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Chapter Text

            Ngona awakes with the sun in her eyes, as she does every morning. Her bed faces a sunward window, and while she could request a shade, or sleep the other way on her bed, there is something comforting about knowing that at least one thing will be the same every day – one constant in a sea of variables.

            Ngona has been at the orphanage for five hundred and sixty-two rotations. Before that, she lived on the streets, eating whatever food she could find and sleeping under shop awnings. And longer ago, before even that, she lived with a family who loved her – or maybe she just likes to think she did. In truth, it is too long ago for her to rightly say what is memory and what is longing.

            By the time Ngona is in the dining hall, eating a flavorless breakfast, she begins to notice that some of the children are looking at her strangely, maybe enviously. Before she can ask what’s going on, Madame strides into the room, placing one hand on her shoulder.

            “Ngona,” she says cheerfully, “if you’ve finished your breakfast, we should get you ready.”

            Ngona likes Madame, from what she knows of her. She is never unkind to the children. But with so many orphans to keep under her roof, she never seems to have time for any one of them in particular, and communication is not her strong suit. So Ngona finally asks, as she is scrubbing under her fingernails and Madame is brushing her lilac-colored hair: what is she getting ready for?

            Madame’s reply confirms Ngona’s guess: today she has a prospective parent coming to see her and, if all goes according to plan, adopt her. Ngona wonders why she is seemingly the last person in the entire orphanage to know, but she cannot think of a polite way to ask, so she stays quiet. Confusingly, she doesn’t feel excitement or relief, the way she always expects to when she dreams of being taken home by a new family. The feeling in her stomach is more akin to being awake in the middle of the night with nobody to talk to. But she stands up, smooths her shirt, puts on her nice coat to make a good impression, and follows Madame down the hall, into the meeting room.

            The room is at the front of the building, a serene and elegantly furnished place with large sunny windows. By the time they get there, a tall, robed figure is already standing by the table, and she turns to face Madame and Ngona as they walk in. Her mouth is smiling. Her eyes are not. They are cold, red-rimmed and pale yellow, and they see too much.

            “Ngona,” the woman says, “it’s so good to finally meet you. No need to sit,” she adds, getting up from her chair. “We can make this quick, and you’ll be at your new home in no time.”

            Without meaning to, Ngona takes a step backward. Her skin is prickling. Something in the back of her mind is trying to tug her away from the tall stranger, but where can she go?

            “Don’t be shy, Ngona,” the woman says, sensing her fear. “A child like you with such special talents needs special attention.” Suddenly Ngona’s ears have stopped hearing, and now the woman’s voice is in her mind. I can teach you so many new ways to use your power, to make it stronger –

            Everything is wrong. Nobody is supposed to know about her power. She’s made sure she only ever uses it in secret, lifting little things and turning pages of books without touching them when nobody is looking. Ngona stands still, frozen to the spot, barely breathing. Now the woman is inside her head again, but there are no more words, just a presence and an intent and a rising flood of something that terrifies her, something she doesn’t even recognize.

            Then the stranger moves toward her again, and the spell is broken. Before the woman can grab her arm, Ngona is running, out of the room and down the short hall and out of the orphanage and into the street. Behind her, she can hear the woman shouting. Ahead of her, objects are tumbling into the street to block her path. Ngona turns off the main road into an alleyway, thankful that her feet still remember these streets even though she no longer walks them every day. She can feel her pursuer growing farther away and frustrated, but she knows she will not be able to run forever, nor hide from a woman who can crawl inside her mind as long as she is near. As Ngona’s mind scrambles desperately, searching for a way to escape, she draws near to a shipping yard, where men are loading cargo crates into an interplanetary hauler. In an instant, she knows what she must do. No matter where this ship is headed, it will take her away from the woman behind her. For now, everything else is unimportant.

            Ngona runs past the ship, and the men take no notice of her – she’s just another child hanging around the docks to see the ships. Once she knows they are not watching her, she doubles back, slipping into the cargo bay when everyone has their back turned. Now that she’s inside the ship, hiding behind piles of goods, she falls to her knees, trying to catch her breath. She feels sure that the men can hear her panting, but they just continue loading up the cargo until the hold is almost completely full. One of them shouts a signal, and the bay doors begin to close, shutting out the light from outside. Once the doors seal, the only light is what filters through a filthy window in the wall of the hold.

