Revan in Xanadu (Part 9)
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As the girl passed through another impassioned conversation, I thought furiously.
This was not supposed to happen. Oh, I'd heard about personalities fragmenting. I knew something about the disorders, the possible causes, the managing techniques, the potential solutions. But the fact was, this should not have happened. Not to me.
If it was supposed to happen to me, the problem would have manifested long before now. In adolescence, or after Malachor, or during my time as a Sith, or at some point after the Jedi wiped my mind and rebuilt it, or when my true memories first started to trickle back. But all of those events had happened years ago. True, there was still a five-year gap in my life that was being filled only very slowly, but I was fairly sure that whatever I had done then, it wasn't enough to fragment me without any warning signs whatsoever. Personalities come apart in children and subadults and senile elderly folk.
And personality fragmentation was not supposed to result in a fragment which had long-established interpersonal connections with people that I did not know. It was more like this was an entirely different person - which was, frankly, not supposed to happen.
Of course, if the galaxy ran according to supposed to, it would be a very dull place. After all, I am here, wherever that is, without really knowing where here is - Zahnnadue, that's what the armored soldier said. Never heard of it before. He did say that he didn't know what it was, just that it had something to do with all this. A multiplanetary government? A single planet, a division therof, a city, an event? An organization? A single being? I'm going to have to find out, sooner or later.
Yesterday... early yesterday, before I met with the soldiers, the first time I saw that man who looked like Malak. I - for some reason my memory of what was going on there is fuzzy, distant. But I definitely remember telling him that this whole thing wasn't just some random occurrence. That it had something to do with costumes. Costumes. Becoming real.
The implications of that were enough to make me reel momentarily, using one hand to brace against the wall of this cell of a room. Still in the midst of verbally reasserting her independence, the girl barely paused to regain my balance. Then she was pacing again, moving uncertainly through vague loops on the floor.
And... that means... what, exactly? That this was part of some bizarre ritual, possibly religious, to wrest my mind and spirit from my body and implant me intact into a girl who bears some physical resemblance to me? Why then does she seem unaware of my presence, and why has no one spoken to me about this? And what about this Inventory? Besides, I don't think technology can do something like that - and who would have enough Force talent to pull it off? That theory does not explain everything else I've seen out there - I suppose, if I assumed anything at all, it was that this was some sort of mass diplomatic embassy or multicultural festival under a bomb threat or the like. But obviously that is not true.
Speculation has never been one of my strongest skills. They usually lie more in the fields of communication and action.
Well, whatever happened, I'm here now. This is just like being stranded on Taris - I have few resources or allies as of yet, little in the way of intelligence, and no immediate objectives. Except - I did not have the Force or knowledge of who I am, I knew where Taris was on a starmap, I knew what needed doing, and I started with one brave if paranoid pilot on my side. Even if I did get him killed later on... Hopefully, this planet won't undergo orbital bombardment when I leave.
Fine. My first objective is gathering information. I'll have to work from there. Setting a goal did help ease my uncertainty, but - Light Side succor me, what does "New Quest" mean and why did it just blink across the top of my field of view?!
The girl's conversation seemed to be winding down. I waited for several impatient minutes before she finally, finally ended it and deactivated her little communications mechanism. Then, deciding to act as though she was a personality fragment despite the evidence to the contrary, I brought my will against the other entity.
Producing a low, soft sigh, the girl curled up on the bed, affected too quickly to bother with undressing or wrapping herself in the blanket. My eyes closed, and after I was certain that she was down, I opened them. This was a purely temporary solution and I knew it.
I removed a pair of boots from my Inventory, donned them, and left the room to wander. Almost immediately I felt the pull of a disturbance. Something I could change.
Should I? Someone else will get it if I don't, probably. Ah, why not?
After all, whenever something preventable happens, people ask each other "Why didn't someone step in?" And I am someone. I grimaced a little, recognizing that as the kind of thought I had expressed before the Wars. Back when I was pure optimist. That doesn't make it any less true, but I have to remember that sometimes I can't change a damned thing.
At any rate, I felt it. Here. Who was it centered on? The densely-furred humanoid with a metal sword as large as he was tall strapped to his back? No. The bizarre tripod creature that appeared to be made entirely of packed bones and mercury? No. I wasn't sure - there.
Human male, pale, adolescent, unkempt - normal enough to the senses. His emotions were a boiling mess, but that wasn't unusual, here. But under one arm he held a black, cylindrical canister which, for some reason, I did not like. It wasn't a bomb or any kind of weapon, as far as I could tell through the Force. It was something else.
Discretion is the better part of valor. I tailed the man - boy, really; I'm no good at discerning ages but he seemed subadult to me - at a distance for a few minutes, noting that he did not appear to have any set destination. Eventually, seething with anticipation, he set his back to a wall, shook the canister, removed the top, and manipulated it so as a fine spray mist was directed onto his body.
