Karen Kenobi

The Death of ObiWan "Ben" Kenobi ... And others?

As Karen neared the elusive goal of having her own light sabre and her own name among Jedi ... or Sith, as she might be called, something changed in the whole fabric of the Empire.

Little more than a year before, almost the same day as her 18th birth celebration, she had been transferred to a gigantic space station. A top-secret hush-hush 'device' which Governor Tarkin, now a Grand Moff, had initiated. This device was too big to be manufactured near any main space lines, since it was secret.

But Karen wasn't all that concerned about being shipped out with him, her Dark Lord, and it, to the manufacturing sector where it was hidden. It was a mobile station, though slow. She knew it inside and out by the time any new news reached their ears.

She and Lord Vader had traded blows more seriously and Karen was on the verge of mastering her skills - though he would never refer to her as a Jedi. She could easily throw Force at people or objects, manipulate it almost as easily as though she was using her hands, heal or hurt with a thought and some concentration.

She could dance through a firefight simulation with ease. The Imperial stormtroopers, or even the elite guard, could not hope to keep up with her moves.

Karen would use her Force powers only to aid, not to instigate, an action. Almost as though they were incidental to her, and not something highly prized.

She did know they were exotic. She had been to enough Imperial functions where she felt tingling sensations from the other young attendees - her creche-mates that she had not had contact with for more than a decade. They would always recognize one another, these children of dead Jedi.

Or mostly-dead, as the case may be.

Though almost forbidden, Karen demanded to hear more about her history. She knew something about the creche now, through subtle requests and small Force-nudges mentally. A Senator here or Governor there would let drop a secret meant for no one's ears. No one particularly meaning those creche-born children.

Their parents were unknown, but it was odd that Lord Vader would always evade the topic as though he had something to hide. Karen's knowledge came from hidden info-cubes, smuggled in to her private chambers by unknowing Force-beguiled targets.

That the Jedi had been made great over the centuries... That was obvious. That they had been decimated in a matter of months by the new Empire was a fantastic tale, but one which she knew was true. Else, why would there not be any other Jedi than her Dark Lord?

Tales of the Sith were much, much harder to come by. She knew they existed, but they were almost impossible to find. On one slightly dangerous trip to a somewhat seedy locale, she managed to corner a Twi'lek into handing off a snippet of information.

So she knew that there was a Master to her Dark Lord. Someone above him. And, she knew that what he was doing with her was strictly-speaking forbidden.

It just didn't sit well, though. Something seemed to gnaw at her now. There were half-truths to be uncovered, glossed over facts to be revealed.

But she didn't dare ask him.

***

With a strangely slight jarring, the Death Star pulled into an attack position. Karen knew the sounds of this great battle station, she knew that the batteries were being powered up - and not for another targetless test.

She was aware that the Grand Moff was angry, so she remained as far from him as possible. Though he was elegantly older than most of the others on the station, he was feared as though he were the Emperor himself.

And the Emperor... Karen had been brought to him only once, and she knew that he was far far too great an evil to be ignored. She feared that evil, even beyond the level that she respected it.

Karen knew when she'd seen him that there was truly darkness and light in this universe.

She was no longer convinced of what side she would be on, knowing the difference between Jedi and Sith. It was more narrow a decision for her. Now it was laid plain.

Though she was still confused about what the station had to do with everything, Karen knew while walking along its clean, harshly lit metal corridors, that she was finding herself on the wrong side.

As the weapon - the whole station - geared up for the first true attack, Karen wondered what world it was, that they were hovering near. It was a pretty blue-white world. The stars outside the observation windows indicated a major area...

Alderaan? Yes, that would be it. The two big stars nearest and--

When the weapon fired, she was keenly aware of two things: one was the deaths of millions of people, spirits who were suddenly split from any hope of physical form, the population of Alderaan vaporized along with most of the mass of their planet.

The other was a sharp satisfaction coming from Tarkin and others aboard.

An almost eerie calm remained for a moment, but then even the gigantic moon-sized space station was buffeted by rubble and the sudden vacuume of gravity that was left when the planet had been consumed by the great weapon.

They began to move the station out of orbit - what was left to orbit were mere asteroid-sized pieces.

Karen cried, and didn't know why.

