Serving His General

“Stupid, stupid, STUPID,” he muttered to himself as he made his way back to the Ebon Hawk. It was so clear to him yesterday, what he should do, what she needed. But now that he had committed himself, and spoken to Atton, his resolve wavered.



He was human enough to not like the thought of being a substitute for her desires. To be perfectly honest, he had always wanted her…her gorgeous dark red hair, her graceful walk, her thoughtful way of speaking, her dry but lively sense of humor, the dance of her in battle had always been intoxicating to him. She had never hinted at any reciprocation of his feelings, always treating him as a good soldier, a warm friend, and a trusted compatriot. Atton’s assessment that she wanted him too shook him more than he was willing to admit.



He loved her with almost everything he had, except where he and she needed it most. He was not the one for her, nor she for him, and he knew it. As did she. But he could be hers, for now. Privately, he admitted he needed this as much as she. Gathering his courage, he boarded the Ebon Hawk.



The first thing he heard was music. He had forgotten how she used to do that before battle. Her personal datapad included music from across the galaxy, most of it classical. She occasionally indulged in the noise that passes for music in the seedier cantinas that couldn’t hire respectable Biths, and that Mira seemed to thrive on. Mostly, her tastes ran to lyrical, powerful works with strong string and horn sections, with an interesting balance between delicate melody and powerful harmony. Much like herself, although she’d be surprised if someone said so. During the war, she would go to her quarters on the eve of a campaign, plug in the music, and close her eyes meditatively. Once, he had asked her about it, and she said it helped center her energy. She had invited him to sit with her regularly after that, and he had appreciated the ritual. Closing his eyes, he listened for a moment, remembering.



He found her in the copilot’s seat, eyes closed. He knew she had felt him the instant he had entered the ship, but he courteously stood still a moment, allowing her to acknowledge his presence. When she opened her eyes and gave him her direct green stare, he smiled.



“How are you, General?” Mentally cursing himself for falling back on old habits, he simply waited for her reply. On reflection, he thought it might be good that he hadn’t used her name yet…go slow with this one, like a skittish Bantha. Too much sudden familiarity would cause her to bolt. Except, her thought with a flash of humor, no Bantha could ever be called beautiful, and Ladria was. So lovely it took his breath away.



“I thought I told you all to go get some R & R.” She didn’t seem annoyed, more…resigned? Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t surprise. “Well, you did, I guess, good XO that you are…I didn’t think about it.”



“Of course you did. I just said what you were thinking, and you were gracious enough to let the others think it was my idea.”



“Whereupon you promptly gave the order, saying it was from me.” She sounded amused. “I’m sure I don’t deserve you. You’re always looking out for me, and the crew.”



If ever an opening there was….



“I was worried about you, General.” The words were softly spoken, warm, but not out of bounds of friendship.



She was silent long enough for him to wonder if she had even heard him. When she spoke, he was shocked to the core.



” Bao’uhr Du’hcsk, will I ever convince you to use my name?”



The inflection and pronunciation was almost perfect; as close as someone lacking Iridonian vocal cords could make it. He had told her exactly once, years ago, his Name, and she had remembered it. And used it, now, when he came to her with this crazy idea.



By his standards, Ladria had just started a mating ritual.



And then it hit him. She knew. She knew.



Fool, he thought despairingly, to try and hide my intentions from a Jedi of her talent and experience. At least I know she will be kind, and either turn me down gently or simply leave things be, and not speak of it at all.



And on the heels of that another thought came But…she used my Name. If she remembered that after all this time, then she almost certainly remembers the conversation. And in using it, could she actually be…encouraging me?



She’s human, he reminded himself. Jedi, yes, but human. She may have learned more about the implications of Name use by my culture, but no human can truly understand the subtlety. She may only be paying you respect. Tread carefully.