The corridor was moderately crowded, and I was at least ten meters away - and yet, impossibly, the scent from the canister carried instantly over, entirely overwhelming my nose. It was not a particularly pleasant smell, too musky and spicy for my liking. And far, far too strong. Overpowering, even.
Yet... something about it was drawing me. It was almost magnetic, a fascination not unlike that 'Look at Me' compulsion I'd experienced yesterday. I was not the only one affected, either - from the corners of my eyes I could see every other being in view first stiffen, then turn, enraptured.
A pulling of sorts manifested - not in the Force, but in my body. Noticing that it was felt all over my body but most strongly in my chest, waist, and hips, I resisted, ignoring whatever else was happening around me. I don't think so.
It pulled more strongly, and I felt it physically. No.
Stronger still, enough so that my skin prickled and I began to draw on the Force. No.
Three was apparently a special number; the smell lingered but its pull ceased, as did the artificial fascination, at least for me. Taking stock to see what had happened during my lapse in attention, I noticed that a number of the other beings had not been so lucky in resisting.
They seemed to have physically changed, body shapes becoming far more like those of well-toned Zabrak women - extravagantly curved, with waists no wider than their heads, broad hips, and large eyes in small, symmetrical faces. Interestingly enough, although I couldn't exactly go back and compare, all of the afflicted seemed otherwise unaltered - I saw at least one beard. In some, clothing had altered to fit - in others, it hadn't.
Everyone so afflicted wore a disturbingly blank expression which, slowly, changed to reflect a vapid, parted-lips glee. I had enough time to trade a puzzled glance with one of my fellow unaffected before all of the altered began to squeal and surge towards the boy with the canister. The fact that others might be in the way did not appear to register to them; I might have been trampled if I hadn't sidestepped repeatedly. From the startled expletives uttered by the nearby unafflicted, I guessed that they were suffering similarly.
As far as I could tell, they were pressing themselves en masse against the boy with the canister - already he was hidden from view by a mass of "women", who were now climbing over each other like starved rakghouls after human flesh.
Exhaling slowly, I realized that the boy might well be suffocated or otherwise killed. Which means I have to step in now. Ah, well... it's not like I have anything better to do. I probably should have done this before, but I was too curious about what that thing could do. Frankly, it seems impossible.
Not that's stopped anything before.
My telekinesis is not very strong - actually, to be honest, my telekinesis is mildly pathetic. My Force abilities aren't really suited to offensive uses. It's slightly embarrassing - yes, I can use Wave to knock back everything within reach, but that is so exhausting that I'm hard-pressed to use it more than once in a day. I could do that now, but I might need it more later. So this will take a bit more finesse.
Clasping my hands flat together before me, I drew them apart slowly while using the Force to part some of the 'women', opening a small gap; through it I saw the boy and the troublesome canister. I then took hold of the black cylinder and pulled.
The gap between the women closed and my vision grayed at the edges momentarily, but the canister shot through the air and slapped into my hand. It was wet - with what, I didn't know - and nearly slipped out of my gloved fingers. I slid it into my Inventory, figuring that this would at least keep it away from people who might abuse its strange power. Almost immediately the spicy-musky odor faded - it wasn't gone, but rather much weakened.
Interestingly enough, as the scent faded the 'women' currently attempting to get at the boy stopped, expressions changing again to reflect varied sentiments such as surprise, confusion, and shock, stumbling away from the boy and each other. As I watched, they sort of shimmered and melted back into their original forms - not all at once but as sort of a ripple effect that started with those on the outer edges and spread from there.
As the last of them reverted back, I saw that only two 'women' were left, both of them apparently in the middle of attempting to mount the boy. After a few seconds, they too stopped, faces twisting into expressions of shock and sheerest revulsion - but although one still sported outrageous curved mustachios, neither changed shape or appearance in the slightest.
As the crowd of formerly afflicted sentients turned on the boy, each of them wrought with humiliation and righteous wrath, I briefly considered trying to defuse the situation.
No, I'll leave it be. I could have missed something, but although I sensed anger, the Force conveyed nothing to hint at murderous rage. The adolescent would get shouted at, shamed, and possibly struck or made to serve those he had affected with the spray, but he would still be relatively intact at the end of the day. At this point, I really don't think I'd be able to help much. Strength is knowing what you can and cannot change, and being able to go on when the latter situation comes up.
Concealing a smile, I walked away to the sound of raised voices.
| Preceded by: Revan in Xanadu (Part 8) |
Revan in Xanadu{{#if:| (First: {{{first}}})}} |
Succeeded by: Revan in Xanadu (Part 10) |