Throughout the afternoon, Master Vrook took me through an excruciatingly exhausting regimen of physical Force training. In addition to taxing my newfound telekinetic abilities to their limits, he instructed me on how to utilize the Force to speed up my body, so that I could run faster than I had ever thought possible. The enclave courtyard's perimeter, which ran for about three kilometers, became an impromptu jogging track and obstacle course as I pushed myself to the very edge of physical exhaustion and beyond. As twilight descended and the Jedi Master ended the lesson, I felt like a sponge that had been wrung dry in a decidedly ungentle fashion, but it had been worth it. Endurance, I figured, would come later.
That night, I again slept like a rock, untroubled by dreams of any kind. The following morning I awoke ravenously hungry, and had to beat a hasty path to the mess hall before the growling of my stomach roused everyone in the sublevel dormitories. It was only after having gorged myself on nerf sausages and hashed tubers that I began to notice that the multicolored auras surrounding the other Jedi did not disappear as they left the mess hall or walked behind some other object or wall. Indeed, they only faded with distance, and not an insignificant one at that. After finishing breakfast I felt invigorated and, shelving my curiosity for the time being, I began to make my way out to the courtyard to warm up for the day's activities.
Exiting the enclave proper, I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the sweet scent of dew as it evaporated in the rising sun. Blowing a sigh, I began to center myself in the Force as I stretched my body and limbs in a form of moving meditation that Master Vrook had described during the previous day's workouts. Vaguely, I wondered if the Jedi practiced their own brand of martial arts that went alongside their use of the lightsaber, but I was content to fall back on the standard Marine-style hand-to-hand training katas. As I finished the first set and began to flow into the second, an aura that I automatically recognized as belonging to Master Dorak began moving toward me. Continuing the routine, I opened my eyes to spare a glance in the direction of the approaching Jedi archivist, noting that his aura appeared in muted greens interspersed with glowing white spots that swirled about him.
“Good morning, Jedi Reyolé,” he said as he approached to within a few meters of where I stretched. “That is an interesting kata, may I ask where you learned it?”
“Standard Marine hand-to-hand combat training,” I replied, finishing the second set. “Not exactly Echani-level in its sophistication, but it works for us.”
“I see,” Master Dorak continued. “It seems to suit you well.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a seat on a nearby stone. “What's that you have there?”
The elderly archivist picked another nearby stone to sit himself onto, then placed the small object he'd been carrying on a bare patch of ground between us. “This is a holocron,” he said, indicating the greenish, semi-translucent ten-centimeter cube. “It is a specialized device that allows for the storage and retrieval of data relating to the Force, and is only accessible by those attuned to it. These are among our most valuable learning aids.”
I peered interestedly at the cube, letting my mind and sense stretch out to it. I had heard of holocrons before coming to the enclave, but only in passing while Jedi discussed them amongst themselves. Despite its appearance, the object that Master Dorak had set between us didn't feel inert; instead, it hummed with its own resonance within the Force, which seemed to whisper gently, at the very edge of hearing. “I can feel it,” I said in hushed tones.
The historian nodded sagely. “Reach out with the Force and tap its upper surface,” he instructed.
I did so, and almost at once, the top of the cube glowed with a bright white light. A greenish apparition, similar to a hologram, erupted from it, growing to about eye-level from where we sat. It took the form of an insectoid that I vaguely recognized. “Greetings, Jedi,” it said in a reedy voice. “I am Vodo-Siosk Baas, gatekeeper for this holocron.”
Master Dorak smiled, then spoke to the gatekeeper. “Master Baas, please explain to Jedi Reyolé the power called 'Sense Aura.'”
“Ah, yes, a powerful ability,” the gatekeeper began. “A Jedi is trained to perceive and manipulate the Force in three different ways. The first way, Control, is the awareness and mastery of one's self and connection to the Force. With it, a Jedi can run faster, jump higher, and increase the velocity of his movements. The second way, Sense, is more difficult, but it allows the Jedi to become much more aware of her surroundings, discerning the presence of living and nonliving things. With it, she can feel what others feel, gleam snippets of the future or discern the import of momentous events, or detect the presence of the dark side. The final way, Alter, is the most difficult. With mastery of Alter, a Jedi can manipulate the objects and minds around it, allowing them to do as it wills. This is also the most dangerous art, as it can more easily be used in service to the dark side.”