There were other reasons for being careful with Names that no Iridonian would share with an off-worlder. Names were power, yes, but inflection and tone spoke volumes in his language. Much like the Force, the manner of address could persuade, as well as use other subtle forms of mind tricks. This trick of intonation and inflection could be used with other languages, though it was much less effective, especially with Galactic Basic, that straight forward yet so deceptively simple speech of diplomacy and commerce. Language among Iridonians who have an emotional bond, such as spouses, or a parent with their child, is rife with undertones. What is not said is as important as the words themselves. Important emotional conversations almost always began with Name invocation. He had declined to use her name when asked, not only because he felt it disrespectful at the time. While most humans don’t pick up on involuntary Iridonian inflection, Ladria was unusually perceptive, and gifted at languages. He was, quite frankly, afraid of offending her or causing an irreversible change in their friendship. Try as he might, he could not keep his complex feelings completely out of her name.



All this flew through his mind at light speed. He knew what he said now could be very important, with his original intent a virtual certainty.



Or it could mean only what she had said, and nothing more.



Humans, he thought wryly. Well, here goes nothing.



“I suppose you could, Ladria.”



There. She had called with his Name, and he had answered with hers. He had not troubled to hide his inflections, and she could make of that as she would. If she even noticed.



She did. He saw her eyes widen just a little, enough to know that she had tried to hide it. If he had not been looking for just such a sign, it would have seemed her face didn’t change at all.



Or…perhaps it was wishful thinking.



There are times I wish other races could learn my language. Things would be so much easier.



She looked up at him, a slow smile crossing her lips. Her eyes, so dark a green they almost looked black in the low light of the cockpit, regarded his vivid blue ones serenely.



“There, was that so difficult?”



The simple words, so casual to the uninitiated, washed over him like a warm shower of sweet-scented water. To his astonishment, he realized that she had somehow learned Iridonian vocal intonation, or something very like. Imperfect, yes, but there. This ritual she had started was real. She was…inviting him.



She had tested his blade. Now the verbal fencing began in earnest.



“It was, somewhat, yes, General.”



Parry. I am most interested, but am unsure of my reception. Please enlighten me.



“Perhaps with some practice, it will become easier.”



Defensive posture. I am unsure of my path, and will hold position until I see an opening.



“Our cultures are so different, Ladria. I find it difficult to be casual about names. I will try.”



Dropping my guard. I am open to suggestion and trust you will make your intentions clear.



“Yet you use Atton’s name regularly. Perhaps you don’t with most of the crew…I noticed that you address Mira as Red, and Mandalore as Warrior. The others…more formally, except Disciple, who you call “youngster”, much to his annoyance. He is much too polite to say so, however.”



Cautious attack. You have affection or respect for most of our other friends and crew. Yet only with one will you use his name freely. With me, you have avoided addressing me as I have invited. How am I different, and how is Atton special?



Ah, so now Atton has been brought up. Bao Dur could hear in her voice that she suspected Atton’s feelings toward her, and that he, Bao Dur, knew it as well. Of her own feelings, she kept them carefully hidden to all but the most perceptive. This will take a most careful answer.



“Atton has proved himself to me as trustworthy and a brother. He does not seem to understand the respect I show by using his name, but perhaps in time he will. The others…I feel affection, but they are yet unproven. With some, I would guess, I will never be able to use their name, unless in time of great need. As for you…when you asked on Malchor V, I could not; it was disrespectful. Now…there are other reasons.”



Attack blocked. Holding pattern. Atton is someone I hold dear, and I know you do too. I will not hurt him, or let him be hurt. I have not used your Name because I would not hurt you either. You are someone special to me, and I would give myself to your keeping.



Her face relaxed, and she smiled again.



”Bao’uhr Du’hcsk, I am unskilled at your language, and I apologize for my clumsiness. Let us drop this verbal sparring and get to the point.”



No translation needed there, he thought. Suddenly, he grinned.



“All right, Ladria. As for clumsiness, I will admit you are not Iridonian, but you are the best human I have ever talked to. I believe you need to be born to the language to truly master it.” His smile was warm and inviting.



