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Lyra	By : Wanabee Category: Star Wars (All) > General Views: 3599 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. These characters are mine, and so is Ruy.

Chapter List
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The room is dark and sweet, and you hear humming from outside. Or is the humming inside your head? Are you inside your head? It doesn�t feel like yours, but it couldn�t be somebody else�s. Oh, this doesn�t make any sense � think, think, you think. When that doesn�t work, you groan, and the groan echoes through the room. "I think she�s coming around," you hear, muffled, "adjust the flow." There are people standing here in the dark? Why can�t you see?? Suddenly you realize where you are, and you laugh, a bark that surprises you with its nearness. Your whole life you have looked out at the world from behind your eyes. What has been done to you to put your consciousness in your mouth? The universe rotates on two axis around your center, and you are upright again. Reports start to come in from other parts of your body: headache, check, difficulty breathing, check, screaming pain in the right arm, check. You struggle to your eyes and see shadows nearby. Their voices are becoming more clear. "This machine is from the black ages. We�re more likely to kill her than control her." That voice. He was the one at the beginning, when you were torn from your home!
A chuckle, and then, from an aged voice, "No. I have used this many times, and she is no different physically. It will not be difficult."

The first voice returns, more menacingly, "If she dies, I�ll put you on the machine, and I don�t know how to use it."

"That would be dangerous," the old man agreed congenially, "but it will not be necessary. Jedi are not the only ones who desire control. My machine was built for this, and it never fails in skilled hands."
"How long will this take?"

"She is fighting the drugs, but not unusually so. It will take a little longer, but it will happen. Maybe a week, and she will be yours." You feel a sensation, another rotation, and unconsciousness.

Light. It sears your eyes. It�s so bright, the sun nearly cuts through your eyelids. The beach, you must have fallen asleep. Falling asleep in the heat on the sand always makes you groggy and disoriented. Oh, you hope you remembered the sunscreen. You reach up to shade your eyes, but there�s stuff stuck to your arm. "What�" You open your eyes and a man is hurriedly reaching for your arm. In a fraction of a second it all comes back to you, the loss, the pain, the anger. The anger wins, you tuck your leg up and launch the man away from you. You tear the tubes from your arm, the tubes they were using to hurt you, and you leap up and strike the man. You hear his nose break. He comes at you again, but you are insane with the rage against all that has happened to you, all you have suffered, and your offense puts him in the corner, broken.

"Lyra!" You look towards the voice, and freeze with shock to see the younger Jedi on a bed, looking nearly dead. His burned skin is discolored and misshapen, and his face shows his obvious pain, but he has struggled to one arm and is reaching out with another damaged arm, not to take hold of you but to calm you. "Don�t fight," he croaks. What have they done to him? You are panting with illness and exertion, and one of your arms isn�t working. If they have defeated a Jedi, what chance do you have? While you are hesitating, strong arms take hold of you from behind. You struggle against them, but without a word spoken, there is the prick of a needle on your neck and you slump into oblivion, your eyes locked on Doujo�s until darkness descends once again.
When consciousness and the bright light returns, the first thing you notice is that you are unable to move your arms. You try to open your eyes, but the light is too painful. It dims, and your name is called gently from the side. You turn your head to look, and Doujo is smiling at you. He is propped up in bed, comfortable in white shorts, almost entirely healed. There�s a light-brown braid at the back of his otherwise closely cropped head. He is younger than you thought, and can�t be more than mid-twenties. His expression is kind, but you see a furtive smirk as well. "You looked terrible before," you murmur.

"You didn�t look so great yourself. I would say �I told you so,� but I don�t like to sound smug."

"Ha!" retorts the man who enters to stop the machine over your head from binging. You notice that despite looking like he lost a fight, with a fading black eye and misshapen nose, this man is naturally cheerful. You place his face � he�s the man you launched away from you when you came around last time. He doesn�t look as evil as he sounded in the dark room, and Doujo seems relaxed in his presence. You look down and see you have the same type of shorts, and a matching tank top. Your right arm is immobilized in a casing of some sort, but both arms are bound with bandages to loops on the side of the bed. The IVs have been replaced in your left arm, and your face feels swollen and achy. "Where are we?" you ask.

