                                Star Wars 

                           Wizard's RPG Stories

          source : http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=starwars/newsarchive
          upload : 10.IV.2006


     Letters in the Sand

     By Morrie Mullins

     Nothing about the way they dressed marked  them  as  different  from  the
Sophouse regulars. Their clothes - - loose-fitting, tan shirts and pants  that
might, weeks ago, have actually had pleats - - rode beneath a layer  of  dirt,
grease, and space dust darkened in places by sweat stains. They sat in a booth
in the back, beneath a flashing orange advertisement  for  "Gorksin  Ale:  The
Year's Best Expansion Export." Their drinks, watery-sweet confections that had
been delivered with a burst of flame but that now looked and smelled a  little
like drainage from the coolant  tank  of  a  wrecked  speeder,  sat  untouched
between them.

     You saw them come in. You saw them - - the tall one and the dark one -  -
walk to their table, sit down, order, and lean toward one another. The Tarasin
music coming  from  the  speakers  high  in  the  corners  settled  to  a  dim
caterwauling. The two men (almost everyone who was there agrees  on  only  two
things - - that they were male, and they were probably Human) didn't  seem  to
notice the music, nor did they care when the first of the other patrons joined
them.

     The conversation remained low, but one by one, the  regulars  drifted  to
that back table. The first few walked past, heard something that caught  their
attention, and stopped to talk; the rest simply followed suit. After  all,  it
wouldn't be Cularin if people weren't nosy.

     Despite your better judgment, you took a seat at a nearby table. The rest
of the talking  in  the  cantina  had  died  away,  leaving  the  low  hum  of
conversation from the tall one, the dark one, and their audience. They  either
had something very important to say or something was happening that someone  -
- maybe you - - would need to stop.

     So you sat down, a little more than two meters away, took a sip  of  your
drink, and cocked your head to listen.

     "... in the sand." The big one picked up his drink as if he might take  a
chug, sniffed it, and put it back on the table. "Lots of  trouble  comes  from
that direction. Most of what's wrong on the planet. True?"

     The dark one nodded.

     "That's not the worst of it," the big one  continued.  His  voice  was  a
hungry rumble, low and insistent, like a wave poised to crash.  "Nobody  knows
what's out there. It could be anything. People say you  shouldn't  be  scared,
there's Jedi all over the system. But you all saw what  happened.  That  thing
that was after the Jedi? They leveled buildings to kill it. They took out city
blocks. And do they have  the  credits  to  rebuild?  No,  because  all  their
resources are going to help the war. If we still had all the Masters here that
we used to have, that thing would never have gotten so far.  It  racked  up  a
pretty body count."

     Now the dark one raised his hand, balling his fingers into a fist  before
slowly uncurling them once more. His knuckles  crackled  like  frying  mynock.
"That is not the problem." He spoke like he had a throat full of gravel.  "The
Jedi order will always do what the Jedi can do.  But  watch  them.  Listen  to
them. They do not say it, but the Jedi? Afraid. Lanius, he is  not  so  big  a
fool as to not fear what is happening. All over the galaxy,  Jedi  are  dying.
The force for peace, for justice, is being  wiped  out.  Is  being  sent  into
battle and not coming back. How many did one droid kill? But  the  problem  is
not that Jedi cannot defeat their enemies. All things must end. The Jedi  must
end, some day. For a thousand generations, they have served the Republic.  But
the Jedi are not eternal. What happens when they are gone?"

     The others at the table murmured words you couldn't hear, but neither the
dark one nor the tall one seemed to pay them any  mind.  They  looked  at  one
another, then at the table between them, waiting.

     "You always talk doom and gloom," the tall one said,  shaking  his  head.
"Yes, the nature of the  universe  is  impermanence.  But  that  doesn't  mean
impermanence now. Just because this planet" - - he stomped the heavy  heel  of
his boot on the faux-stone floor  of  the  Sophouse  -  -  "will  probably  be
destroyed when Morasil or Termadus explodes, that doesn't mean we should worry
about it today."

     "Nobody's sending Morasil or Termadus off to fight a  foolish  war,"  the
dark one grumbled. "The stars are the stars, my friend. They do what they have
always done. If we were to pull them out of their orbits or fling a planet  or
two at them, just because we can, you see how long before  they  explode.  You
see. When the universe is not pushed; change  comes  slowly.  When  change  is
forced upon us, we see much more drastic effects. The Jedi are  guardians  and
negotiators, not soldiers. But the order of things has been  changed.  We  are
all being asked to do things we've never  done  before.  It's  too  much,  too
quickly. The center cannot hold."