Ladria grimaced, then smiled again. “Thank you for the compliment, however unearned. I have learned some, but will never have the upper hand with a native.”



There was no inflection this time. She looked away, through the view screen of the cockpit. Bao Dur waited patiently, knowing she was trying to gather her thoughts. Briefly, he wished there was such a thing as Force armor, because he was sure she would use her connection in the next round. He was wrong.



Finally, she spoke, so quietly he had to lean over to hear.



“I am so tired, Bao’uhr Du’hcsk.”



It was spoken without pity, or despair. His Name, spoken so, was not a plea, but a trust. In that moment, she was not a General, or a Jedi - just a woman, overwhelmed by her responsibility, talking to a trusted friend. His heart contracted painfully, and he wanted to touch her, to hold her, to protect her, to die for her. He settled for putting his good hand on her shoulder with a gentle squeeze.



“You are not alone, Ladria.”



She put her hand over his and squeezed back, just as gently. He was big, and strong, and she was so small. Standing up, she just reached his collarbone. Yet he knew she could break his hand without thought. The gentleness of her touch pierced him. He was used to having to be gentle himself; he knew the restraint involved.



Abruptly, she turned to him and looked up.



“I don’t want to play games anymore. We have fenced, and talked, and said everything but outright what you want. I am tired, and scared, and sick of death and war. But in a week, we will be facing something I sense that will make Malachor V look like a birthday party. So, my friend, why are you here?”



He looked at her, weighing what he had said to Atton against the woman before him, and the plan that had seemed so, well, if not reasonable, at least not preposterous until faced with her now. His absolute arrogance of thinking he knew what she needed seemed shameful now. Well, there was no help for it. Speak the truth – she would know if he lied, at any rate – and be damned.



To his horror, he could not find words. He gaped at her for a minute, trying desperately to find some way to communicate. Nothing came, and he cleared his throat in frustration.



Finally, he spoke. “I talked to Atton.”



“Oh? What about?”



The inflection was back, a bit. Enough for him to realize she knew he was hedging, and was now on the defense.



“You.”



Please understand I care, and only have your welfare at heart.



She seemed to understand, and relaxed her posture.



“What about me?”



“Ladria…” he put all his love and longing into her Name. “Could we go to the common room, and maybe have a drink? I’m feeling…a bit at a disadvantage here.” He indicated the close quarters, and her seat at the copilot’s station. “I have some things to say, and they may make you angry, or at least….upset…and I’d much rather be looking across a table than feel like I’m penning you in.”



She looked up again, assessing his discomfort. Her eyes missed nothing, not his misery, or his hope, or his desire.



“All right.” Her voice was neutral, giving away nothing.



He stepped back, and walked to the gathering area. He heard her stand up and follow. Without speaking, he went into the galley and loaded a bottle of good whisky and two glasses on to a tray. When he returned, she was seated and the table, looking at him thoughtfully.



He put down the tray, and she poured them both a drink. Raising her glass, she smiled, a genuine one, and said “To friendship,” and downed her drink in one gulp. He followed suit.



“To friendship.” The drink burned, then warmed him. It took quite a lot to make him drunk; he had never seen Ladria even tipsy.



She laughed, a sweet sound in the almost silence of the Ebon Hawk. A ship at port was never entirely silent; there were always the quiet sounds of computers at work and the low hum of the energy cells.



“Bao’uhr Du’hcsk, I’m going to let you off the hook here. I think you are here to get me drunk and seduce me. Is that right?”



Well, this was unexpected. He was sure she knew, just was surprised she said so. He gaped at her, speechless. He quickly recovered, matching her offhand tone.



“Well…yes. I was hoping, however, that getting you drunk wouldn’t be necessary.”



She looked at him, her green eyes fathomless. “Why should it be?”



He took another drink, downed it without pause, then poured them both another. They drank.