Part of me marveled at how the gatekeeper explained itself. Its lecture was reminiscent of the theory reading I had done, so this information wasn't entirely new to me, but nevertheless, its way of speaking had me enthralled.
“Sense Aura, as its name implies, falls under the second realm,” Master Baas continued. “The power itself cannot be taught; it is made manifest in only a few Jedi. In addition, Sense Aura is difficult to describe in general terms, as, like the Force itself, it is unique to each being who wields it. Described alternately as 'seeing shades' or 'veils of light,' users who master it are able to sense the life-essence of other beings, allowing them to perceive their feelings more readily and at greater distances, as well as to affect their minds with greater ease. Some practitioners have been able to extend the awareness of these auras across astonishing distances; the drawback to such farsight, however, is the inability to separate individual auras, which becomes more acute the further out one extends their awareness.”
The gatekeeper fell silent, and I fixed Master Dorak with a smile. “I guess I'm just lucky that way, huh?” I remarked.
“In my experience, there is no such thing as luck,” the archivist replied with a smile of his own. As if in agreement, the insectoid gatekeeper nodded, its head bobbing in an exaggerated motion.
“The Marines have a similar notion,” I retorted. “To the new recruits, we say that 'luck is the difference between a good battle plan going bad, and a bad one going well,' meaning that you can't tell which is which until after the fight is over. Most of the more superstitious ones usually don't listen at first.”
“Have a care, Jedi,” the gatekeeper intoned. “You are a servant of justice, yes, but violence is to be used only as an absolute last resort.”
That wiped the smiles from both our faces as I glanced from the holocron gatekeeper to the Jedi Master who had brought it out here. While I didn't necessarily disagree with what the ghostly insectoid said, I had always felt that it was better to be proactive on the battlefield rather than reactive. What Master Baas was proposing sounded more akin to being a counter-puncher as a fighter, which was fine, but that meant you had to get hit first before you could return the favor. I assuaged my philosophical differences by the simple expedient of silently declaring that I wasn't here for debate class, but to develop my skills in the Force. Either way, the gatekeeper was correct; I did consider myself a servant of justice.
“Thank you for showing this to me,” I said at last. “It helps to know that I'm not going crazy.”
“You are welcome,” Master Dorak replied, reaching out with the Force to deactivate the holocron. The image of the gatekeeper seemed to melt back into the cube, which ceased its glowing as the archivist retrieved it from the ground and stood up. “You may wish to meditate on this for a while. Master Vrook will be occupied elsewhere for the next few days, so use that time as you will.”
I spent the rest of the morning working on channeling the Force to enhance my movements, resuming the exercises from the previous day. After twenty-plus years in the service, I could go on a ten kilometer run in full armor and pack at the drop of a hat and come out of it looking only mildly winded, or else blaze through an extensive obstacle course despite having no familiarity with its layout. Physical exertion was second-nature to me, and I had long since become knowledgeable about what my body could and could not do. However, tacking on the Force and what it could enable, took my potential to a whole new level.
The average running pace for an unladen Human is about ten kilometers per hour; Marine training bumps that up to anywhere from fifteen to twenty. With the Force, however, I found that I could double, or even triple, my top speed in short bursts, but this had the drawback of leaving me barely able to run at all for the next several minutes. After a few hours of putting myself through “dash drills,” as I called the process of enhanced running, resting, then running again, I was able to reduce the time it took for me to get my energy back. There still remained the problem of not being able to do much of anything during those periods, but as I'd said to myself the previous night, endurance would come with time and effort.
That afternoon, I took Master Dorak's advice and meditated, letting my mind intermingle with the Force as I pondered where I was going, and where I had been in my life. During boot camp on Corulag, I had earned commendations for exceptional marksmanship, tactical awareness, and improvisation when out in the field. This was on top of the already high level of quality that Marine training demanded; our drill instructors pushed us hard, and settled for nothing less than our best. After boot, I'd qualified for a number of advanced training courses, including scout/sniper school and close-quarters combat specialization class, as well as the Enlisted Leadership Program, which was the Marines' way of fast-tracking potential non-commissioned and commissioned officers. Not wanting to miss out on anything, I'd taken all three, earning excellent grades in each. After being assigned to a line unit, I'd worked my way up the ranks, making corporal within six Standard months, and sergeant within another year. By the time I was old enough to imbibe in adult intoxicants (twenty-one Standard years of age, within Republic space), I was a staff sergeant with the recently-established First Marine Battalion's Aurek Company, working as a squad leader. My time with that unit, which had been set up in garrison on Onderon in the wake of the Beast Wars and Kun's insurrection, had provided ample opportunities for hazardous-environment training, and I'd often taken my squad out into the jungle to play tag with some of the less lethal predators.