     The tall one glanced around, his expression almost surprised,  as  if  he
were noticing the crowd for the first time. "Assume you're  right,"  he  said,
his eyes drifting past the dark one. "What do  we  do  about  it?  What  would
happen if all the Jedi were to die? It's a ridiculous idea, but if  we  extend
your metaphor - - suns exploding and all that  -  -  isn't  that  the  logical
outcome? What does the galaxy lose if that happens?"

     "Peace?"  The  voice  came  from  one  of  the  scruffy,  dirty,   smelly
individuals who'd taken up positions against the nearby wall, nursing mugs  of
Rodian ale and listening to the conversation. In the cool glow of  the  orange
advertisement flashing unevenly from the wall, they all looked alike, and  all
had the same dimly fearful, mostly inebriated slackness around their eyes.

     "We don't know that, do we?" The tall one stared at the table rather than
looking toward the speaker. "We don't. More to the point, we can't."

     "Hard to lose something already lost," the dark one said.  "If  the  Jedi
keep peace, where does this war come from? We have no peace. It might as  well
be that we have no Jedi."

     The silence that followed his comment stretched  like  monofilament  into
the Sophouse dark. It shattered when the tall one spoke.

     "Maybe things have moved beyond what the Jedi can handle," he said.  "How
long have we relied on them? Peacekeepers, negotiators, mystics. The Jedi mean
something different to every person. Here on Cularin, they are noble, or  they
are thugs. Which Jedi have you met this week?"

     "They are as stars in the sky," the dark one  said.  Now  he  did  drink,
grimacing as the colloidal goo passed his lips. "Numerous,  but  ancient.  The
light they offer was generations old when the first settlers came to  Cularin.
They burned out long ago, but only now do we see  the  dark  they  will  leave
behind."

     The tall one pushed his glass across the table. "My friend sees  darkness
in every place there's light. Don't listen to him. We  ask  too  much  of  the
Jedi, that's all. We expect them to be  more  than  mortal.  That's  just  not
possible. Somewhere, a long time ago, we knew that. Then we forgot. We started
believing they were greater than us." He sighed, scratched his cheek.

     "Then some of them started believing it. There is no death, there is  the
Force." He shook his head sadly. "If there is no death, what were those  piles
of flesh and bone that got scooped into bags and carried out of  Hedrett  when
the droid was done with them? Philosophy only carries them so far.  It's  good
to have something to guide your life. It's good to believe in  something.  But
in the end, the world is what it is. The Jedi are  too  wrapped  up  in  their
mysteries to see that everyone else already knows how their story ends."

     He shook a finger at the dark one. "But not when.  It's  inevitable  that
one day, there will be no more Jedi. But that day isn't today, my friend.  Not
today."

     The dark one swallowed the last of his drink and eyed the glass the  tall
one had passed him. His face twisted in a scowl. "Today. Tomorrow.  Yesterday.
Always, you, with the linear universe. Time is not a line. Planets do not move
in lines. The universe moves in its great ellipse,  and  everything  that  can
happen, that will happen, already has happened."

     The tall one reached across the table and took his glass back even as the
dark one reached for it. "I should know better than to let you drink."

     "The Jedi are already gone."

     "The Jedi are still on Almas. Some of them are walking the streets here."

     "Ghosts. Memories."

     "Flesh and blood. But they've forgotten who they're supposed to be,  what
they're supposed to be doing. If they remembered, they'd  be  doing  something
different."

     "But they're ghosts."

     "They live on Almas. They train on Almas."

     "They've forgotten who they are. What legacy will they leave behind?" The
dark one leaned forward. "The Jedi don't  even  train  new  Padawans.  No  new
Padawans on Almas. With no Padawans to carry  on,  what  will  they  leave  on
Almas?"

     "An Academy. A library. A museum." The tall one paused. "All right, then.
You tell me, what are they going to leave on Almas?"

     With a sad sigh, the dark one spread his hands palms  up  on  the  table.
"Only letters in the sand, my friend. Only letters in the sand." Then his hand
closed around the tall one's glass and he drank.