***

Everyone was busy. There was some huge activity on the station which commanded all the important-people's attention. None could be spared for Karen, not even from her mentors.

So she chose to observe, to take her time and concentrate. The ease which she clouded minds was equalled only with her knowledge of the ship's internal layout. She knew when the guards would be walking along what corridor. Where the prisoners were, where the communication rooms were set.

She knew that the alarms going off in the prison area would be attended soon enough by dozens of guards. She avoided that area, but... Still, Karen felt something pulling at her. Something she'd never truly known before.

Kin. Not like the creche-mates she had growing up, but kin as in blood of her blood. She sensed too, that there was something to the activities in the prison area, a familiar tang of her Lord Vader. Two somethings, it seemed. One had come aboard earlier, yet he did not acknowledge anything. Or perhaps he had, and unflinchingly steeled himself to whatever course of action needed to be taken.

Whatever. Karen slunk through the darkness between bright lights, shadows cast by sharp wall dividers and metal struts.

The station would never look truly finished. Even if it actually were deemed habitable by general populace, it would always look like exactly what it was: a weapon and a prison.

It had occurred to her that keeping dangerous political and social prisoners in a place that could be moved from star system to system and be used as a weapon capable of destroying whole planets, was not the best idea ever devised. But she was certain that Grand Moff Tarkin had not added that feature - of keeping their prisoners so near the controls of a weapon.

In most ways, the whole place was so secure. Karen had grown up floating between stations, on great star ships, and only occasionally visiting the ground of actual planets or moons. This station had its own gravity well, not made by machinery. It was an impressive piece of work.

It was her home. It was a weapon that had just killed millions.

It housed someone now, that she was drawn to like a moth to a flame.

Who was fighting for his life, to save those others as they ran toward their little crappy-ugly ship.

The moment that she saw him, she knew why Lord Vader had never referred to her family. Here was a true Jedi. Here was purity, flow, Force and respect. A sharp contrast to Vader's elegant evil lines, the sweep of his cape, the harsh breath of his suit's life support.

But here was just a man, as well. Asked at a fairly young age, as many Jedi were, to supply genetic material designed to be used as the next generation of hopeful Force manipulators.

Here was her father. She knew his name, Kenobi, was hers. The irony of his battle was not lost on her: she'd managed to locate rare records of who-taught-whom. Plus, she heard them speaking.

Vader referred to him as his old Master, but she knew he had a new one. A far more powerful one, in the Emperor.

A knot formed in Karen's throat. When her Dark Lord struck through Kenobi's brown cloak, a shattering clarity sprang upon Karen's young mind. Her father was dead. Long live his spirit.

Lord Vader tapped his foot onto the still-warm pile of clothing which was all that was left, oddly, of the man who had trained him from his youth. He had said, that he'd become more powerful than Vader could possibly know.

It was true. But Vader - at the moment - could not see just how true that was.

Karen did, in a way. But she was torn. How could this happen? All at once like this? She was still slightly taken aback by the sickness she felt at the death of Alderaan. Perhaps it tainted her judgement.

But when Vader and his attending guards walked by her, she remained unseen. She darted into the corridor where her father's 'remains' lay, and picked up the light sabre hilt which had become nestled in the cloth. She could still feel his presence on it.

Karen could not see her father's spirit, but she knew it was there, nearby. He had other places to be. Important places. But for just a moment, the strange shimmering form of Ben Kenobi, ObiWan, watched the daughter he had never known existed. Perhaps he was just as unsure as to what to think or do about her, as she felt about herself just then.

Karen moved only when it felt like she ought, when the spirit had left to go tend to other stranger relatives of people she'd known all her life.

She hurried down to where the council chambers were, darkened and empty. Sometimes the members of outlaying regions would come here and be told by Tarkin that they were either doing well or were going to be replaced by those who would willingly do his bidding.

He was not there, when she arrived. She sat at the edge of the huge black table, staring at the metal and pressform plastic and crystaline device in her hands.

She did not deserve this weapon. She was not a Jedi. She couldn't be a Sith, knowing that her Master was hardly on his own yet. He was still being carefully molded by the Emperor.