After two and a half years there, I had been promoted to gunnery sergeant and assigned to the Marine Corps Recruit Training Depot at Carida as a drill instructor, where I had spent the following three years taking six successive classes of recruits through their own basic training. During that time, I'd earned a reputation as someone who could coax results out of even the most borderline candidates, and my classes had had some of the lowest dropout rates on record. I had accomplished this not through the use of brute force, yelling my head off at the recruits, or issuing brutal punishments for lack of effort, but by a combination of positive reinforcement and leading by example. Though my own run through boot had been arduous, I had so thoroughly enjoyed it that almost immediately after arriving at Carida, I'd torn my way through their famous obstacle course, nearly setting a record in the process though I'd nearly broken my leg doing it. So it had been with each training class; every time they faced a new stage in their training, I would personally take the lowest-performing recruit through the course while the rest looked on. Nearly every time this happened, the one who I had guided had jumped in their proficiency scores, so that each new phase meant that I had taken a new person under my temporary wing. This record of continued and consistent excellence had caught the eye of the training base's commander, a Rodian captain named Teeklak Sookanado, who had given “Gunny Reyolé” his personal recommendation for Officer Candidate School.
Part of me had wanted to stay on Carida and continue to drill new Marines for the rest of my career, but another part, which in my meditations I discovered had been an unconscious whispering from the Force, had told me that I was destined to become a combat leader. So I took the class, which was held on Anaxes, and two years later I emerged as a junior lieutenant, bypassing ensign thanks to my years as an enlistee and noncom. By the time I had completed officer training, the Mandalorians had been sacking worlds beyond the Outer Rim for several years, and I had been assigned to the frontier outpost at Bad Alshir, a barely-habitable planet in an unremarkable star system situated along one of the old Tarisian hyperlanes. Once there, I had taken over one of the four platoons of Cresh Company, 21st Marine Battalion, that had been garrisoned on-planet. Duty on an isolated world was not exactly fun, but I had made the most of it; fortunately for us, the post's compliment had been augmented by the Fifth Marine Squadron, which flew the ubiquious Aurek-class starfighters, as well as a company of combat droids.
Knowing what could be in the offering if the marauding Mandos turned their attention toward the Republic, I had begun drilling my platoon in defensive fighting. Making good use of the droids, I had equipped them and my troops with low-powered weapons, setting up simulations where they would face anywhere from double to quadruple their number in simulated enemies. Seeing what I had been trying to accomplish, the other platoon leaders had been quick to follow my example, and, working together, we and the post commander had come up with a battle plan for use in case of a spaceborne invasion. Though several years passed in relative quiet, I had kept at it, determined to prove that no Mandalorian force was a match for a well-trained and -prepared force of Republic Marines.
By the time the inevitable attack had come, I had been promoted to full lieutenant, taking over as the outpost's commanding officer, where I had kept up my efforts to keep the troops sharp and our defenses ready. The Aurek squadron, which had begun to maintain a near-constant vigil at the logical approaches to the star system, had been the first to pick up the invasion force, which had consisted of a single Jehavey'ir-class attack ship escorting a dozen of their Q-carriers. I still don't know if they were coming in stupid, or if they simply hadn't expected any sort of real resistance; in either case, the Mandalorians' lack of commitment to this assault had led to the neutralizing of their escorting warship by the Marine starfighters. The transports, however, had been able to make planetfall, and within minutes the outpost had been surrounded by two assault companies worth of shock troopers. The battle that followed had been brutal, but we had managed to defend the outpost, forcing the surviving attackers to retreat in what transports remained as our starfighters harassed their rear guard.
Deciding that our remote outpost was too exposed to warrant reinforcements, High Command had decided to pull us out and redeploy the company Coreward. The evacuation was successful, with our ships making hyperspace just as another Mandalorian flotilla descended on the planet from its other side. As a result of our steadfast defense, I was promoted once again, to lieutenant commander, and assigned to lead Besh Company of the Marines' Third Battalion. During the first year of the Mandalorians' invasion of the Republic, my company and I had been shuffled about the planes of contention, used mostly as reinforcements for planetary assaults that had bogged down, or else as the vanguards of relief forces intended to evacuate worlds deemed too costly or insignificant to hold. The fighting that we saw was sporadic but vicious, and I had earned at least two decorations for valor, along with several dunkings in kolto tanks due to battle wounds.
