Surprisingly, things went back to normal.
Well, normal as it could be. After I recharged my battery (I run on a battery that emits enough electricity to keeps me alive), I settled back into the Jedi routine. I went on a few missions and taught a few classes to the young Padawans. After a while, people stopped asking questions and went along with their business. The thing that had been weighing heavily on my heart passed, but it soon reappeared.
I was teaching a history class about the Clone Wars when one of the Padawans asked me a question that brought back haunting memories.
“Yes?” I asked. I tapped the holo-board behind me, and a short clip popped up. It was showing a battle on a dry planet.
“Who was General Grievous?” the Padawan asked.
I chuckled. “General Grievous was a very powerful piece in the Clone Wars. He was trained by Count Dooku, but only in lightsabers and not the Force. He was known to take the lightsabers from the Jedi he killed.” Some of the Padawans shivered. “But the thing is, he was sloppy and thought that he could defeat every Jedi he came across.”
“Wasn’t he a cyborg?” Mari asked.
I nodded. “He was. Grievous was in a horrible speeder accident, and he barely made it out alive. For some reason, Dooku knew that Grievous would be powerful, and transferred his working organs into a metal body. Although it made his stronger, he couldn’t feel anything because his nerves were not able to be saved from the accident.” This reminds me of my story, I thought and cringed on the inside. It was like General Grievous’ fate and mine were parallel.
“Why do you look like him?” another Padawan asked. That was the question I had been dreading the whole time.
“It’s just a coincidence that he and I look alike. And besides, he is nothing like me.” My chin rose up, and I announced, “He is nothing like me, and I will never be like him.”
A shrill bell rang, signaling the end of the class. “Remember, we have a quiz tomorrow!” I called out to the Padawans heading out the door. I doubt they’ll remember.
I sat down in my chair, and buried my face in my hands. Just thinking the words ‘General Grievous’ gave me shivers up my spine. Everyone always asked why he and I looked alike, and I would always dodge that question. But I couldn’t dodge it forever.
Okay, I have to tell you my story. When I was about two, my parents and I were touring Courscant when a drunken pilot hit our speeder. We were fairly high up, and hit at least four or five ships while we were plummeting towards the ground. When it finally hit, everyone except me was already dead. I shortly lost consciousness a few minutes later.
The next I remember is waking up in the Jedi Temple in the healing wing. It was a horrible accident, and I was the only survivor. Most of my body was burned beyond recognition, so the healing droids decided to replace most of my body with metal. Only my heart, lungs, spine, brain, and eyes were able to be saved. My nerves were rewired, so that I could still feel and I could be as normal as possible.
And now, almost thirty years later, those memories are still painful.
“Are you okay, Master Siri?”
I looked up. Master Luke stared back at me from the doorframe.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
“Did they bring up General Grievous?” he asked.
“Of course they did. They always do.”
Luke glanced at me, real concern in his bright blue eyes. “Maybe you shouldn’t teach this history class.”
I shook my head. “No. I like teaching history.” I looked at the clock and got up. “I’m sorry, but I have a lightsabers class to teach.”
I shouldered past Luke and walked briskly down the hallway. I dabbed at my eyes, willing the tears to go away.
I gained my composure by the time I got to my other class. It was about wielding more than one lightsaber. It was with the younger Padawans, the ones that haven’t gotten their personal lightsabers yet.
“Hello, young ones,” I said, addressing the ten or so Padawans.
“Hello, Master Siri,” they replied.
“Today, we’re going to learn about wielding more than one lightsaber. Go over to the rack and grab two lightsabers that feel balanced for you. When you’re done picking your lightsabers, come and stand in front of me.”
The Padawans walked over to the rack that held the lightsabers. They started to test to see if they were balanced, and they had picked them in record time—fifteen minutes.
“Now, we’re going to learn some simple maneuvers,” I said, taking two of my lightsabers off my belt. “The first is . . .”
The class went fairly well, and no limbs were severed, thank the gods. I could tell that some of the Padawans would function pretty well with two, while others had no coordination whatsoever with two lightsabers. After the class, I returned to the dorms and stayed there for the rest of the night. I didn’t have to sleep, mainly because the battery fueled me all day.
“Ariem sotaka,” I muttered in my native language. It meant ‘do not cower in the face of oppression.’ And it meant so much to me.
From where I come from, Kalee, there are legends about parallel destinies. Supposedly, if an ancestor of yours has done something wrong, they can tell the gods they truly feel sorry, and the gods will have a blood relative repeat the exact same fate, but with other circumstances. These ‘destiny repeaters’ happened only once every thousand years or so.
