Star Wars: The Padawan Menace

Riq Thorne

Thorne hates his name. It fits him, of course. When he and his twin sister Lana were younger, she always used to call him a "thorne in the neck."

He hated it. He still does. But he never would've thought that someone else would've come up with that idea. Someone much more powerful.

Thorne is an observer. He knows it looks a little odd for a fifteen-year-old to sit there and stare off into space for what seems to be no reason at all- but anyone who knows him personally knows that he's just observing the galaxy spinning around. But Thorne never could've imagined that he'd end up observing what he is, now. It scares him and at the same time intrigues him, a feeling similar to that of a curious little boy reaching out in wonder to touch a flickering flame. The same feeling every kid gets when they receive their first blaster. Terrifying. But fascinating all the more.

"Do you realize that you're a thorn in the neck?" Thorne's master has always been strange that way. He always has seemed so intimidating, and yet he blurts out the most random, the most hilarious things. Though Thorne would never laugh. Laughter just doesn't happen in as depressing a place as this; they're on an Imperial Star Destroyer.Thorne eyes his master warily, wondering for what has to be the millionth time what it looks like underneath that black mask. Who is really there. Thorne's master's breath sounds no longer like that of a man's. It's more machine-like, now. Everything is. The black cloak no longer swishes out behind him like it used to. Now it just sways slightly as he walks, as if exhausted. Thorne's master has a slight limp now, as well. It's barely noticeable, unless you're as observant as Thorne. He got it from kicking at the locked-shut door of a crashed TIE fighter that had landed on Yavin just after the explosion of the first Death Star, only months before.

Thorne sighs. "I'm sorry, Master," he apologizes (again). "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't mean to just waltz into my meditation chambers?" His master roars, leaning in close, which is a rarity. Thorne's master hardly ever leans in close to anyone. "Is that right? Well, maybe I just won't mean to take away your most prized possession."

"My lightsaber?" Thorne gasps. "You'd really-"
But Thorne's master only leans back. "You'll have to fight the old-fashioned way, Thorne. The Empire can spare two WESTAR 25 blaster pistols, I'm sure."

That reminds Thorne of his childhood idols, Jango Fett and the newly-infamous (at the time) Boba Fett, the father-and-son bounty hunters. He wants to smile, but holds it back. "That'll be all right," he says. "But my lightsaber-"

"Is important to you, hmm?" Thorne's master asks, leaning back casually. "As it should be. It is a weapon to be used with when anger and hate enter your mind. To vent your feelings with. A true Sith weapon."
Thorne growls in anger, then remembers yesterday's lessons and lets the anger spread within him. Own him. He's doing the process right, getting angry like this, and he knows his master can feel it within him. Is smiling under that mask. Thorne tries to let the hatred grow stronger, but for some reason unbeknownst to him, something is holding him back. Something is pushing against the anger. For a second, Thorne's electrically yellow eyes turn to an icy shade of blue. He doubles over in agony, but doesn't cry out. Could it be...?

"Lana!" He yells aloud. "Please... help me!"

"Enough of this!" Thorne's master thunders, and he grips Thorne's shoulders angrily.

Thorne is trying to fight the Dark Side now, trying to keep it at bay. But his master's physical contact by touching his shoulders is able to relieve Thorne's pain. Seduce it. He can almost physically feel the irises in his eyes turning back to yellow.

"Thank you, my master," Thorne says, for some reason breathless.

His master remains silent. Thorne looks up and gives his master eye contact.

He is staring directly into the shielded eyes of Darth Vader.