ACROSS THE STARS
Chapter Four

Rosé awoke slowly the next morning, huddled beneath the blankets on her sleep couch. She reached down and rubbed her bruised knee, wondering for a moment what had happened.

Then the events of the previous night came back to her in a rush, and she shuddered, pulling the blankets over her head and lying there in misery, wondering if Padawan Dawson had kept her secret and what he thought of her now.

At last, she pushed the blankets away and sat up, her gaze falling on the three security cameras that her mother had insisted she uncover the night before. She stared at them, wondering if she was being watched even now.

A moment later, her door slid open and TC-16 walked in, carrying a breakfast tray. "Mistress Rosé!" the droid exclaimed, setting the tray on the table beside Rosé’s sleep couch. "It is good to see you awake. Your mother feared you would sleep the day away."

So someone had been watching her in the security cameras—but not, to her relief, the Jedi. She didn’t know why, but having either of them watching her made her uncomfortable. Perhaps it was the fact that Padawan Dawson had saved her life last night and possibly told his Master what had really happened, but she also felt as though they could read her emotions and know what she was thinking.

There was no reason to believe so, she knew. She wasn’t one of them, wasn’t a Jedi. She was a Senator’s daughter, part of a group known for being crafty and difficult to read. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were watching her closely—both Knight Jennings and Padawan Dawson. They were watching her for different reasons, she was sure, but the fact remained that they were both keeping a close eye on her.

Rosé climbed off the sleep couch and headed towards her closet. "I will eat soon, TC-16," she told the droid, "but would you help me dress, first?"

"Of course, Mistress Rosé," the droid responded, going to a drawer and withdrawing her corset. Rosé was quite capable of dressing herself, but she needed help in properly tightening the corset that went under most of the gowns she wore on Coruscant or at her father’s city home on Arcadia. She was permitted to dress more casually at her father’s estate on the edge of the wilderness, but as a Senator’s daughter and a high-ranking member of Arcadian society, a greater degree of formality was required in polite company.

After she had dressed and eaten, Rosé slipped out of her room and into the living area of the apartment, finding Maira working on one of the monitors and Jack sketching something as her mother described it.

She stopped for a moment, hesitating, then quietly approached Maira. "Knight Jennings?" She spoke quietly, her hands clenched nervously at her sides.

"Mistress Rosé. What can I do for you?" Maira’s voice was coolly polite, but a hint of warmth and concern shone in her eyes.

"I…if your Padawan has a moment, may I speak to him…in private?"

Maira nodded, realizing that Rosé wanted to talk about what had happened the night before. "Of course. He’s sketching the Toydarian who attempted to assassinate you and your mother, but I’m sure he’ll be willing to speak with you when he’s done."

"Thank you." Rosé realized that she was clutching her skirt nervously and let go of it. "I will be on…on the balcony."

Maira gave her a worried look, and Rosé rushed to reassure her. "I won’t lean over too far, I promise."

"It isn’t that—I’m certain you’ve learned your lesson about the dangers of balconies—but if an assassin comes while you’re out there alone, there will be no one to help you. I would prefer it if you would wait until Padawan Dawson can accompany you. In fact," she added, looking over at Jack as he bowed slightly to Ruth and closed his sketchbook, "it looks like he’s about finished. Padawan!" she called, gesturing for Jack to come towards them, "Mistress Rosé would like to speak to you."

"Sure." Jack tucked the sketchbook under his arm, smiling at Rosé.

"Um…I thought we might speak on the balcony, if you feel it’s safe enough."

"Go ahead, Padawan," Maira told him. "It’s daylight and there are thousands of beings nearby to witness any assassination attempts. Besides, I’m sure you can protect her against any dangers. But if you feel the least bit uncertain, get her inside and call me immediately. I don’t feel there is any immediate danger, but it’s best to be cautious."

"Yes, Master." Jack nodded, then turned to Rosé. "Mistress Rosé?"

Rosé nodded, allowing Jack to lead the way through her room and out to the balcony, watching for any threats that might present themselves. Once outside, she went to lean on the wall, Jack following her more closely than she would have preferred.

"I’m not going to try to jump again," she assured him, and he backed off a little, though not much.

Rosé looked down, her stomach clenching at the sight of the drop in broad daylight. Her apartment was half a kilometer above the lowest levels of Coruscant, the farthest reaches not even visible in the shadows of the depths of the city. Jack stood beside her, looking out at the vehicles flying by, alert to any danger that might present itself. Finally, Rosé turned to him.

"Padawan Dawson, I—"

"Jack. Call me Jack."

She hesitated a moment, then nodded. "If you will call me Rosé."

"Rosé."

"Jack, I—I want to thank you for what you did. Not just for pulling me back, but for your discretion."

"You’re welcome."

Rosé turned from him again, going to sit in an elegant chair in the shadow of a potted tree. Jack followed, standing nearby but not crowding her.

"Look, I know what you must be thinking. You’re a Jedi. You’ve seen all kinds of misery—worlds in turmoil, whole families wiped out, lives destroyed—and here I am, trying to throw my life away because I’ve lost my father, when so many others are so much worse off than I."

