik is based on a certain expanded universe character whose name I have changed to avoid (minor) spoilers, as is Darro.
Why I’m doing this
It is my belief that fanfiction was meant to be the dominant form of speculative fiction. The idea that, in order to tell a compelling story, you need to create an entire world and lure the reader into is a conceit that in every other period would have seemed ridiculous. To be shamelessly anachronistic, the Illiad is fan fiction. The Inferno is fanfiction. Hamlet was retelling. Faust by Goethe is a retelling. Fanfiction is the natural state of speculative literature. Only copyright law makes it not so. Fanfiction’s (often unfair) reputation for poor quality is also a result of this- viz a lot of authors with the chops to attract attention choose to publish works other than fanfiction so they can sell them.
Disclaimer
I do not own Star Wars. I am not making any money by publishing this.
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