Buff, NY Feedback, please.

I.

A frog-like creature stares upward, waiting for a star to move and reveal itself as a closer entity, a winged meal. A patch of darkness makes one disappear, and then more, as the faded metallic ship descends, scaring the creature off the rubble lot that was once a statue-lined, bustling plaza.

Obi-Wan’s cloak catches briefly on one of many tears of metal as he exits the one-man cockpit. He silently notes the fresh plasma burns had completely covered the last of the Imperial insignia. Has it come to this? Searching for unknown allies on a devastated and otherwise abandoned world? If Yoda had not sent him, he would have dismissed it as a rumor, a myth, a fool’s errand chasing shadows.

Walking toward the obvious choice as a main building in the complex, the symbols were all too familiar, though he had never set foot on Cheektaga before. This must have been the planet’sJediTemplebefore the war, he thought. Most of it was gone, but he was surprised so much of it was left. It was enough to conceal what he might be looking for.

Progressing purposefully through foyers and lobbies, he senses, then hears ... playing? No danger, just three children, sitting in a circle. Turning the corner of an archway, one of the children is briefly startled, then regains composure quickly with a serious voice and look on his face to the others.

“I sensed you would come.”

“You always say that about everything!” another child chided.

“Who are you?” the third child asked, without ado or fear.

“Are your parents around?”

“No, first you answer my question,” he sternly rebuked the Jedi, oddly holding firm against a brief, half-hearted attempt to influence the youngling’s mind.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi. I am glad to meet you.”

“Fine.” The stranger had an artificial courtesy about him, like a man giving a presentation about a subject he didn’t care about after a long trip he didn’t want to make. But he complied, so a tiny hand pointed tiny fingers to massive archway.

The Master felt a strong presence, than many presences, as if he was back among his Order … and yet it was quite different, fragmented, chaotic. No, not chaotic, just not so ordered. Was it residual life energy from a more glorious time? No, it was alive right now, a jungle of wills and actions.

A battle!

He draws his saber and leaps over debris to witness a handful of combatants in groups, sparring with various weapons, some lightning sticks. One of them has a flickering makeshift light saber, bright but of no discernible color. A dozen or so others sit cross-legged, observing the matches and making comments to each other about technique and tactics.

The nearby hum of his saber, and then the sound of it being turned off, is all but ignored. Looking among the various individuals of almost equally varied species, he catches the eye of only one, with a familiar face.

The burly man gets up, concealing his excitement in his amble around the perimeter of the room, mostly to not disrupt the class.

“Hisbis?”

“No, Pascoo,” corrects the man as he extends a hand to Obi-Wan, who had mistaken him for a mechanic from theTempleon Corusant. It was a matter-of-fact statement, revealing no surprise or desire to linger on the subject.

Before the befuddled Master could continue, Pascoo swiveled and called the class to attention. “Please welcome our new instructor from the Jedi Order.” Whispering aside, “What is your name?”

Forgetting his anonymity was his greatest protection these days, he blurts, “Obi-Wan Kenobi – but I –”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Half-hearted applause echoed through the room as they processed the unexpected guest, then most jumped to their feet with wide eyes, murmurs transitioning from confusion to excitement.

“Wait. Please.” The crowd settled and silenced themselves as the Jedi spoke. “I am here on a diplomatic mission to find … well … a group of people …” He cannot collect his thoughts fast enough to explain a mission that was not clearly explained to him.

“Well,” Pascoo jovially inserts as the Master hesitates, “I think you’ve found a group of people. We’ll set up quarters for you.”

“At the risk of sounding discourteous, who exactly are you and what is this place? Why are you here?”

“Well, this place is where we happen to be, and we happen to be here because we aren’t somewhere else. As for who we are …” His voice trails off into seriousness. “We are the lost, the outcast, the undeserving, the leftovers before and after the War.” Pride abruptly replaces the tinge of bitterness in his voice, finishing, “We are ourselves and ours alone.”

His orders were to investigate first, and he no longer believes conversation alone will solve the mystery of why he, or they, are here.

“Thank you. I will stay the night. But I cannot promise you I will be here long or be of any assistance in your … martial studies.” The faint quiver of condescendence is ignored with a reinforced smile on the face of Pascoo, now his host.

 

I like it, write some more...

 

Enjoyed it as well... definitely keep it going!