Jack sat in a chair beside her. "No. No, that’s not what I’m thinking. Every life has value, and you obviously loved your father very much. Everyone handles grief differently—this was your way. But I am glad you didn’t succeed."

"I’d been planning it for hours," Rosé admitted. "I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t just the fact that my father was assassinated—it was everything that was happening. When the assassins came back for my mother and me—I didn’t think. I just reacted. I jumped in front of my mother to protect her, and I threw my arms forward like it would protect me—and the assassins just flew backwards through the window. I don’t understand what happened—but I know it was something I did. I just don’t know what."

Jack thought of what Maira had said about Rosé possibly being Force-sensitive. Spying a piece of trash tossed onto the balcony by someone flying by, he asked her, "Did it happen something like this?" He threw his arms out, focusing on the piece of trash, and the ball of flimsiplast flew over the wall.

Rosé stared at him, wide-eyed. "Yes. Yes, it was exactly like that. How did you do that?"

"It’s the Force. You can use it to move objects."

"But I…I don’t know much of anything about the Force."

"My Master thinks you may be Force-sensitive."

"But…oh, by the heavens. It was me. It was I who killed those assassins. Mother insists it must have been something else—that a blaster must have backfired or some such—but that wasn’t it at all. I was right all along. I killed them."

"You did what you had to in order to save yourself and your mother."

"No, I…there must have been another way." Rosé got to her feet, pacing back and forth along the balcony. Finally, she turned back to him. "Jack, have you ever killed anyone?"

He went to stand beside her. "Yes. Yes, I have. More than once. But only when I had to."

Rosé went to stand at the wall again, blinking her eyes rapidly as she stared out at the city. "I am such a fool. You…you’ve killed many times, and it doesn’t bother you. You do what you have to."

"Rosé, I was raised to be a Jedi. Killing is something that you have to do sometimes to save the lives of others. I was taught to release the grief and guilt over such actions into the Force. But it isn’t easy. It never is. I was fourteen the first time I had to take a life, and all I could think of afterwards was that this man, who had been alive only moments before—vicious and trying to kill me and another Padawan, to be sure, but alive—was dead. He was just lying there, his eyes open and staring—at me, I was sure—and everything he might have done in the future was wiped away, and he was lost to anyone who might have loved him, anyone who might have been his friend. All it took was one hard thrust from my lightsaber into his heart, and he was gone forever.

"I felt terrible, and it was a long time before I was able to put it behind me. I didn’t want to talk about it, though my Master finally got me to. We meditated on it for a long time before I finally understood, deep inside, that there had been no choice. Had I not killed him, he would have killed me and the other Padawan, and then killed those we were trying to protect.

"It was the first time, but not the last. There has never been a time when I had to kill another being that I didn’t wish things were different, that I didn’t wish there was another way. But sometimes, there isn’t. Is it easy? Never. Does it bother me? Every time. Sometimes, though, when that’s the only option remaining, it’s what you have to do."

Rosé wiped her eyes, embarrassed to be crying in front of him. "I didn’t want to kill them."

"No one with a conscience can kill without it leaving something inside them."

"I’ll never forget."

"No, but you can’t let it destroy you, either. You didn’t kill them in cold blood, or to gain anything. You killed them to save the lives of yourself and your mother. You had no choice—even if you didn’t mean to kill them. That’s what’s important."

Rosé gazed out at the city for a few more minutes before replying. "That was part of why I wanted to jump last night. I felt so horrible—so guilty over what I’d done, even though I couldn’t prove I’d done anything. But when I got up on the wall—I hesitated. I’d been planning to…to jump for hours, but when I got there—I was afraid. I wanted to do it—but I couldn’t. And then you came along…"

"And your pride dictated that you go through with it, even if you didn’t want to. You couldn’t back down without a good reason…"

"And I couldn’t let you jump after me." She turned to look at him. "Jack, would you really have jumped?"

"Yes. I meant every word that I said. I couldn’t let you kill yourself."

"Why?"

"I…I just couldn’t."

They stood in awkward silence for a moment before Rosé turned away, searching for something to break the uncomfortable mood. Catching sight of Jack’s sketchbook sitting in the chair he had occupied, she went over to it and picked it up.

"What is this thing you’re carrying around?" She sat down, opening the cover and shuddering at the sight of the top drawing—the Toydarian who had survived being pushed out the window. "Are you an artist or something?"

Jack sat in the chair beside hers, turning a page in the sketchbook so she wouldn’t have to look at the Toydarian. "Yes, I am. I practice whenever I get a chance—and I’m often asked to sketch pictures of suspects as others describe them to me. Your mother described the Toydarian to me."

"It’s an excellent likeness."

"That’s why I’m called upon so often. I can take the details that a witness remembers and fill in the rest…it’s helped in more than one conflict."

Rosé flipped through the sketchbook, her eyes taking in the details of the drawings. "Are all of these of suspects?" she asked, stopping at a drawing that looked suspiciously like Jack’s Master.

"No, not all. That one is my Master. She’s not suspected of anything except maybe aggravating the Jedi Council and following more closely than they would like in the footsteps of her Master, Qui-Gon Jinn."