            Being alone in the dark has never before felt so reassuring.

Chapter Text

            Ngona wakes with a start as the ship touches the ground none too gracefully, the bumpy landing sending a shudder through the vessel that rattles the cargo crates around her. Standing up to peer out the grimy slit of a window, she can see nothing but snow. Orto Plutonia is a desolate, icy wasteland, but it is far away from the place she has left, and for now that is all that matters.

            Whirling around at a sound behind her, Ngona sees the cargo hold door open, and she ducks behind a box. The ship’s crew is filing into the hold to unload the goods to the dock. Their voices, loud and harsh, call back and forth to each other with words she can’t quite hear, or maybe can’t understand. The men seem tired, irritable, running on too much liquor and not enough sleep. Each one lifts a heavy crate or two, then leaves through the bay doors.

            As soon as the last man leaves the cargo hold, Ngona leaves too, crouching behind a stack of crates that have already been unloaded. A blast of cold air slams into her face, and for a moment her body forgets how to breathe. She realizes, too late, that she is woefully underdressed for this world's climate. Her coat offers a shield from the icy breeze, but the other kind of cold, the one that seeps like water, soon makes its way through the thin fabric. Briefly she considers showing herself and asking the crew to help her walk into the nearby town, but the memory of their rough and frightening voices is fresh in her mind, and she knows she has no real choice but to go into town alone. The sky is growing dim, but the creeping darkness makes the lights of the town easier to see through the snow that flies thick in the air. Once she is sure nobody is looking her way, Ngona starts toward the lights. It can't be that far, she tells herself, and then she can find an inn, a shelter, anything with four walls and a roof to keep out the wind and the snow.

            But she has not gone far when the snowfall grows heavier still. The town lights, once beacons cutting through the night, fade quickly, growing so dim she has to squint to see them, and the terrain is becoming slick and uneven. Ngona almost slips on an icy patch, steadies herself, and steps forward onto ground that gives way beneath her feet.

            For what seems like a long, long time, Ngona is falling, tumbling over and over in a churn of powder snow. When she finally hits the ground at the bottom of the bluff, she feels like she is still moving. Her head is spinning, her skin growing numb, her hands stiff and clumsy. But when she sits up to look around, she can still see a light, closer and brighter than before. Maybe there is a camp ahead, belonging to a traveler less lost than she, where she can spend the night by a warm fire. On unsteady legs, she walks closer. The light proves to be higher off the ground than she had thought - not a campfire, but a lantern. As she draws closer, the lantern's glow washes over its owner: a creature covered in thick fur, astride a beast with protruding fangs easily the size of Ngona's arms.

            Ngona stands perfectly still, her golden eyes staring into four shiny black ones. If there is emotion on the stranger's face, she cannot read it. Their breath steams in the lantern light, pooling around a tubelike mouth. For a few moments nobody moves and then, wordlessly, the stranger reaches down, offering a silent invitation. Ngona is too desperate, too curious to be frightened, and she moves forward and takes it, her tiny blue hand completely lost in one that seems to be made more of claws than anything else. Effortlessly, the stranger pulls her up to sit in front of them atop the huge animal's back. Suddenly she is surrounded by warmth, and the soft feeling of the stranger's fur is instantly comforting. Before they even begin moving, before the glow of the cave is in sight, before she is taken gently from the animal's back and laid by a fire under layers and layers of blankets and furs, Ngona is asleep.

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            Ngona has been with her new friends for around twenty rotations, maybe longer. Their language is fresh to her ears, buzzes and purrs and chirps that are nothing like the sounds of the Pantoran or Basic she knows, but she picks up on it quickly, and soon she can approximate the sounds well enough to tell her new caretakers when she needs something. They are so different from her in almost every way, but they are kind to her, and she feels safer here than she has in a long time. They provide her with plenty of food, though they are confused at her insistence upon holding it over the fire until it grows, in their opinion, quite unpalatable. Their own food is uncooked, consisting of raw meat and hardy winter tubers mashed together into a paste, with enough meltwater added to render it sippable through their long, slender mouths.