When the Revanchists had joined the fight, three of the four companies of the Third Marine Battalion had been brought together to serve aboard Revan and Malak's own flotilla. It was then that I had first met Vima Sunrider, who despite her own position and the legacy she had inherited from her mother, had seen that the Jedi Order served no one by staying out of the fight. Though she, like the other Jedi who fought against the Mandalorians, had been given the rank of General by the armed forces of the Republic, Vima had treated those soldiers who served under her as friends and comrades. For that alone, I had admired and respected her, but her willingness to lead from the front had earned my trust, for she was like me in that she would never ask us to do what she would not do herself.
After learning that I had trained in infiltration and scout/sniper tactics, General Sunrider had sought out my opinion on several occasions in regards to battle plans for the new counteroffensive that Revan was preparing. Starting with the liberation of Taris, the Third Battalion had been in the thick of it, helping to defeat the Mandalorians in other battles before the disaster at Jaga's Cluster. Most of the battalion, save for Dorn Company, had been elsewhere, while I, in the wake of the promotion to full commander given to me by Malak himself, had been assembling a team for the infiltration of Onderon's capital and only city, Iziz. Since I had served there before, I had volunteered to lead the mission; going in before the main attack force, we had fought our way through the city's infrastructure, working toward one of the power generators for the city's defense grid. It was at the height of that mission where I had met my initial demise...
I awoke from my meditations with a start; looking at my chronometer, I realized that I had spent nearly six hours mentally reviewing my military service. I stood and stretched, cricking my neck and cracking my knuckles—this was no way for a Marine to behave, spending her idle hours pondering the past when there was nothing she could do to change it. So what if Vima had been exiled? If I was meant to see her again, I would, and that was that. So what if I had died? I was alive again, alive and kicking, and finding out things about myself that I had never known before. Donning my cloak, I left my solitude and began mingling with the other apprentices, chatting with them about their training and what it was like for them. Doing so made me think about my days as Gunny Reyolé, and I found myself smiling at the memories despite my resolution to leave that old life behind.
The day wound down with me discussing the war with the youngest girl, the Togruta apprentice Aewa. She had found out that I was a Marine, and had eagerly asked me about what life in the service had been like. Playing along, I decided to be gentle. “It's a lot of hard work and effort,” I told her. “A soldier's life is never easy, but it's one of the most honest paths I can think of.”
“They tell us that about the Jedi way,” the bright-eyed girl replied. “My Master says that nothing worth doing is ever easy.”
“Your Master is a very wise being,” I said, smiling.
“Have you ever...killed anyone?” Aewa asked, slightly embarrassed.
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly, nodding grimly. “But only when they left me with no other choice. The Mandalorians were like that, and they didn't much care who they hurt.”
“You fought the Mandalorians?” the girl asked, her eyes growing huge.
“I did,” I replied. “When they attacked the Republic, I was on a world far from here, on the very edges of the civilized galaxy. My Marines and I were among the first to encounter them when they hit our garrison.”
“How did you get out?” Aewa asked, awestruck.
“Teamwork, preparedness, and constant vigilance,” I answered. “We knew they were coming, and we had worked together to make sure that we could meet their attack on our own terms. They underestimated us and our resolve, and we were able to push them back to their transports and off the planet.” Silence reigned as the apprentice took this in. I smiled and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “But they are gone now, young one, you need not fear.”
“I'm not afraid,” Aewa protested, returning my gentle look with a tremulous one of her own. “I was just...curious.”
“There's nothing wrong with curiosity,” I assured her. “As a great Jedi Master once said, 'We are but travelers on a winding path through existence, never quite sure what we may find around the next bend.'”
The Togruta girl giggled at that. “Thanks, Laera,” she said with a chuckle.
“You are most welcome, Aewa. Have a good night.”
