Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

Plo took the long way back to their quarters. Chester had a lot to process, and she seemed not to mind the rambling route. He took her past the vertical rainforest garden in the humid residential wing, and then around through the main training hall. They passed an open salle, a pair of Masters sparring inside. 

Chester hesitated by the door, watching, with open longing and fascination on her face. “I do historical martial arts back home,” she said by way of explanation. “It seems you have a very different style━but I miss it.”

Plo watched the two Masters for a moment, considering. Agen Kolar faced an older Rodian whose name escaped Plo for the moment. They fought with light wooden training blades rather than their lightsabers, which modified the form of each strike somewhat, but the simple economic movements of Shii-Cho were immediately recognisable. Not Agen’s usual style, then. 

“Perhaps we could arrange for a spar sometime,” he ventured. “We train in a number of weapons for self-defense, ultimately, but many of us find enjoyment in combat sports as well. Do you have a particular preference of weapon?”

“Longsword, rapier, and quarterstaff,” she said, instantly. “I would be delighted.”

“Wonderful,” said Plo–the genuine, if cautious enthusiasm that had flared in her presence was infectious. “You will find no shortage of sparring partners for any of those, though I’m rather partial to staff and longsword myself.” He pulled out his datapad, scrolling through the current salle roster. Despite the unsettling emptiness of the general Temple, the training salles were still well-occupied. “Shall we rest our minds for a few hours, and come back after lunch?” 

They nabbed one of the smaller salles, in the back of the hall near the Battlemaster’s dungeon of supplies. 

Jedi combat training focused on lightsaber skills, since the saber was their primary weapon, but the reality of a Knight’s job was that sometimes the lightsaber alone did not suffice. Senior Initiates learned how to shoot a variety of blasters, wield a knife, and how to fight hand-to-hand against armed and unarmed opponents. Padawans had a whole rainbow of more advanced combat skills to learn. Combat sports helped keep those skills sharp.

That aside, there was also a number of historical martial arts enthusiasts among the more academically-inclined Jedi. Chester laughed at this; apparently it was much the same in Starfleet. “Not so much with Earth forms, unfortunately,” she said, “but a lot of Klingon these days.”

She selected a slender, one-handed blade a little under a meter long and tested its weight thoughtfully in her hand. “A little lighter than I’m used to,” she said thoughtfully. “Historical rapiers are heavier, and this doesn’t have quillons. Still…” she tried a lunge, a series of parries, quick motions of the wrist that sent the light blade in a series of dramatic arcs. “Yes, this is good. Will it work for you?”

Shorter blades in general were not his strength, but━no matter. This was not a competition. “I will admit it has been a while,” he said, finding a blade that suited his own hand, “but not for lack of interest.” 

They moved to the middle of the salle, and faced each other across the mat.

Chester took an upright guard, rather like that of Makashi, and flicked her sword up, then swept it down with a bow to salute him. Plo studied her stance a moment before settling into his own; unlike Makashi, it was turned strongly sideways, and the offhand raised for defense.

She would have to be very careful about that, should she fight anyone with a lightsaber. Perhaps a modified version of jar’kai would suit her, with a short blade in that offhand.

Plo stopped that train of thought. Chester would not be learning to handle a lightsaber, much less any of the forms. He needed to keep her safe until she could be returned to her proper galaxy; he was not going to evaluate her as he would a Padawan. 

It was only━she seemed so much more focused with the sword in her hand, her steely presence settling into an even, comfortable glow. The practice blade rested lightly in her hand, and his first foray was met with a single smooth parry and riposte, pushing his blade offline with hers sliding in under his guard at his chest. He disengaged, flicking his sword back into his guard. The next time he attacked, it was the same, her blade rolling up over his like water, base meeting tip, and neatly levering it out of the way. 

He quickly found it was typical of the way she fought. Solid, centered, calm; a steady and unshakable defense, and a centered focus Masters several times her age would be pleased with. She had the reflex of long training, the fluidity of a fighter who’d spent hours practicing not only the practical, but the most graceful and efficient possible way to achieve it, and Plo guessed she must have been participating in this particular martial art since she was the age of a Padawan at least. Quite possibly childhood, in fact. 

He happily took the offense, evaluating her skills on the one hand and thoroughly enjoying himself on the other.

Getting her out of the defensive was the difficult part. Despite the openings he left, and every attempt to provoke her into a hasty attack, she refused to take the bait, waiting in her guard for him to move in again, watching him with cool evaluation. If there was any emotion moving under the surface of her concentration, it was satisfaction. 

After the third time she completely ignored an opening, he realized why–she was feeling him out. Less-experienced fighters━including some Jedi━didn’t have the confidence or patience necessary to fight a purely defensive battle regardless of provocation. She was confident enough in her abilities to risk giving him control of the fight, because she’d decided learning how he fought was more important than winning the bout. 