"And that’s a bad thing?"

"He was…unconventional, to say the least. He’s been dead for ten years now—he has the distinction of being the only Jedi killed by a Sith in the last thousand years—but Master Maira has told me about him, even described him to me so I could sketch him." He turned to another drawing, one of a man of about sixty with long hair and calm eyes. "This is him. My Master has told me that he was very strong in the Living Force—strong enough to have overcome death."

"Overcome death?"

"Master Maira insists that she can talk to him sometimes, though no one else has ever been able to. She was his first Padawan, and has followed closely in his footsteps."

Rosé looked at him curiously. Both the Parni and the Nem had legends about ghosts, though she had never seen one herself. She supposed it was possible that such things existed, but this was the first time someone she knew had claimed to be able to communicate with them.

Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she turned to another drawing, this one of a Jedi Padawan with close-cropped hair and a braid much like Jack’s. "I take it this another person who isn’t a suspect?"

Jack chuckled, looking at the drawing. "Some Jedi are very suspicious of him, mainly because he didn’t grow up like the rest of us. This is a friend of mine, Anakin Skywalker. He was brought to the Temple at nine years old, much older than the rest of us."

"How old were the rest of you?"

"Less than a year old, for the most part, and none much older than a year. I was three months old when I was brought to the Temple."

"Why so young?"

"Jedi are not supposed to have any attachments—not to a particular world, nor to particular individuals. It’s supposed to make us impartial and able to help anyone without taking sides. The fact that Anakin came to the Temple so late meant that he had an attachment to his mother."

"Do you know who your parents are?"

"I know who they were, but I haven’t met them since I was an infant. I never will, either, since they died in a fire when I was fifteen."

Rosé gasped. "Oh, Jack, how awful! I’m so sorry to hear that."

"I don’t remember them at all. I was too young to remember when I was brought to Coruscant, and though I’ve been to my home planet, Corellia, since then, I never met them. Master Maira is the closest thing to a mother that I’ve ever known."

"I’ve never met my birth parents, either," Rosé admitted. "I was adopted at birth—my mother was widowed in the civil war and couldn’t keep me, and I assume her husband was my father."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You look like Mistress DeWitt-Bukater…at least, you have the same color hair."

"It’s a coincidence—red hair is very common amongst the Parni. People remarked more on how much I resembled my father—Cleon Bukater, that is. He would always laugh slightly and change the subject—I don’t think he wanted to talk about my being adopted. He always assured me that I was just as precious to him as a child born to him and my adoptive mother would have been." She paused, resting her chin in her hands. "I don’t know what my birth mother looked like, and the only thing I have of hers is a necklace with a magnificent blue stone in the pendant—I’ve never seen another quite like it, though a colleague of my father’s, Senator Amidala, says that such stones are found deep in the core of her home planet, Naboo."

Jack turned to another drawing. "I’ve never met her, but after Anakin saw her on the holonet, he talked me into sketching this picture of her. Apparently he met her when he was nine years old and has been thinking about her ever since."

"That sounds like an attachment."

"I think it is." Jack gave her an ironic look. "Yes, I know Jedi are not supposed to form attachments, but as my Master has often said, the ideal and the reality aren’t always—or even often—the same thing."

Rosé smiled slightly. "I think my father and your Master would have gotten along well—he said much the same thing about the Senate. He always tried to work for democracy and for what was best for everyone, but many Senators are only in it for whatever power and wealth they can grab for themselves and their cronies." She frowned then, looking at the drawing of Senator Amidala again. "Padmé—Senator Amidala—is another who believes in the ideals of democracy. And she’s been the target of an assassination attempt, too."

Jack nodded. "I know. Anakin and his Master, Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, were sent to protect her the day before my Master and I were sent to protect you and your mother."

Rosé frowned. "I hope she’s all right. I consider her to be a friend, and she came to visit after my father was assassinated. They often believed in the same principles."

Jack looked at her reassuringly. "I believe Anakin will do anything in his power—and that’s a considerable amount—to protect her, as attached to her as he seems to be."

Rosé sighed. "I hope so. Too many have been hurt or killed already." She closed the sketchbook, handing it back to him. "Thank you, Jack."

"For what?"

"For talking to me about all that’s happened. I…feel a little better now, especially about…about pushing those assassins out the window. I still wish it hadn’t happened, but…"

"But you understand that it doesn’t make you a bad person, and that you wouldn’t have reacted that way if they hadn’t been threatening you and your mother."

Rosé turned to him. "You said that meditation helped you get through it…the first time you had to kill someone. Perhaps the same would work for me. Could you show me?"

He nodded. "Sure. Whenever you want. But," he added, looking towards one of the doors and seeing Maira stepping outside, "I think my Master wants to talk to you first, probably about being Force-sensitive. Maybe after that, I can show you how to meditate."

She glanced away from him, her gaze focusing on Maira, who was approaching them quietly. "Yes. If she’ll allow you to do so."

Jack smiled. "I think she will. She seems to have a soft spot when it comes to you."

Chapter Five
Stories