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I'm So Free I Must Be Flying (1/?) - American Jedi
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americanjedi
I'm So Free I Must Be Flying (1/?)
Jedi Master Zan-Drix Lee was working on his ship, well technically it was the Council’s ship, but since it was his to use while worked the tiny temple on Addernine it might as well be his own. It wasn’t like he owned that much, three sets of clothes, a few holocrons that his Padawan Rana used more than he did, his light saber (which it felt odd not to be wearing, and of course his standard issue equipment-bedroll and all. Everything he owned he could carry on his back without breaking a sweat. Not that he could sweat, but it was the thought that counted wasn’t it? He pulled off the second panel underneath and pulled out the loose wires out to inspect with the Force, he was smarter than risking using his bare -or even gloved- hands where there could be sparks. Any damage done to his ship was his fault anyway, he didn’t want to make things worse by killing himself over something that never should have happened in the first place.

Addernine reefs were not something to take lightly; nothing here was to be taken lightly. It was a place of meditation and struggle. The sea air here allowed him to maintain his temperature easily, but it was horrendous on the ship that was obviously designed for Coruscant. He had just been excited, as little as he would be willing to admit it; three days and his little Padawan, Rana was going to be a Knight. It was going to be bittersweet to see that braid come off. Soon she would have her own Padawan, and Zan was going to ask for a break. Rana had taken a lot of effort, well, not too much. She had come in at two and had an awkward catching up quality to the way she used the Force, too fast and then too slow in jerks. The same was true of her dueling, in the beginning she fought as if she was asking permission from her opponent.

But she had always meditated well.

Zan sighed and breathed out those anxious thoughts, he was getting old. Just because he aged slower than humans didn’t mean he didn’t age at all, he had just found his first white blonde hair nestled against the black, right above his ear. He had accepted it with only a twinge, ignoring his vanity as he always did. Once she passed the Trail, he knew she would- he had trained three knights before her- she would be of on her own missions, and he might even be reassigned. He moved another wad of wires and circuit boards aside to check for damage.

One blessing of the stability of the sea climate was he didn’t have to revert to using a temperature collar to keep himself from overheating and his robes gave him more than enough heat, although in certain times, like working on the ship like this, he had to lay a thick blanket underneath himself or the cold floor would sap him of the heat he had absorbed during the day. Besides the view out the bay door wasn’t too bad, wasn’t exactly the Coruscant skyline, but it was still the Addernine horizon looked like it was hiding something important. He had learned that yesterday when he almost scuttled on that reef on the way to witness for a wedding.

There was only one reason he was here in the first place, his hundred and twenty some odd years of experience aside, he was here because he almost died on Geonosis. He took a light meditative breath. If Rana hadn’t thrown him over her shoulders and drag him off, he would have bleed to death.

That was enough to let him know she would pass her Trail, he was thin, elegant he liked to think in his vainer moments, but he was still heavy for a seventeen year old girl to heft like that.

He paused in the middle of his inspection, his face tightened; eyebrows drew together with a snap. Something was wrong.

In the mix-match of his ancestry, (he was a mutt in the truest sense he knew, even if he was a rather vain one) he had ended up with a reptilian ability to stay still, freeze between movements and just listen. His narrow hands, dirty from grease and oil, stayed still holding the panel that looked a little rusty, his one raised knee that had been shifting stayed still, even the few loose strands of black hair that had escaped the braid he was currently laying on seemed to stop blowing in the sea breeze. He could feel the rust on the paneling underneath his fingertips he was so hypersensitive. There was something happening with a capital H.

He gasped; someone was wearing death, here in the temple. His mind reached out reflexively toward his padawan. Her mind was cushioned deep in meditation, floating in the Force; Zan released the breath he hadn’t really realized he had been holding and carefully slid the panel back in place, yellow eyes narrowing. He reached through their connection and cupped his hands around her Senses, insulating her from the danger in the temple. A clone soldier came around the corner of the temple and started, not expecting to see the prone form of the Jedi Master under his ship. The view he was afforded was somewhat limited to the soldier’s knees, but he would know those boots anywhere. It was like Zan could sense his entire shape against the dusk. The soldier spoke to him calmly, covering the quick shock he had received- his weapon hadn’t been at the ready which had given Zan time. The clone spoke as if he had just dropped by for some Ja’fa tea, Master Zan allowed this light banter as he double checked to panels to ensure they were secure enough for flight, buying time.

Sliding out from under his ship along the cold floor he sprung up into a crouch, seizing his light saber with the Force and swinging it across himself in defense as the soldier opened fire. There was the buzz-hum of his saber and the sting of weapons fire as Zan stood. He took a step forward, mind racing when a blunt thrust of pain ripped into his belly. Suddenly he swayed at the fist of pain twisting against his insides.

On his left side, right above the hipbone was a perfect circle the size of his fist. He blinked down at it and then at the soldier struggling to his feet. “How can you do this? You are so young.”

He knew making a step back would mean his death, Rana’s as well. Suddenly a memory of someone saying, crush them before they hatch, their foot slamming down on the long oval of the reptile’s egg, slapped him across the soul. He had a couple seconds of staring until he realized the clone was fumbling to shoot again because the trooper had lost a hand somewhere. Digging the palm of his hand against the wound, as much to stop the bleeding as to force himself lucid he spat out, “Sith’s blood, I’m sorry little one,” and cut the clone down.

Now he took a step back and blinked at the horizon.

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