The cheerful man looks uncertainly at Doujo, who shrugs, "You might as well tell her. She�s restrained." The cheerful man steps back apprehensively, and answers you, "We�re on the way to Coruscant."
Realization dawns, and resignation sets in. You have always been philosophical about setbacks. "Well, it sucked while it lasted."

"�What?"

"My life here � it was sucking anyway. It�s true what they say: it is a relief to be caught."

Doujo puzzles over this, and replies "I think you may be overreacting. We really did come to help you. The Council can help you."
"I�m a danger to the Council," you counter.

A deep voice comes from the doorway, "Only if you fall into the wrong hands." It is Ridan. He enters and approaches the other side of your bed and continues, "and you�re in the right hands now." Uncloaked, Ridan is magnificent; his short black hair and a strip of beard accentuate his strong features and those expressive eyes you noticed before. He appears to be about 40, and it�s hard to imagine anything could stop this man; he carries his competence around in his bearing, his face, his entire being. You can�t help it � you�re probably staring, and when you realize it and look away to the man bustling around the room, you take consolation that you managed to keep your mouth closed. He sees you looking uncertainly at the unknown man and chuckles, "Healer G�noa-Fan has had to take his turn in this third bed, with his fractured skull and broken ribs. He�s a little rusty with his self-defense, but I bet he�ll be practicing more now." Ridan receives the healer�s dirty look with equanimity. "You see, many Jedi rely entirely on the Force to overcome adversaries. My Master had little tolerance for such laziness, so first I, and then my apprentice in his turn, have had to suffer extra training."
"All right, I get it," comes the retort from the target of his remarks.

Ridan turns more serious. "That is why we were chosen for this mission. To secure someone who is unaffected by the Force." He leans in closer. "And not only that, but who turns out not to contain any discernible Force pattern. That�s the first thing we noticed when we saw you play. To our Force senses, you appeared dead, and yet you were clearly alive. You are invisible to us. The Healer G�noa-Fan tested your blood for midi-chlorians. Every living cell in the universe, from bacteria to organisms the size of planets, teems with midi-chlorians. Some people have more, like Jedi, and some have less, but all have some. You have zero."

Your eyebrows rise. You are as surprised as anyone. You knew you must be different, but you didn�t know how until now. Ridan straightens, towering over you, regarding you. His face softens and he asks quietly but determinedly, "Where are you from?"

Healer G�noa-Fan interrupts. "She isn�t well enough to be interrogated, Master Bristel."
After a moment, Ridan sighs, then looks over at Doujo, who returns his gaze. Ridan says thoughtfully, "Healer G�noa-Fan, your other patient is improving, is he not?"

"Yes, Master Bristel, he should be ready for duty in a matter of hours."

Ridan replies, "I think it is better he not take any chances. He was badly injured, and must be given time for full recuperation. I think an extra day or so of quiet would be best. Do you understand me?"

"I have no objection," returns the healer. Doujo doesn�t strike you as the malingering type, but he makes no objection either, not having said a word since his Master entered.

Doujo looks over at you thoughtfully when Ridan leaves with G�noa-Fan. After a few moments he says, "Those restraints don�t look very comfortable. I could probably remove them." You look at him doubtfully. "Well, of course, you�d have to give me your word. You�d have to promise not to fight us, or try to escape. Or hurt yourself," he adds.
You look away; you can�t think clearly when he�s so close, looking at you that way. But no alternative springs to mind, and you finally answer. "OK. I promise," and then add quietly, "I don�t want to run any more. I�m too tired."

He nods and loosens the bindings on one arm. "Watch out for these IV lines. These are countering the brainwashing drugs the rebels gave you. Don�t pull them out. Lyra?"

You can�t look at him. His strong hands are so soft and gentle on your arm. The tears locked inside for a year are almost here. "OK."

He gauges your reaction to having one arm freed, then cautiously goes around to the other and removes the binding there, too, releasing the encased arm. "This one is broken. Try not to move it too much. Normally a Healer can fix a broken arm in no time, but without midi-chlorians inside to help, you�re going to have to heal it on your own." His kindness is almost unbearable, the focus of his attention a searing light in the darkness, painful, like sunlight through a lens. After a moment, he goes back to his bed, gets on and picks up a magazine to flip through idly. G�noa-Fan comes in, sits you up and provides water, then checks briefly on Doujo before leaving again. Doujo continues to ignore you and your panic subsides as you sip your water, and the lights dim to approximate evening.
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Lyra