DISCLAIMER: Star Wars and all publicly recognisable characters, names and references, etc are the sole property of George Lucas, Lucasfilm Ltd, Lucasarts Inc and 20th Century Fox. This fan fiction was created solely for entertainment and no money was made from it. Also, no copyright or trademark infringement was intended. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Any other characters, the storyline and the actual story are the property of the author.
Shakiri looked at her reflection in the mirror. She turned sideways,
carefully surveying her silhouette and smoothing out the material of her
tan colored Jedi tunic and pants, making sure the bulge on the left side
wasn't obvious.
Was it? Would he be able to tell? Would he be able to read her thoughts? Would he be able to guess her intentions?
Shakiri often practiced shielding both her thoughts and emotions from her master, Ondi Eeara. It was difficult, for he could read her well—after all they had spent nine years together—but lately her practice had begun to pay off. She had learned how to partition her thoughts, allowing only selected thoughts to be read. Her master had been casting her perplexed frowns, and once he had asked her if she were feeling well, that was a good indicator that she was shielding successfully.
Not that it would matter. Not now. Not anymore.
She licked the tip of one finger and smoothed it carefully across one eyebrow then the other, bit her lips to make them red, then arranged her tunic shirt so that the material dipped a little lower then usual. She pulled her long blonde braid over her right shoulder and silently, for the hundredth time, cursed the custom for human Padawans to cut off their hair. It was a dumb custom. The haircut looked stupid and she missed her long hair. Maybe if her master saw her without her Padawan haircut, he would stop thinking of her as a daughter and protégé.
It was too late for that now. She laughed shortly and reflection laughed back. The arrangements she had made could not be unmade.
The young woman left her bedroom. The apartment that she shared with her master was dark and shadowed except for a small nightlight in the kitchen off to the left. She stood there for a few moments and looked around, cataloging each small kick-knack, though there were few. Jedi possessed very little material items. For her, that would change soon. She inhaled deeply and breathed the faint scent that she had come to associate with her master. It filled the apartment and made her heart ache and made her wonder if she was doing the right thing.
Could she do it?
Yes! a voice in her head assured her. You love him. That means he has to be your first. It would be a test of her resolve and commitment.
It was time. Excitement tingled along her nerve endings, arousing her and flushing her cheeks.
Shakiri opened herself to the Force and found him asleep in his room; she could tell his dreams were trouble, his mind was a jumble of restless thoughts and shifting dark images.
A thin smile touched her lips. She crossed the room to his bedroom door and touched the censor pad on the wall. The door slid open and she slipped inside and stood there, allowing her eyes adjust to the dark. At the opposite end of the room she could see the dark silhouette of her master tossing and moaning in his bed .
Ondi jerked awake.
"Shakiri?" he said quietly in the darkness. His calm tone a sharp contrast to his earlier tortured moans.
"Yes, master, it is I?"
"What are you doing here, Padawan. It is late."
"I came to say that I am sorry about earlier this evening," she said. She moved toward him and sat down on the bed next to him.
He reached over and touched the light sensor pad on a glow globe next to his bed. He then leaned on his elbow and regarded her. The dark skin of his chest, smooth and slightly furred, gleamed in the low light. The sight of him almost crumbled her resolve. He had to be the first! He had to be! To quell the urge to stroke him she laced her hands in her lap and stared down at them, hiding the lust she knew would be plain in her expression
"We've already spoke of this, Shakiri. You've already apologized and I accepted your apology."
Shield! Shakiri told herself. Shield!
On the outside, not a flicker of emotion marred her smooth, even features.
"Still master, I feel the issued is not resolved."
Ondi Eeara sighed and shook his head. He was a Corellian. He had long shoulder length black hair that he kept queued back and his friendly hazel eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. That smile could set the most nervous delegation at ease. His friendly boyish face and honed body belied his middle years. He was all that a Jedi should be: kind, honorable and dedicated to the code.
And Shakiri loved him with all her being.
She fantasized about him, about his honed naked body it until it became an obsession. She thought about his strong hands stroking her bare curves, his hands caressing her breasts and his mouth on hers. She though about his face between her thighs, and his tongue pleasuring her and his long hair loose and tickling her skin.. Every night, when alone in her room, she pleasured herself, her fingers moving between her legs while she thought of him, holding his image strong in her thoughts, imagining him inside her and when she came it was his name she cried. She reined in her thoughts, hoping that he had not caught them
"It is not unusual for a Padawan to believe herself in love with her master." He patted her hand. "I have petitioned the high council to ask that you be tested. You are ready to become a Jedi Knight. And when you're on missions and when you take your own Padawan, you will understand."