He smiled behind his mask, tusks twitching upward. All right, then.

They were very nearly the same height. Plo thought he might have the slightest range advantage, but it barely mattered; Chester’s defense was so solid. Were this a lightsaber match, he would have tried wearing her down bit by bit, waiting for fatigue to force an error. Humans━most species in fact━did not have the endurance to match a Baran Do Sage. 

Since this was not a lightsaber match, Plo opted to play into her tactics. This could be risky; this particular blade was not his specialty. But winning was not the point of this match.

He pushed his advantage, more aggressive than he was usually wont to be, moving fast and paying less attention to his defense. It felt strange━he usually preferred a focused defense, waiting out an opponent. Kel dor tired slowly. 

Though, watching her, she seemed to be used to fighting opponents who tired more slowly than she did. It showed in the economy of her movements, in how she used her own body’s mechanics and leverage to do most of the work. She was apparently used to stronger opponents, too, very rarely meeting him strength to strength, often fluidly moving with a blow into a parry and counter. This was strange; she was big for a human and strongly muscled━most humans her size did call on their strength in duels. Which made him wonder who, exactly, she was used to fighting. 

She was also getting suspicious, he could feel it in the brightening of her presence and see it plain on her face as he attacked again, leaving far too much wide open, and then all at once she got it. Her eyebrows shot up and she looked him full in the face and grinned like they were sharing a joke.

Then she took the offensive, fast and brutal with a parry that bashed his sword up out of the way and dropped the point neatly at his face in a picture-perfect lunge. Plo stepped out of meter and she pressed the advantage, a series of rapid flashing jabs and disengagements, sword flickering around his in a rapid barrage, waiting for him to make an error. But even as she did, her presence remained calm, steady, and centered, when many people would have flared with enthusiasm. 

It was much more in keeping with her Force presence than her foolhardy escape attempts had been. That was something to think about—what had spurred her to act so thoughtlessly, though perhaps that seemed obvious. But there was a second possibility, that she had not in fact acted uncharacteristically at all, that from her point of view she’d been acting perfectly reasonably—certainly she’d seemed steady enough about all her mischief. As if it were all perfectly logical, and it was strange the Jedi didn’t immediately understand.

It was that steadiness that did her in, in the end. In an experimental spirit, Plo decided to try something different–more suited to Anakin than his usual, a rapid aggressive attack that left his flank wide open. She didn’t go for it, suspecting a trap━not entirely inappropriate━and as she pivoted away to meet his blow, he dropped his guard and came up under hers. She parried at the last moment, a fast counterclockwise rotation of her blade, but it was too late; padded tip made solid contact with ribcage. 

At the same time, Plo felt a firm impact on his leg, just where many humanoid species had a major artery. He didn’t need to glance down to know it had been a draw.

“Well,” she said, a little out of breath and cheerful, “you certainly got me.”

He lowered his blade and stepped back, giving her a respectful bow. “It seems we have a mutual kill. Thank you, Commander. I haven’t had such fun in a spar for some time.”

He noticed, at that point, a number of Force presences gathered near the open door. It seemed they had attracted an audience.

Initiates, mostly━a mixed-age group, younger ones to older children who might have expected to be being chosen as Padawans around now, were it not for the war. “That was awesome,” someone whispered, enthusiastic━“Totally wizard,” agreed another.

Plo turned to greet them, bowing to Battlemaster Cin Drallig, who stood off to the side of the gaggle of adolescents, and then to the children themselves. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chester following his lead. 

Cin Drallig wasn’t the only Master there; after a moment, Luminara Unduli moved away from the wall where she’d been standing still as statuary, a thoughtful expression on her face and her Padawan, Barriss Offee, trailing behind her. 

“I think,” said Master Luminara, “some introduction to jar’kai might be prudent. That offhand is a liability, Knight Tulin.”

Chester looked briefly startled, then bowed respectfully to her as well. “Thank you for the advice, ma’am,” she said. “And I beg pardon for any confusion—my name is Diane Chester. My resemblance to Knight Tulin is the reason I am an… unexpected guest of the Republic.”

The brief flash of bitterness in her presence was quickly controlled, and never reached her face.

Luminara blinked, the only outward indication of the startlement that blossomed through her presence. “I apologise for the mistake, Diane Chester. Your resemblance is… striking.” She bowed in apology.

“So I have been informed,” said Chester, very dryly, but her smile softened it. 

“No doubt,” said Luminara, almost without inflection. She could be awkward, when taken by surprise. “In that case, I will instead congratulate you on your swordsmanship. Master Plo is one of our best.”