“Um…well…”



“Very articulate,” she said, amusement evident in her smile. She poured two more, then sat back. “Let me guess…you thought your General needed a good drunk, a good lay, and then…what? To forget that I’m sending us all on what will probably be a suicide mission?”



Suddenly, Bao Dur was tired of the fencing, the unspoken fear, everything.



“If you want to think that, yes. That was not my intention.” His inflection was sharp.



You should know my motives are not that crude, and self-pity does not suit you.



She flinched, obviously catching his meaning. She downed her drink again, and he followed suit.



“Well, if you want to get me drunk, it will take a lot more than the two bottles of whisky we have on board. If you want to bed me, surely you know by now all you had to do was ask.”



Her tone was calm, warm, and oh so sexy…but not what he had wanted to hear, exactly. The feeling of piloting a freighter without shields and damaged navigation through an asteroid belt increased. He regarded her, trying to see through the shields she had thrown up, and finally decided that directness, though possibly painful, was best.



It was time to come clean.



“Ladria.”



Her head snapped up at the Name. Even with her Jedi training, she responded to the tone he had put in it.



“Let me tell you about my day, and about what I thought, and then you can decide if I was right, or wrong, or just plain misguided.”



At that, she rested her chin on her hands, and looked at him, straight on. Her thoughts were guarded, her eyes veiled.



He recounted his story, including the conversation with Atton. He left nothing out, no shield between them. It took two more shots, which she matched without comment, and when he finished, he sat, vulnerable and humbled.



“I am sorry, General. I presumed too much, and assumed I knew what you needed. I did not ask your opinion, or considered your feelings. I hope this will not cause you to lose your trust in me. Believe me, I had nothing but the best of intentions.”



He drank again, and stood.



“I will go now. I hope someday you will forgive me. Until then, I promise I will not let this stand between us, or interfere with our mission”



As he started to turn, she reached out and grasped his arm. He turned and looked at her, shame in his posture and face.



She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “You were not wrong, Bao’uhr Du’hcsk.”



One tear fell, spilling down her cheek. He reached out with one finger and caught it.



“I wasn’t?”



She was in his arms, and sobbing as if her heart would break. He opened up his feelings, and her misery resonated through his soul.



“I am Jedi…I should be able to do this without fear. I should be able to weigh the cost, and accept the consequences, and do what must be done. But sometimes…I look into the darkness…and I think I see my face there, staring back. That I never really turned away from the dark side, and all I am doing now is serving a dark master who wants to destroy everything I love.”



Her face was streaked with tears, and his heart burned.



“And sometimes, I think Kreia is right…that all I am is an instrument of evil. That no matter what I do, or think, or feel…destruction and despair is all I will ever give. I am so afraid…and I know that if I give in to the fear, it will destroy everything I hold dear and believe in.”



She tried to smile. “But then, I see you…and Atton, and Mira, and Visas, and I think, no, THEY have seen the darkness, and we have faced it, together. We’re better than that, and we can make a difference, and keep the faith. And I have hope again. You all think I have given you hope, but in truth…you all have given it to me.”



She sniffled, and groped for something to wipe away the tears. Bao Dur handed her a napkin, and she cleaned up her face, trying to smile.



“You’re right, you know. I do love Atton, but for now…we can’t realize it. I hope someday that we can. Until then…I need someone to understand, and to let me hope that what we fight for is something real, and not just a shadow. I know it is a weakness, but I need so much to hold on to someone…to something…so I know that win or lose, I’ve made a difference. That there are children that will grow, and mothers that will raise them, and brothers that will argue and stand together and live.”



And in a small voice, almost a whisper, she said, “Right now, I need you.”



He reached out, and she stepped into his arms. “I’m here, Ladria. As long as you need me.”



She clung to him, and cried, and he held her. When she could cry no more, he led her to her cabin. Murmuring nonsense, he got her to the bunk, got both of their boots off, and held her close until they slept.