            Despite the kindness of these people, Ngona finds a familiar feeling returning, a homesickness for a home she’s never had. And she feels her powers growing restless within her, wanting to flourish but unsure how. She spends much of every long, cold night staring into the fire long after everyone else is asleep, wondering if the home she is meant to have even exists – in this galaxy or any other.

            One morning dawns comparatively warmer, with almost no wind. Ngona hardly feels the cold anymore, thanks to the fur garments her caretakers have presented her with, but the absence of wind is a welcome relief. Today, for perhaps the first time since Ngona’s arrival here, the sun is visible, dancing on the snow so brightly that it takes her eyes some time to get used to it. She is sitting just outside the cave mouth, watching the sparkling icicles as they drip and grow slowly longer, when she hears the ship.

            Ngona retreats into the cave and watches as the ship lands nearby, kicking up a haze of snow all around. She is feeling several things at once: curiosity, excitement, surprise, and beneath it all, concern. Who could have found her here? The possibility that springs most readily to her mind is the one she least wants to consider. Could the strange woman from the orphanage have sought her out, even across the space between planets?

            But as the snow settles down around the ship, her fears settle down too. She feels a wave of calm suddenly, and something else along with it, something familiar. It is as though the power inside her is calling out to another being, and the other being is answering back.

            The ship’s ramp drops down, and a figure emerges. Her outfit is very practical, guarding her against the cold, but also very elegant: layers of thick robes, and a heavy cloak that flows behind her as she approaches. From her belt hangs, among other things, a tube that glints in the sunshine, shaped somewhat like a handlight, but different somehow, finer. Her hair is long, but gathered into a bun, with carved wooden pins holding it in place.

            Ngona is surrounded by the furry bodies of her companions by the time the newcomer reaches the cave. They press around her, not stiflingly close, but making it clear that they will allow no harm to come to her. At a reassurance from Ngona, they disperse somewhat, but remain alert.

            The cloaked newcomer is standing in the cave now, right in front of Ngona. She holds both of her hands in plain view, palms outward, a symbol of peace. Ngona steps forward almost automatically, her eyes meeting the woman’s calm gaze. She wants to speak, but she doesn’t know what to say, so she just listens instead.

            “Child.” The woman’s voice is gentle, with a genuine warmth and softness to it that puts Ngona even more at ease. “I do not know you, but I know your power. I have this power too. It is what has brought us together. If you come with me, child, I will take you to a place where you can learn how to use it.”

            Ngona’s eyes are huge with wonder and excitement. She wants so badly to go, but –

            “Can I talk to my friends first?” she asks. “I want to say goodbye – and thank you.”

            The woman smiles. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

            Ngona turns to the tribe, unsure where to start. After a pause, she thanks them in Pantoran, then, slowly and carefully, in their own language, to the best of her ability. From their reactions, it is clear that at least her intention is understood. She steps forward to embrace each of them in turn, feeling their fur soft against her cheek. As she comes to the end of the line, her rescuer from that snowy night – it seems so long ago – has returned from a brief trip to the back of the cave. Ngona hugs them tightest of all, and as she draws back, they press something into her hand. She looks down to see a shed fang from one of the huge creatures that the tribe keep as companions and mounts, carved with intricate designs and strung on a leather cord.

            “Thank you,” she begins, then tries something else. Focusing on her friend’s life energy, she speaks with a feeling, rather than words: Thank you. I will never forget you, and I will do my best to pass your kindness on to every being I meet.

            As she departs the cave, Ngona looks back at the tribe and lifts both her hands above her head, fingers spread wide, in the gesture they use as a greeting and a farewell. The gesture is returned, and Ngona turns back toward the ship, walking up the ramp and into the beginning of a new life, a larger world.

            When they are seated in the cockpit, in front of a baffling array of buttons Ngona cannot begin to parse, the woman turns to her. “What is your name, little one?”

            “Ngona,” she says, trying to remember how long it’s been since anyone has asked her that.

            The woman smiles and turns back to the ship’s controls, preparing for takeoff. “A fine name. Mine is Jocasta Nu, and I am a Knight of the Jedi Order.”

Chapter Text

            Ngona’s head is tumbling with excitement at the idea of learning new things. Any residual shyness she might have had has melted away, and she spends most of her waking hours of the journey – the second space journey of her life, and by far the longest – asking question after question, which Jocasta answers gladly, with seemingly everlasting patience.

