Woman without a Country

"Are you ever planning to run your own house someday?"
The Twi'lek looked curiously at his Human companion. "Possibly. Why do you ask?"
The Human man, owner of the shuttered brothel across the street, pointed at the old woman slowly approaching the patio where the two men were drinking. "Learn to recognize that walk. That's a woman searching for her daughter. She's not sure if she's in the right place, and she doesn't really want to find her here. She wants to believe it isn't true, but she knows, deep down inside, that her daughter is working here." The Human finished his drink and walked over to talk to the old woman. "Hello, ma'am," he said as politely as he could. Years of shouting across a crowded bar had roughened his voice, but he had never lost his innate respect for mothers.
"I'm not certain if this is the right place," said the old woman. Her voice was old, impossibly old, and seemed to carry the weight of centuries in it. She didn't sound uncertain.
The man shuffled his feet nervously. He hated this part. But he owed money, and they owed him money, and everyone had to live somehow. "It probably is, ma'am. Thing is, the house is closed at the moment. We had a bit of trouble last night, and the enforcers rounded up all the girls in the house and locked them up for a few days. Messy suicide. Always makes the enforcers twitchy."
"Suicide?" said the old woman, and for a second, the man thought she smiled. "Did they really get all of them?"
"Well, all except one," grinned the man. "And that's probably the one they were after. Tall girl, with green eyes. A little weird. She didn't do regular work, like the other girls, but she always came up with her payments somehow. And she had a thing for wearing boring clothes. You know, she had the same brown robe as you, now that I think of it." He had no idea why he felt the need to talk so much to this old woman, or why he was so certain that she was looking for Ellie.
"Ellie. Such a common name," the old woman said disapprovingly.
The Human man blinked in shock. He didn't remember saying the name aloud. He wondered if he should tell the old woman about overhearing Ellie making arrangements at the spaceport to hitch a ride on the Republic cruiser that was currently docked in Bay 53. He shook his head. What an oddly specific thing to suddenly think of. Almost as odd as suddenly thinking of the young officer who had killed himself when Ellie had refused to leave with him.
"So she has run off again," the old woman sighed. "Thank you for your assistance, young man." She handed him a credit chit, then calmly walked away.
It took him a moment to process that she was gone, and look at the amount on chit. "What the.... I didn't even tell her anything. Did I?"

She knew she was asleep, but she could sense ... something. Someone hovering around the edge of her mind, questioning, curious. She tried to force herself to wake up, but couldn't get past the barrier of sleep. Had she been drugged? Or had she hit her body's limit for staying awake again?
Since she couldn't wake up, she decided to amuse herself with her dreams.
"What?" she heard the intruder in her mind, felt his shock, and giggled as she hid behind a tree. He turned, still not sure how he had been drawn back to the form of a child, or why he was in a lush garden. "Who's there? Show yourself!"
She laughed. He was still trying to be fierce and cruel, but it just sounded ridiculous coming from a little boy's body. This was her dream, after all. She turned and ran, dodging from tree to tree, knowing that he would give chase. She let him get closer and closer, then she suddenly turned, raced down the hill, and jumped across the river, leaving him behind. She turned and laughed at him again, knowing that the sunlight on the water would keep him from seeing her features. Just wild brown hair in a halo around her face, a sparkle of green eyes, and a mischievous smile before she disappeared into the woods again.
His presence faded from her mind. She sighed. No one ever wanted to cross the river and keep playing. She wondered who he was, and where he had come from. He was a human, and he hadn't felt like a natural telepath, so he was probably a Jedi. A fallen one, most likely. She wondered what he was doing here, then realized she didn't have any idea where she actually was. The last thing she remembered was having a drink in her room, and feeling somewhat sorry for herself.
"Awaken." The voice in her head now was different. Old, imperative, female. A slight touch of motherly concern.
Her body tried to respond to the command, failed at first. Suddenly it struck her that if she continued to sleep, to be still, she would die. In a panic, she forced herself to move, and staggered out of the kolto tank. She fell to her knees, and collapsed on the floor. Behind her, she could hear the computers beeping patiently and steadily, and recognized the sounds of a reboot process.