When I had become a Jedi, I had pondered this legend. Could it be true? Could I be repeating someone else’s fate? How could I change it if I was?
The multitude of questions bounced around my mind, and in return, it gave me a headache. In the back of my mind, I knew I needed to tell someone that wasn’t Luke, but telling those people would be so hard. If I told everybody, it would spread very fast, and in less than a day, every Jedi, Padawan, and everyone in between would know.
But how would people treat me if they knew? Would I be shunned from the Order? Would I have my lightsabers taken away and be forced to wander the universe? Well, the sarcastic voice in my head said, you’ve already done that, haven’t you? And for once, I agreed with it.
I wanted to tell them, but at the same time . . . I didn’t want to. I know that some secrets are meant to be secret but others are meant to be told. I couldn’t tell if my secret was meant to be said or not.
I pondered this until the sun came up and the Jedi Temple was alive. I got up, my legs creaking. I decided to tell the three Jedi that I was the closest to and proceeded to the dining hall. I didn’t have to eat, but it was a good place to talk.
I glanced around the crowded room, looking for them. When I finally found them, I sat down and drummed my fingers on the table.
“Hey, Siri,” K’san said. K’san was a rarity—a Wookie Jedi. Wookies didn’t make good Jedi; they were too headstrong and they didn’t learn languages very well. But for some reason, K’san excelled at keeping control and even though he had a deep brassy growl for a voice, he knew more languages than me.
“Hi, K’san,” I replied.
Jacina, who had been sitting next to me, elbowed me. “So, what brings the prodigal cyborg to the dining hall?” Jacina’s wide smile reminded me of her father, Han Solo.
I sighed. “I need to tell you something.”
“Let me guess. You’re expecting.” This came from Ottagu, who was from Dagobah, the home of Jedi Master Yoda. And actually, Taggor looked like a younger version of Yoda.
I rolled my eyes. “Hell no. I can’t, remember?”
“Ohhhh, right,” Ottagu said. “So, what do you want to tell us?”
I sighed again. “I’ve been keeping a major secret from you guys.”
“What kind of secret?” Jacina asked. “C’mon, Siri, spill the beans!”
I mentally slapped my forehead. This was harder than I thought. “Well . . . it has something to do with my ancestry.”
“Let me guess, you’re related to Darth Vader,” K’san said, pointing his fork at me.
I glared at him and replied, “No, I’m not related to Darth Vader. I’m also not related to Count Dooku, Darth Sidious, Darth Maul, or Jango Fett.”
“So, who are you related to?” Ottagu asked, raising and eyebrow. For once, I was glad that he didn’t use backwards-talk like most people who came from Dagobah.
I got up and beckoned the others to follow. “I’ll show you, but I can’t do it in here.”
“But I’m not done eating,” K’san complained. He loved his food.
“You can finish it later,” I snapped. I walked away and the other Jedi followed me. I walked out to a large balcony where I could show them without the possibility of one of them losing a head or an arm or a leg.
“Okay, you brought us out here, so what are you going to do?” Jacina asked, pulling her cloak around her for warmth.
“I’ll show you,” I replied. I shrugged the cloak off my shoulders and held out my arms. The others looked on in confusion but they soon got it.
Suddenly, my arms started to split. In about five seconds, I had four arms instead of two. I grabbed a lightsaber in each hand and clicked them on. Blue and green mixed together to create one swirling mass.
“W-why didn’t you tell us, Siri?” K’san asked.
I glared at them. “Do you think I could? It’s a horrible thing that I have to be like this!”
“Siri,” Jacina murmured. “Calm down. It’ll be alright?”
My eyes burned with tears of hatred and longing. “No it won’t, Jacina! Can’t you see it?”
“See what?” Jacina looked puzzled.
I was slowly losing my patience with them. “Here, let me give you a hint.” I cleared my throat. “Jedi scum,” I growled. My voice sounded throatier and more male.
It clicked in Ottagu’s eyes. “Are you serious?”
I didn’t reply. Instead, I lunged for Jacina. When she whipped out her lightsaber, I created arcs with the top two arms while I jabbed with the bottom two. I was just demonstrating, but I saw real fear in her eyes.
A few seconds later, I manage to wrench the lightsaber from Jacina. I forcer her on her knees and hold the top two lightsabers in an X pattern, with Jacina’s neck a few inches from the blades.
“Okay,” she said, out of breath. “I get it now.”
I removed my lightsabers and put them back on my belt. My second pair of arms disappeared into the first one, and when I finished, I held out a hand for Jacina. She took it and I helped her to her feet.
“Siri,” she murmured. “I never knew. So you’re related to—“
I cut her off. “Yeah, I’m related to General Grievous