As I lay down to sleep, I thought briefly about the future. Everything seemed to have quieted down so suddenly in the wake of the Mandalorians' defeat barely six months ago, that I couldn't help but wonder if some other threat was lurking out there, biding its time, waiting to pounce upon a Republic that was still rebuilding. The thought intrigued me for some strange reason, as though I longed to be thrust back into the midst of the hell of war, as though it were my destiny to continue fighting until the day I died, which was a charming idea in and of itself when one considered that I had already done just that. As this occurred to me, I turned over in my bed rather violently, as though attempting to cast that thought from my psyche. Stop thinking about that, Laera! I admonished myself. You're here, you're alive, and you're learning more every day!
Settling back into a comfortable sleeping posture, I blew out a hearty sigh, and called upon the Force to help ease my troubled mind.
During Master Vrook's absence, I continued to train myself in physical mastery of the Force, what the holcron had called “Control” and what Vrook himself had referred to as “the Physical Force.” After a quick trip to the enclave's archives, I had soon discovered that my earlier methods had been inefficient and clunky. After running through several hours of training exercises with the Duros apprentice from my cluster, I found that my stamina in the Force had virtually doubled.
The next day, I was able to train alongside a pair of apprentices who were housed on the other side of the sublevel. Belaya and Juhani, the former a human in her early twenties and the latter a Cathar roughly the same age, readily agreed to help hone my technique. I found myself marveling at how the two friends used the Force with such ease, tapping into it seemingly at will to do right away what took me a few moments in preparation to accomplish. But I kept at it, and in the days that followed, I was able to bring myself up to something approaching their level. With their help, I finally managed to figure out that it wasn't really a matter of pushing myself into the Force, but of allowing the Force to flow along with me. This not only made it easier to call upon, but less exhausting to use, which was a great confidence-booster.
Brimming with pride at how much I had accomplished, a couple days later I started foraging further out from the enclave to conduct my exercises. After having completed a circuit of the Matale estate, vaulting stones, sprinting across grassland, and performing other maneuvers, I found myself alone on a small pathway between two large hills. The noises of a commotion drew me further on, and as I rounded a bend, something gripped my heart in a durasteel vice and began squeezing. His lightly-smoking landspeeder stippled with well-aimed blasterfire, a farmer was being pressed against the forward section by an armored figure, backed up by a quartet of similarly-clad humans. The styling of their suits was unmistakable—they were Mandalorian troopers, all right—and seeing them on Dantooine made my blood boil.
"Just give us what's in the boot," the leader sneered, "and we'll send you on your way. There'll be no need to report our presence, and we can all be brothers..."
"Alright, alright," the older man acquiesced. "Take what you need, just don't hurt me or shoot up my speeder, it's my family's livelihood!"
As two of the blaster-toting Mando scum began poking in the vehicle's storage compartment, drawing out various items and piling them onto their own speeder parked nearby, I moved in, oblivious to the fact that I was completely unarmed and without armor. For some reason, I didn't much care; I wanted to make them pay for their thievery. Falling back on my infiltration training, I crept as closely as I could toward the nearest trooper, who seemed oblivious to any other threats. Drawing upon the Force, I tackled him, grabbing him by the helmet as we rolled in the grass and applying a move designed to snap his neck. Before I could make the kill, however, his armored elbow connected with my left breast, and I was thrown off.
"Looks like we've got us an interloper," the red-armored leader said contemptuously as I regained my feet. "Some barely-trained Jedi woman wants to play? Too bad you forgot your lightsaber—and your brains!"
I couldn't see his face, or those of his companions, but their auras radiated with amusement combined with the desire to inflict some grievous bodily harm. "Not just a Jedi," I growled. "I'm also a Republic Marine, and I've eaten scum like you for breakfast!"
The officer laughed mockingly at that. "Oho," he said. "Well, isn't that just lovely. Hey boys, looks like we get to have a little revenge along with this old nerf's loot! Who's up for some unarmed combat practice?"
One of the blue-armored troopers gestured toward me as he discarded his blaster. "Marines killed my brother on Althir," he said. "And I think this woman should answer for that. Whaddya say, sir?"
"I say have at it, ner vod," the officer retorted...
I awoke in the enclave's infirmary some time later, only to be greeted with the painful sensations of barely-healed bone and organ damage. An empty kolto tank situated nearby indicated where I'd spent the intervening time, while a Quarren in Jedi robes came toward me as he recognized my consciousness. "Take care, apprentice," he said in heavily-accented Basic. "You have to let the kolto finish its work."