Karen clutched the light sabre in her hands, and willed it to life. It hummed and made the air feel crispy. It was a pale blue colored blade, a lovely color. She moved it through the air, still most comfortable with it in her right, while her left was occupied with distraction.

That was no trick a Jedi would use... She suddenly realized.

The station was moving again, she felt it kick into its slow progressive dance between the stars. It would take a while, days perhaps, to reach its destination.

Karen went to her private chambers, locked the door, and cried again.

***

"What do you mean, 'under attack'?" Karen asked sharply of one of the white-clad stormtroopers, as they hustled toward their stations.

"The station is under attack! Squadrons of small single-pilot fighters! It's hard to believe, but I guess the rebellion is really that desperate."

She let him go, and bit her lip. The station was almost invulnerable. And of course, the rebellion couldn't hope to muster large enough ships with firepower that could actually do any damage to its exterior structure.

And naturally, any normal attack would be repelled by either fighters as they were deploying, or by the onboard lasers. They wouldn't use the main weapon again unless it was targeted at something big and important.

It had taken the three days of their journey to actually repower the batteries. The weapon wasn't designed to be used multiple times in quick succession, but the distances between stars nullified any real problems of recharging.

Karen thought these things and then they festered in the back of her mind. Was she defending this weapon? Was she thinking of the rebellion as a bunch of pests who were good for nothing but to be used as examples to unruly subjects?

Or... Was she thinking that they were doing everything in their power to maintain the proper ways and means of the galactic realm?

It was true that she was torn between thinking ill and thinking they were the wisest people in the galaxy.

When the station began powering up for its next true attack, Karen happened to wander over the observation deck where the Grand Moff stood. He was attended by a nervous little man who almost begged him to leave.

"Leave the station? In our moment of victory?" He spat, and added something to the effect that he was absolutely secure here. Nothing could possibly breech the Death Star's defenses.

Others were not so sure. In fact, Karen knew that several other ships had left suddenly in the last few hours of travel. They were coming up around Yavin, a huge red colored gas giant, and on one of the moons lay the rebel base.

Some people had the good sense in their heads to bail when it was obvious that something was wrong.

And it was just in time, that Karen decided they were right. Something was wrong. Lord Vader was out on the surface with his private ship, having a dogfight with a young man who was, though Karen didn't know it, his own son.

The Force was bleeding through them like water through a sieve. She could feel them. And, she felt ObiWan's presence near the younger man.

Yet still she felt a tinge of betrayal, a hint of sadness because Tarkin wouldn't budge. Why wouldn't he leave the ship!? She had learned arrogance from him, if not from Vader. It made him blind - and still he remained behind.

As Karen stuffed her one single bag of belongings into her own 'appropriated' personal craft, punching out of the light gravity well of the Death Star just minutes before it was to fire upon Yavin Four, she gritted her teeth and wished very much that she wasn't going to miss him.

When the station was almost ready to fire, and Karen was out rather deeply into Yavin's orbit, she turned to see it. Its main weapon had oriented upon the moon, and had almost completed its firing phase. She could see the five points of glowing energy pods, as they were about to connect.

And then the station exploded.

Her heart caught in her throat. The Death Star exploded, into billions of pieces of heated rubble, gas clouds, and some small chunks of metal. Nothing was left, after the glow died down.

It wasn't like Alderaan - she watched the pieces drift by and then get caught in Yavin's gravity. They would surely drift down into the great gas giant within days, perhaps getting hooked up into one of the moons' orbits. There was just not going to be anything left.

She felt the inhabitants there too, nearly two hundred thousand men, women and one or two children, blown to vapor. Karen felt the pangs of anger, regret, and denial start within her.

She fought them, and fought back a sob. It was a weapon, and had been defeated. It was a big killing machine, made by ... Made by perhaps one of the most dangerous men in the Galaxy. A man who she had grown up to respect and perhaps even adore - if he never acted like a father, it wasn't because she didn't think of him that way.

Karen ground her hand past her teary eyes, clearing her vision and focusing on the tasks at hand. She had to get to Yavin Four, and get there without being shot down by their defenses. She had to convince the rebellion that she was going to help them - because she was. Wasn't she?

Her loyalties were crossed, her views were tainted, and her mind was no longer clear. Her journey had just begun.

<Back> <Next>