She turned her head, and watched the tank flush itself and refill with fresh kolto. There were four other tanks in the medical bay, all filled with injured men in ugly greenish-brown uniforms. She tried to rouse them, but they were all dead. Someone had drugged – poisoned – the tanks. She looked over the dead men. None of them looked like a grown up version of the boy in her dream. They were all the kind of men who dreamed of cheap whores and strong liquor, of making it rich and escaping their dead end lives.
There was no doctor, no medical droid, no one else in the facility at all. She staggered out of the medical bay, and saw a computer console in one of the nearby rooms. She walked to it, and pulled up the logs, confirming her hunch that someone had poisoned the tanks. She had only survived because of what she had once been. She closed her eyes for a moment, regretting the deaths of the other men. Obviously, someone was after her. As usual, she had brought death in her wake and escaped unharmed. She shook herself, and tried to find out what was going on or where she was. Suddenly, it struck her that she hadn't seen her bag anywhere. She frantically searched the nearby containers, but there was no sign of her bag.
"Well, of all the – " she indulged in some bad-natured swearing for a few minutes. Most women would have been upset at being forced to wander around in their underwear. She was upset because she wanted a cigarette.
She walked into the morgue, and looked curiously at the old woman. She was wearing plain, familiar brown robes. She checked the other body, and as she did so, the old woman rose to her feet, gently adjusting the hood so that her eyes were covered.
"Find what you were looking for amongst the dead?" The voice was eerily familiar.
"You were the voice I heard in the tank."
"Yes," said the old woman with a soft smile. "I must have reached out, unconsciously. I have been at rest for too long, and could not rouse myself. Your mind – was listening most carefully. Have you been trained for such things?"
"I have some small skill with telepathy," she answered grudgingly. "You can touch minds and feign death. Who – what are you?" She knew the answer as she asked the question, just as she knew the old woman would not tell her. They were being cordially and mutually dishonest with each other.
"I am Kreia, and I rescued you just as you rescued me. You have my thanks. Tell me – do you recall what happened?"
"I was onboard the Republic ship, the Harbinger. The last thing I remember is having a drink in my cabin, and I think an alarm went off." The memory was vague and unclear.
"Your ship was attacked," Kreia explained. "You were the only survivor that I found. No doubt, the result of your Jedi training."
She stiffened. "I am no longer a member of the Jedi Order."
Kreia smiled patiently. "You move like a Jedi. Your stance, the way you watch, everything about you speaks to your training. And yet, you seem to bear a heavy burden."
"My time with the Order is over. Our history together – has not been the best." Her accent, usually so well controlled, slipped out, and she saw the old woman smile in amusement.
"Very well, then. Let us leave the past to the past, and focus on the present."
She nodded in agreement. "What is this place?"
Kreia shrugged. "I do not know. I was unconscious when we arrived. Perhaps some exploration will reveal the answers we seek. The ship we arrived in will still be here. We should recover it and leave before our hunters find our trail again."
"Our trail?"
"Our fates are now intertwined, young one. This place – and all within it – are dead. What killed them? In our current state, we would be no match for anyone. I suspect that we will have to leave this place as swiftly as we arrived."
"That can't be," she said in horror. "They can't all be dead. Someone has to still be alive. I'm going to go look for them, see if I can find out what happened here."
Kreia smiled again, with wicked humor. "While you are searching, you may want to keep an eye out for some clothes… if only for proper first impressions."
She shrugged. "You didn't happen to get my bag when you rescued me from the Harbinger, did you?"
Kreia shook her head. "I'm afraid not. You were wounded, and I had no time to search for your clothes."
She started at that. She had been fully dressed in her room. Something had happened, then, between the time the attack started and when Kreia had found her. Being mostly-naked didn't bother her as much as not knowing where her bag was. She desperately wanted a cigarette, and her head ached abominably. The old woman sank to the ground. "Are you all right?"
Kreia nodded. "I am not as young as you," she smiled wryly. "Bouncing back from the brink of death is no longer as easy as it once was."
"I'm going to search. I'll come back to check on you and make sure you're all right."
"Of course. Before you go – "
She turned back to the old woman, questioning.
"What is your name?" Kreia asked pointedly.
She blushed. It had been a long time since that mattered. This woman – no doubt, a Jedi – would know who she was, who she had been. There was no point in pretending otherwise. "My name is Ludmilla Sîvoš," she said softly. "I am the Jedi Exile."