Closing my eyes and letting myself relax once again, I ruminated over what had happened. The first Mandalorian bandit, the one whose brother had died in the war, had managed to do a number on me before I'd been able to knock him out. The second fight hadn't gone so well; after grappling with the raider, I'd managed to summon a burst of Force-energy that sent him stumbling backward. Taking advantage of the temporary reprieve, I'd attempted to summon one of the discarded blaster rifles, but the officer had deftly plucked it from midair, snapped the weapon over to stun, and pumped a shot into me before I could so much as acknowledge my own tactical error. "How...how did I get back here?"
"The Mandalorian raiders you encountered dumped your unconscious form on our doorstep, then departed in great haste," the healer replied darkly. "Something about serving as an example to any would-be heroes, I think the note said. Few of us here speak Mando'a."
I suppressed an audible groan. I had let my emotions get the better of me and I knew it, and it was a wonder that the raiders hadn't just killed me outright. But that conundrum answered itself when I realized that, had they done so, then the Council would have dispatched a force of Knights to hunt the bandits down and either kill or capture them. That wasn't what made me feel so ill at ease, however, because when Master Vrook found out about my little escapade, I knew I'd be wishing that the Mandalorians had finished the job. But that wouldn't be for a while yet, and the healer had me back up to speed well before he returned.
When he finally did come back, I knew better than to ask about where Master Vrook had went or what had drawn his attention away from my training; he was a member of the Jedi High Council, after all, and even if I was his Padawan, he wasn't likely to blab. Besides, it smacked of presumption, and I wasn't about to give the man more ammunition to use in further humbling me, not on top of the beating that I'd taken as a result of my own ego and stupidity. After a stout lecture about controlling my emotions, he resumed his lessons, noting his approval at what I had learned about channeling the Force. I wouldn't soon forget the drubbing that the Mandalorian raiders had administered, and though part of me wanted to raid the Enclave's armory—which was rarely used—for something akin to a sniper rifle and hunt them like the animals they were, I clamped down hard on those thoughts. The war was over, the farmer had been released unharmed, and these bandits weren't supposed to be my problem anymore. However, the incident continued to niggle at my thoughts for some time afterward. I decided that the only remedy was to continue my commitment to the Jedi way, so that I would never again let my hot head drag me into such a perilous situation. Thankfully, the rest of the Jedi seemed to be fine with this resolution, and nothing more was said about it, at least to me.
Under Master Vrook's supervision, I began to run even faster, jump much higher, and maneuver with more alacrity than ever before. For the next two months, we alternated physical training with lessons designed to increase my sensory abilities, as well as my skill with telekinesis and other powers of that nature. The elder Jedi also introduced lessons in diplomacy, the so-called Form Zero, or the art of "fighting without fighting." This was something utterly alien to me, because as a Marine, the only diplomatic discourse I'd ever known was how best to drag information out of an uncooperative prisoner—not that I'd ever had that much practice in that regard, either. Nevertheless, it was an interesting journey; like many other aspects of Jedi training, it involved learning by doing, and I was sent, along with Master Vrook, on a number of errands to Garang itself in order to gain first-hand experience in resolving disputes. The first such effort involved settling a bar brawl at the spaceport cantina, which got off to an auspicious start when a piece of flying furniture nearly bashed my face in. I just managed to catch the chair in a Force-grip, returning it to the floor unbroken. That had gotten everyone's attention, and I'd proceeded to sort out who had started what and, thus, was liable for the damages. The aura of the guilty party, a drunken Devaronian, had stuck out like a sore thumb, and it wasn't so much getting him to admit to the deed as it was getting past his drunken advances. If my Master hadn't been there, I might have slapped the man, but I managed to center myself and resolve the situation to (nearly) everyone's satisfaction.
I was feeling more confident by the day, my connection to the Force becoming increasingly more natural. In short, it was as though I was truly waking up once again, truly coming back to life after having died. One balmy afternoon, I finally unpacked my duffel, washing and pressing my Marine uniforms which, by that time, had gathered a rather unpleasant smell about them. As I arranged my clothes and armor in a neat stack next to my desk, I noticed the DL-3 blaster that I had brought with me. Picking it up, I hefted it in my hand, idly wondering how the Force might be used to enhance my aim. I was a fairly decent pistol shot, though not nearly as good with them as I was with blaster rifles and their more high-powered, longer-ranged brethren. Still, there was no harm in a little experimentation, so that evening I sought out an isolated spot where I could stake out an impromptu firing range that would be safe from accidental intrusion.