“Thus, it’s quite a treat to see him finish in a draw,” put in Master Drallig. And that was definitely a flash of mischief in the man’s stern demeanor. He flashed a momentary smile at Plo, then drew Chester into an involved discussion over the match, Initiates trailing behind him like the tail of a comet.

It turned out Luminara had pressing questions for Plo. They spent five minutes turning over the problem of how to get a shipment of delicate medical supplies out to a far-flung hospital station, with occasional hesitant input from Padawan Offee. Then, solution decided, Luminara gave a short sigh.

“I hope I have not caused offense. Barriss and I have only returned this morning; I was not aware of the situation.” 

The usual explanation of Chester’s origins ensued. Plo started with the news of Knight Tulin’s flight, which Luminara had also clearly missed━unsurprising, after a months-long deployment in the far Outer Rim━and finished with the tentative truce they seemed to have arrived at. “We are in the process of investigating the Abbaji wormfield, but we suspect it is going to take some time.”

“So she’s stuck here, for who knows how long.” Padawan Offee glanced toward Chester, sympathetic. She blinked, and her mouth twitched into a subtle smile. “But at least she will have company.” 

Plo turned to look. Chester stood in grave discussion with Master Drallig, while two of the younger Initiates hung gleefully from her outstretched arms. 

(“I’m the tallest in my family, and I have little cousins,” she explained later on, with a wistful smile. “I’m used to being the jungle gym.”)

 A week later, Plo was dragged from deep sleep one night by the impolite and very loud beeping of his emergency comm. He fought his way out of the tangled nest of his blankets and snatched the comm up from its charging port.

COUNCIL NOW, flashed the message across the too-bright screen. SENSITIVE MATTER.

Plo sighed into the darkness. Duty seldom called at convenient times.

The lights in the Council chamber were turned down low, and the myriad lights of the city outside threw a yellow tint through the encircling windows, faintly gilding. 

There were seven of them in the room, now━Eeth and Adi had been deployed two days ago. None of the offworld Generals had responded to the comm, which wasn’t unusual. Their empty seats threw long shadows across the mosaic floor.

Plo hurried to his chair and sat. “What is the emergency?”

Depa was the only one not also seated; she paced back and forth around her empty chair, typing hurriedly into her datapad. “We’ve had a security breach. Floors Three and Four, close to the Guard residences and not much else. Two intruders━both have escaped. The Guards have just called off the search.”

“We have very little information about the intruders themselves,” said Mace slowly. “But our sources in the Senate have indicated that Admiral Tarkin has continued agitating for Intelligence to take custody of our guest.”

“You think they might be connected?” said Depa, glancing sharply up from the datapad. 

Mace frowned. “I don’t think we should discount the possibility. The Commander has a tendency to attract attention, and she certainly seems to have held the Admiral’s focus like little else.”

Plo leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers in thought. “Her assigned quarters are on Floor Four.”

The Guard residences were a few halls away, but not far enough for comfort. 

Depa tapped away at the datapad. “I’m sending Guards to that corridor. When was the last time you checked on her?”

“As I came here. She was sleeping, I believe.” Her presence had been soft and muted, but unmistakable. Plo fired off a quick message to Master Heydar in the room next to her. Heydar, known insomniac, responded in seconds with a thumbs-up emoticon.

“Is there any other possible explanation?” Ki-Adi-Mundi leaned into the arm of his chair, propping himself up on his elbow. He looked tired, in disarray━they all did, at this unfortunate time of night. Plo hadn’t had the time to throw on his usual turtleneck undershirt (one had to be somewhat careful with the tusks). Depa’s usually-neat braids were giving off flyaway hairs; Saesee had tied his robes with what looked like it might have come off a bathrobe instead. “I worry we are leaping to conclusions based on barely circumstantial evidence. There are many things in this Temple that might be a target for the Separatists, for example.”

“Perhaps,” said Mace, “but my current headache suggests otherwise.” He closed his eyes and reached up, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers. “These things are linked. I do not know how, I do not know why, but I can see it flickering at the edges of my vision. Republic Intelligence delegated the original retrieval mission to Master Krell despite his and his battalion’s specialties being frontline combat. Master Krell saw fit to contract a bounty hunter who has already acted against the Republic to fulfill the mission. Admiral Tarkin does not seem to care at all whether he has the right person, and that alone ought to rouse suspicion. Given his previously-expressed philosophies on war and power, I have to wonder if he is thinking beyond the current conflict.” 

“I would suspect the same,” said Plo. “And also suggest that legally, we have very few options to keep the Commander here, should Tarkin obtain a court order for her custody. Or, indeed, to ensure her return should Intelligence capture her by other means.”

“What are you suggesting?” asked Mace.

“Perhaps,” said Plo, folding his hands together in his lap and looking as innocent as he could manage, “we might make it a little more difficult for Intelligence to find her, if they make any hasty decisions. At least until some of this is… clearer.”

