Note: This short story is meant to fit into the timeline of my AU "The Last Qymaili". As such, if you are reading it and have not reached Chapter 15 yet, watch out for spoilers. The Jedi is my OC. (Just for future reference.) 😄

Posted August 19, 2019

Jedi Knight Arna Gray took deep breaths, meditating as an artificial sun rose over the glassy city of Keldabe, Mandalore. Treasuring the weight of his hands on his knees, losing himself in the Force, he could almost believe that he was a good Jedi and not one that blundered around constantly.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. He'd been assigned as a peacekeeper to Keldabe—he stayed at the capital of Mandalore while other Jedi saved damsels in distress, fought villains, and became the most awesome beings in the galaxy.

He wouldn't get anything done when in these apathetic moods, when he was absolutely bored and useless. He walked to his computer and switched it on, checking the HoloNet for news.

He raised a brow at the top headline. KELDABE COMMERCE PORT COMPROMISED BY OUTER RIM SHIP.

He didn't even read the rest of the headline, but grabbed his cloak and lightsaber and hurried out of his residence.

~

When he reached the port, emergency vehicles where whirring their sirens, and the air was thick with the stench of smoke and ship fuel. A small, strange-looking shuttle was pushed against the wall, sustaining only minor damage so far.

Arna rushed up to the Keldabe police. "Who crashed into the port? Was it a terrorist attack?"

"We don't know," one of them said. "The ship is too damaged to search right now."

"I'm going in myself," he said. "It can't be that bad."

"Master Jedi, it's going to detonate any second—"

"Somebody's in there! I can feel them!" he said, using the Force to open the damaged ship.

He rushed inside the ship. A strong odor of snakes joined the other smells in his nose. In the back, a being lay in a puddle of their own blood, bacta fluid pooling around them. Their long black hair was tattered and mangled, and the limbs had been brutally torn off.

The being was an alien of some sort, and they were dying. Arna scooped them—her, he corrected himself as he noted her full chest—up in his arms and made a mad dash for the door of the ship. He made a leap with the Force five meters away before a deafening BOOM pierced his ears, and the ship exploded.

"Get the breathing machines!" he shouted at the medical team. He knelt down, covering her stumps with his robes. Compressing her chest, he felt a few broken ribs and bit his lip as her subconscious indicated pain.

He pinched her small, sharp nose and set his mouth against her rough lips, feeling the interlocking scales press against his skin. He breathed in, out. In, out.

"Master Jedi, we have the breathing equipment," a voice said. Arna nodded, stepping away, and they fit a mask over her nose and mouth so the machines could breathe for her.

He gripped her organic hand, reaching out to feel her in the Force. Her spirit lay dormant, exhausted, just about to give up and die.

Please, don't lose hope, Arna thought as hard as he could. He had been able to communicate in thoughts with his old master, T'Chooka D'oon, but now she needed his encouragement. You deserve to live. I believe in you.

More breathing came forth as her breast rose and fell. And her thoughts came to him, although they were in a foreign language. Ter kaana baina? Ter amidd uu?

He took gauze from the medical box, binding up her stumps and the gash across her lower stomach. "I'm taking her to the hospital. My sister will know how to fix her."

"Very good, Master Jedi," the medic said as he loaded her onto a stretcher and hitched it to his speeder. "Take care of her."

~

Alma went to work on the alien girl—stemmed the flow of blood, hooked her up with a permanent breathing regulator and heart pacer, and stitched the gash in her stomach.

Arna sat next to the patient as Alma sponged her from head to toe. He studied her sharp features. Her golden scales shimmered, and her long black hair shimmered like obsidian. While her face was too long to be beautiful by human standards, a mysterious air surrounded her, a smoky sort of beauty that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

He stroked her thumbs. She was dreaming right now, under strong painkillers and anesthesia. Her dreams were wild, and Arna couldn't make them out. But he felt her physical and emotional pain. It penetrated him to his core.

One thought reached him through his mind-reading in Basic. We were supposed to marry.

He looked up at his sister, who was cleaning the incision made in the patient's lower stomach. "What species is she? She looks like she's been through some sort of war."

"I ran a blood test," Alma said. "She's Kaleesh."

"Kaleesh?" Arna echoed. "What's she doing—here? In civilized society?"

The patient coughed suddenly, and Arna gripped her hand, sending peace to her. Alma shook her head. "I'm getting prosthetics made for her, but they cost a huge sum of money."

"Kaleesh," Arna said, running a hand along her cheek. "Aren't they a hunting-gathering society?"

"That's right," Alma said gently. "They don't have a currency system over there. But she still has to pay her dues."

Arna looked up. "I'll take her in. She can work for me, and I'll get the Jedi Temple to give me the money."

Alma's large blue eyes surveyed him. Finally, she sighed. "Do what you will," she said. "I just have to get paid."

"You will be," Arna said, stroking the patient's hand. Her features—Kaleesh features—were solemn. He wanted to know everything about her. And he would have plenty of time to become her friend.

But Arna suddenly got the feeling that this girl, whoever she was, was more powerful than he quite knew. And if he tried to tame her, Arna knew that she would become his ultimate demise.

(991 words)