Before setting up, I had traded my khaki robes for the comfortable BDUs that I'd long since grown accustom to, only to notice that I had at some point unconsciously adapted to the itch-inducing fabric of the former garments. Still, it felt more appropriate to be wearing a Marine uniform while undertaking an activity that was decidedly unorthodox for a Jedi to be doing. Making sure that no sentient or beast lurked in the vicinity, I readied my weapon, firing off a few test-shots at a stone outcropping approximately fifty meters out from where I stood. As could be expected, my grouping—the distance between sequential shots aimed at the same target—was fairly decent. It wasn't expert-level by anyone's reckoning, but it was good enough for me, especially since I hadn't technically fired so much as a spitwad in nearly two years. Just to make sure I was establishing a credible baseline, I picked out another spot on the same stone and readied myself again, this time adopting the methodologies practiced by the Marines instead of just snap-aiming. My grouping this time was markedly better so, satisfied that I was doing things right, I let the Force flow into me.
I turned to my right a few degrees, picking out another stone that was about two hundred meters away, near the edge of the DL-3's effective range. Technically-speaking, the pistol was good for another fifty meters, but that was only ever attempted in bench-tests or in competition matches. I let the Force extend from my body to the weapon I held in my hands, letting it become almost an extension of my own self. At the same time I aligned the weapon's sights with my right eye and, listening to the whispers of the Force, gently tapped the trigger three times. Three shots rang out, each one impacting the stone at precisely the same spot. Jogging over to it, I noticed that the volley had drilled a centimeter-deep hole into the rock that was wide enough for me to stick my index finger into. Smiling broadly, I brought the blaster's barrel to my lips and blew into it in a theatrical gesture. Not bad, Laera, I thought to myself, not too bad at all...
I spent the next half hour fine-tuning my Force-enhanced aiming, so that by the time dusk approached, I was able to consistently strike solid groups into stones that were in excess of four hundred meters out, and with a stock blaster at that! Though my accuracy at such distances was impressive, I realized that making such astonishing shots took time, more time than it would have were I firing my favorite battle rifle without calling upon the Force. Despite this, I figured that there still might be need of such skill, and used the last of the available daylight to further refine my technique.
As I holstered my blaster and made my way back to the enclave and my dormitory, I considered the idea of practicing what I'd done on moving targets. To be sure, they would have to be closer, and I'd have to have help from someone else to do it right, but the idea intrigued me. I thought about asking one of the apprentices if they would be willing to assist me, but I didn't really want to risk offending their own Masters as well as Master Vrook. Fortunately, that particular issue resolved itself as Aewa greeted me. The girl, who had turned fourteen the week before, was reading a datapad when I entered the common area of our cluster. “Jedi Reyolé!” she piped up, noticing my change in attire. “Is that your Marine uniform?”
Smiling, I sat down next to her. “Sure is, kid,” I said. “This is our casual uniform, what we wear from day-to-day.”
“Is that your blaster?” she asked, noticing the weapon holstered to my thigh.
“You're a curious one, aren't you?” I asked playfully, patting Aewa on her crown. “Yeah, that's my blaster, standard issue for Marines. I was just out practicing with it; it's been a while since I last fired one.” I took it out of its holster, made sure the safety was on, and, holding it by the barrel, held its grip out for her. “Here, get a feel for it.”
The girl looked ecstatic as she held the weapon in her hands. I had half-expected her to balk slightly at the weight, but she held it safely and with confidence, which I figured had been borne of her own training. “This is the safety-catch,” I said, pointing to the lever above the grip on the weapon's left side. “You must never, ever take a blaster off safety unless you intend to use it.”
Aewa smiled at me in an I-know-this-stuff-already way, which prompted a grin of my own. “My Master tells me the same thing about lightsabers,” she retorted mildly. “She says 'never draw your lightsaber unless you intend to use it, and never use it without just cause.'”
“Indeed, your master is wise,” I replied, but then an idea took hold of me. “Is she around? I'd like to ask her something.”
“No, she left for a while,” Aewa answered, sounding as though she missed her Master already. “I'm supposed to find something constructive to do, but I can't think of anything.”
“That's alright,” I soothed, gently taking my blaster back and reholstering it. “In fact, I think you might just be able to help me...”