“Backup has been requested on Felucia,” said Depa, thoughtful. “And the 104th was already considered one of the better relief options.”

“Yes,” said Plo, still innocent. “After all, Commander Chester’s safety is my responsibility. I could not in conscience leave her here.”

Mace eyeballed him, the sort of eyeballing usually reserved for Skywalker or Kenobi. “Do you think she’s going to be any more easily managed in an active warzone than in the Temple?”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. But we will not be having to manage Intelligence at the same time. And, as has already been pointed out, Felucia is in desperate need of reinforcement.” Nevermind that Chester would probably see the move as getting her a step closer to returning home, and thus another reason, hopefully, to trust him.

His fellow Councilors looked at each other, plainly not happy, but already resigned. That was a promising sign.

“Very well,” said Mace. “It seems like the best option at the present time. How soon can you leave?”

“Immediately,” said Plo. “I will inform Commander Wolffe.”

It was not the smoothest deployment the 104th had ever made, but it was up there for speed. Orders came in at 1:48AM Coruscant standard, and three hours later they were in hyperspace, bearing for the Felucia front.

Wolffe had expected his general’s new personal problem to kick up a fuss, arrive late, and need her gear repacked four times before it could be stowed, but Chester appeared clear-eyed and grim, nothing out of order, and with the air of someone used to shipping out in the middle of the night. She looked like she was going to demand a report right along with the rest of the natborn officers.

Wolffe’s eyes narrowed. That was unexpected. He didn’t like or trust unexpected. Not from a stranger. Not from a stranger under suspicion of treason, even if the General insisted it was a case of mistaken identity. 

So he kept an eye on her, and he did not like what he saw. Because whatever the hell she claimed, she was a soldier. Fresh out of combat. You could see it in how she checked her surroundings, how she slid seamlessly into shipboard life, the way her eyes flicked toward access panels, escape pods, the armory. Worse, with the way she talked, like disagreement was unthinkable, she was an officer. 

The Jedi had been closemouthed about her, but the general had called her ‘Commander’ a few times within Wolffe’s hearing and he liked that even less. An unknown combat-experienced senior officer from an unknown power, in close proximity to his general? It was enough to take years off a man’s life.

She was far too interested in everything. The hyperdrive. The comms. The ships. His men and their wellbeing. She was horribly good at asking questions, and then she watched you; you could see the gears turning in her head.

She was the single most obvious spy Wolffe had ever met.

So it was both frustrating and incredibly confusing that General Plo did not seem to take the matter seriously at all. Indeed, he seemed to take perverse pleasure in telling Wolffe that Chester was: a) force-sensitive, b) extremely competent and very angry about her detention and c) had made some very dedicated escape attempts. 

None of these were endearing qualities. But you wouldn’t think it to hear Plo talk.

“You realize,” Chester was saying, “that I’ll be of limited use. Starfleet regulations prohibit interference with the normal development of other societies, and that includes taking sides in an armed conflict such as this one. I believe I can involve myself in first aid and evacuation, but fight I will not. I apologize.”

“That’s quite all right,” said the General, altogether too cheerfully. “We are primarily a mobile support battalion, ferrying supplies and acting as search-and-rescue and infrastructural support behind the front lines. Let me introduce you to our medical team, and we might find a temporary role for you in helping the injured.”

The Kaminoans had taught the vode many things about the Jedi. For some reason, they’d left out the reckless lack of self-preservation skills. 

Wolffe’s only consolation was that the 104th’s CMO seemed to have about the same opinion of their guest.

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to work with her,” Jelly said, half-folding his arms so that his ever-present cup of caf rested in the nook of his elbow. “She’s got officer and spy written all over her. What she doesn’t have is a surprising amount of basic medical knowledge. Do you know, I had to explain what a bacta bandage was to her? And she looked at it like it was banthashit. Actually, she looks at everything I’ve got like it’s banthashit, and it’s worse when she’s trying to be polite about it.”

Wolffe grunted. “I don’t like it,” he said. “She’s got training, but she talks like…” He gestured, trying to convey something between an antiwar activist and a Senator and one of the particularly stupid kinds of protocol droid. 

“It’s an act,” said Jelly. “No real person is that stupid and that well trained. Not at the same time. I had to explain money to her.”

“You’ve seen how she checks a room when she enters it. That’s combat experience, and recent.”

Jelly gave him a long, disparaging look. “Money , Wolffe.”

Wolffe dipped his head, sighed. He knew when he was beat. “Money, huh. What, do they use shells or something over there?”

“Nothing,” said Jelly. “Actually nothing at all. They just give each other what they need, or something, it wasn’t clear. Don’t ask me how that works. I’m a medic, not an economist.”