Lost Property Box

Chapter 11

44 BBY

They had an hour before being deployed, and Cal had been visited by no less than nine younglings. One was a little Mirialan girl with a dark headdress, who'd gestured to his hair when asking; "Aren't you going to cover it? They'll make... comments." She says the last word as if it pains her, so Cal simply pulls his hood up and says;

"That's what I plan on." She grins. There's nothing quite like the kinship between sought after races.

(His just happens to be a little rarer.)

Another child was the blonde youngling, Siri Tachi, who'd stomped up to him and said; "You better be back before the month is over – that's his birthday, you know. So that you can say goodbye."

Cal frowned, having sworn he'd heard something about a sooner time limit, but refrained. "I'll certainly try, kiddo."

She nods, as if the words of some teenager she has only just met is somehow more comforting than a Masters. That's... not worrying at all.

One of the last is, interestingly, Bruck, who is given a severe and stern look from Knight Agen Kolar for not studying every waking moment (as if it helps, he thinks, when all the Masters have made up their minds already). The boy simply stands behind him, whilst he and a member of the Mechanical Division of the Explore-Corps (He didn't know they had those! He feels cheated.) bolt the hyperdrive back into position.

"Is something the matter, Initiate Chun," prompts Agen Kolar. The way he says Initiate sounds like it's some kind of great burden and source for scolding.

Cal only looks up when Bruck refuses to respond, smiling at the boy's glare.

"You've grown."

The white-haired boy startles. "It's been a day." How sad, he sounds like he's trying to fight the compliment, despite how badly he wants to deserve it.

"Even still," amends Cal. "Would the Bruck of yesterday, stand where the Bruck of today is standing, waiting to wish someone well?"

The Jedi-hopeful frowns in thought. The expression clears quickly, although his eyes shine suspiciously when he bids him a brisk-

"Good. Bye." Before legging it back to the Temple proper.

Cal turns back to the Acklay's final refits, sending Agen a quick look as he wipes grease from his palms with a coarse cloth.

"You should be gentler to the Initiates."

"And you should be harder on them," comes Agen Kolar's brusque response. "They are not clueless."

"Perhaps not," concedes Cal, marveling at how quickly Bruck was willing to bend when shown the slightest bit of unprecedented kindness. Worrying, for what could happen to the boy in the hands of someone who knows how to twist words better than Cal can. "But I think you've forgotten how scary it is to be young and unwanted. You were picked early, weren't you?"

"What?" Agen sounds scandalised.

Called it.

"You were picked. By a Master, before you ever had to stress too much about not being chosen. You don't understand it. And that's fine. You just need to have enough empathy to know that they were told their whole lives you either become a 'Jedi' by knighthood, or you 'wash out.'"

I would know, Cal doesn't say. I was, too. I know exactly what that means when the others know you were picked first, through sheer dumb luck.

Agen Kolar is quiet for a good long moment, blinking into the smog filled sky, before answering.

"The Corps isn't a washout." He barely sounds like he means it.