            By the time they are approaching their destination – it must have been several rotations by now – Ngona knows much more about the ship and its inner workings than she could ever have imagined. Having exhausted the possibilities to learn about things inside the ship, Ngona turns her limitless curiosity to the vast blackness of space outside the windows. She can see the planet growing closer and closer, and though she has many ideas about what it might look like once she arrives, none of them even come close to the truth.

            “We’re in luck,” Jocasta says after she hangs up a comm call informing the dock staff of the ship’s impending landing. “A cloudy nighttime landing is the best view of Coruscant a first-time traveler can hope for.”

            Ngona wonders what Jocasta means by this, but she makes sure to pay close attention, her face almost touching the window. Soon they are within the clouds – it looks just like heavy fog, enfolding the ship like a blanket. The cloud cover is thick, and it takes some time to pass through, but suddenly, all at once, the fog is gone, replaced by a thousand thousand thousand lights burning, twinkling, glowing in every color as far as Ngona can see in every direction. Her mouth drops open as she tries to take it all in: the whole entire world is one gigantic city, with buildings reaching almost as high as the rapidly descending ship, and streams of speeders flowing in a riverlike grid, passing so close to each other but never colliding. Ngona is watching everything so closely that she barely realizes when the ship finally comes to a stop.

            “We’re here,” Jocasta says, and she shows Ngona how to run the post-flight checks and shutdown sequence. Then she picks up her small pack of belongings, and the two leave the ship together, heading for the huge building that Ngona now knows is called the Jedi Temple.

            Most of the rest of the night passes in a blur of new sights and sounds and faces. The Temple is quieter than usual due to the time of night, but Ngona still meets plenty of people on her way through the huge halls. After what feels to Ngona’s legs like a very long walk, Jocasta shows her to a small room with several beds. Most of the beds are occupied by children around her age, maybe a little younger, and many of them are asleep. A few curious eyes follow her as she makes her way to an empty bed.

            “Now you can get some proper rest,” Jocasta whispers, “and there will be so much more to do in the morning.”

            Ngona nods, covering a yawn with one hand as she waves to Jocasta’s departing form with the other. Now that she’s in the dark and the quiet, sitting on a real bed for the first time in ages, she is so, so tired, but she can’t sleep just yet. Instead she spends a few moments turning everything over and over in her mind. She has already learned so much about this new world, thanks to her knowledgeable traveling companion. She has learned that there is a name for the power she has always felt within her and around her. It is called the Force – a simple name for such a vast and mysterious power.

            Ngona reaches out now through the Force, letting her energy settle into this new place and explore the corners of the room. All around her she can feel the Temple’s occupants, some asleep, some awake, all connected, and suddenly, for the first time in her life, she understands. The home she has always longed for is not just a place. It is these people, the beings all around her, their lives like shimmering threads woven together into a tapestry by the power – the Force.

            She starts to lie down, but stops when something pokes into her side. Reaching into her pocket, she finds the carved tooth necklace and draws it out with a smile. She hangs it on the corner of her bed for the night, and it clacks softly against the post a few times. Before it comes to rest, Ngona is asleep.

            As the first order of business the next morning, Ngona is brought to the Archives so that her information can be registered in a database. It goes quickly – the staff of the Archives pride themselves on their efficiency. The records worker, seated at a low table with a datapad, fills in all the information but her name, then looks up at her. He is Pantoran, and he recognizes her accent and knows the region she comes from. He knows the form her surname would take, if she had one.

            “Ngona’ia’…?” Ngona, child of…?

            Ngona looks down, as if she can look through time and somehow remember something she’s never known. Even at the orphanage, she was never given a surname. In fact, the orphanage tended to strip surnames from any child who had them, to symbolize a fresh start when they were brought to their new family.

            A fresh start.

            There is an expression in Pantoran: Ua matoka. Like many Pantoran expressions and metaphors, it uses one word which, through context, is commonly understood to mean another. Translated literally into Basic, it means: the stars know. Colloquially, it actually means something more like: nobody knows.

            Ngona looks back up. “’Ia’ua,” she says at last. “Ngona’ia’ua.”

            Ngona, child of no one.

            Ngona, child of the stars.