reborn § cal kestis

14

It's Cal. The words echoed in Sadira's mind. "What about Cal?"

  Greez grinned. "He's not dead, kiddo."

  Sadira's eyes widened. The news was like music to her ears. "He's not?" she exclaimed, then sprinted off towards the medcenter. The inside of the base was mostly destroyed. A crashed TIE fighter sat in the middle like a trophy, and two of the watchtowers were laying flat on the ground. Despite this, the rebels had recovered all they could and set up desks in clear areas. In the corner of the room, Sadira spotted the medbay.

It was a collection of beds, each with a curtain to separate them and give a semblance of privacy. Each one of the beds was full of sleeping, injured patients. Sadira could see Cal's bright red hair from afar, and wasted no time in making her way towards him. A few people yelped in surprise as she shoved passed them, but she didn't care.

Cere was standing by his bed, staring down at him. A breathing mask had been placed over his mouth and nose, and wires attached his arm to a thin pole. "How is he?"

Cere grinned. "He's alive."

BD-1 beeped happily from the side of the bed.

The tears from earlier began to spill, tumbling down Sadira's cheeks. "How? What happened?"

"We checked again. He still has a pulse, it's just very difficult to hear."

Sadira let out a sigh of relief. "I've never been more glad to be wrong," she chuckled.

A meddroid joined them. It was average height, made of a rusted metallic material, and it's hands had been replaced with surgical tools. "I have assessed the patient," the droid said. "He is doing fine, but there is a significant wound on his stomach. It will take a while to heal, and he won't be able to engage in any physical activity until this happens."

"Thank you, 2-3F. We don't have anywhere to go, so we can wait for him to get better."

The droid shuffled away. Two thoughts that hadn't occurred to Sadira before resurfaced in her mind. "What about the texts?" Weirdly, she hoped that Cal had informed Cere of what had happened prior. It may have made her look bad, but she'd rather not discuss it at that moment.

"Yes, I know what happened." Sadira swallowed. "But that's not important now. After everything is back to normal, we can discuss our plans."

Sadira nodded. That was the first problem down, but the second... "Can I have a moment alone with him, please?"

Cere smiled. "Of course." She stood from her chair and a reluctant BD-1 climbed into her hands. Cere drew the curtain shut.

Sadira took a seat on the bed. "I'm sorry, Cal. I don't know if you can hear me but I've made a mistake. I'll try to fix it, I promise, but I can't guarantee anything." She took a deep breath, then slid her hand into his. A cold, rigid object was hidden inside his curled fist. She tugged it out. It was her necklace.

Everything came rushing back. As she slipped the chain around her throat, she thought back to what Cal would have seen. Her sister, the Empire, the Force. Ever since her little sister had been taken from her to become a Padawan, and then was killed as a result of Order 66, she had hated Jedis and the Force. In the moment that D'ri Nekor told them of what happened, Sadira swore to never trust a Jedi again.

But she couldn't ignore it. It was always there, in the pit of her stomach, waiting. When she was younger, she called it the Pull. On occasions, she would accidentally use it, but managed to shamefully push it down. Then, when her sister was identified and taken to train, she knew that she didn't want to go. She couldn't go. Her father needed her, especially since their mothers' death was fresh in their minds, and it was her duty as the oldest child to look after him. So she hid it. The Force. The Pull. She pretended that it didn't exist, at least not inside of her.