Never!
"Master, it that your last word? Are you not to consider me, even if I pass the trials? I will no longer be your Padawan."
He sighed and rubbed a large hand over his face. "You are like my daughter, Shakiri and yes I do love you but not in that way. It is late," he said gently. "Now go back to bed.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. Shakiri had anticipated this outcome, though she had hoped for a more mutually beneficial ending.
From out of a sheath hidden under her tunic she jerked out a knife. Before Ondi understood her intentions, before he could summon the Force to protect himself, Shakiri straddled him and plunged it into his chest. Over and over she stabbed it into him while she cried and screamed his name. She told him how stupid he was, how he made her do this, how it was all his fault..
Blood splattered her, the walls, the bed and blankets. The blood coated her hands, making them slippery, and it rained warm wet crimson drops on her face. Her tears mingled with the blood running down her face, turning rivulets pink, her sobs drowning out the sound of metal slicing deeply into flesh.
At first he tried to push her off, but she clamped her knees and thighs tight around him. He wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed. Shakiri could barely breath, the edges of her vision darkened, but her hand as if possessed continued to slice the knife into him. His grip on her throat weakened and soon it fell limply to his side.
She looked down at the dead body of her master and wiped the tears from her face, smearing blood across her cheeks. It was done. She had won.
"Oh, master," she leaned closed and whispered in his ear. The acrid smell of blood filled her nostrils, masking the familiar, wonderful scent of him. She touched her lips to his. They were still warm and for one moment she could imagine that he might have kissed her back.
"I forgive you," she whispered against his lips, placed two fingers on his eyes and closed his eyelids.
On her knees, still straddling him, she rose and stared down at him for a moment, then she took the gore covered knife, grasped her Padawan braid and cut it off and placed it gently over his bloody torso then tossed the knife across the room.
She gazed at him for a long moment, then climbed off the bed, crossed the room and took his lightsaber from atop his Jedi master robes. Then she went into the main room to the 'fresher. She stripped off her blood splattered Padawan clothing and stepped into the shower, washing off the blood. Finished, she padded naked across their apartment and looked at the chrono on the wall. It was 2AM.
Back in her bedroom she drew out new clothes that she had kept secret from her master. They were new clothes to signify a new life. She had stolen small but valuable items from the temple and sold them to shady pawnshop dealers in the lower levels of Galactic City. They asked no questions and paid her fairly. She had hoarded the credits until she had a good stash. The clothes were made from nerf leather and were tight and dyed black. Her black boots came to her knees. She buckled a holster belt around her waist and slipped a BlasTech DL-44 Blaster Pistol into the holster and secured it to her thigh with a leather tie. A Dresselian projectile rifle went behind her back into a shoulder sheath.
Shakiri held up her master's lightsaber and smiled. She thought she might feel remorse, yet she felt only relief that it was over and that she had passed the test. In her new line of work, remorse and guilt were undesirable and would hinder her ability to complete her tasks. This lightsaber of a Jedi Master would be her first trophy. She clipped it onto her belt. She took a handheld holocommunicator out of a drawer and thumbed it on and pressed in a series of codes and numbers.
"I have been waiting for you," said the robed figure that appeared over the small holo-projection platform. His voice was smooth, cultured and slightly accented. She could not see his face, his mouth and only the shadow of a nose and his cleft chin.
"I accept the assignment," she told him.
"Very good," he said, his smile was avuncular, but his demeanor gave her an odd chill. "In two days time Prince Dalibor will become King of Naboo. Kill him. Preferably during the coronation ceremony."
Shakiri smiled. A prince on her first assignment! That would cement her reputation as an assassin for hire and after that, she figured she'd have little problem securing further employment.
Her robed employer continued: "As agreed, in lieu of usual payment, your new ship, a Surronian Conqueror is awaiting you at Galactic City's east docking platforms."
"I will be leaving tonight then," she replied. "You can consider the job done."
"Of that I am certain, my dear," the man said with a dark chuckle in his voice. "I will watch your career with great interest."
The holo image of the robed man disappeared. Shakiri slipped the communicator into a knapsack, slung it over her shoulder and left the room with a backwards glance.