Holly Black (3 page)

“I feel totally thrashed,” he says as though we haven’t committed a terrible crime. As though we haven’t totally betrayed the stupid uniforms we’re standing around in. Everyone knows that trekkers and whatever starwarsians call themselves aren’t supposed to have anything to do with one another.

He pours coffee into two cups and asks me how I take it.

“Black,” I say.

He smirks. “I should have guessed that, shouldn’t I?”

“And you take your
raktajino
with milk and sugar.”

“Ouch,” he says, but he’s laughing. Maybe at what I said, maybe at the Klingon word. I want to know how we met, but I don’t want him to know that I don’t remember. I don’t even know his name.

It turns out he does take his coffee with milk and sugar. “Makes it more like tea,” he says.

I eat some toast with raspberry jelly and a sausage. After that and three cups of coffee, I start to feel a lot better. I feel good enough to realize that the room service receipt has his name on it. Leaning over, I take a quick glance. There it is. Thomas.

He sees me looking. “Thomas,” I say.

“I told you it was my real name. Unlike
Arizhel
.”

At least he didn’t seem to realize that I don’t remember him at all.

“So,” I say, “are you here at the con with a lot of other…,” I hesitate on the word, “…Jedi?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I already know what you think about
Star Wars
.”

“Oh, you mean that it’s lame that
Star Wars
worships monarchical, secretive, and monastic systems and tries to tell you that anger is evil?”

“It’s pretty funny that a tough, angry girl like you is all about a goody-goody idealistic show like
Star Trek
.”

“It’s pretty funny that you find that kind of girl attractive.” I can’t help smiling. I take another sausage.

“Oh, come on!” he says. “Like your attraction to me is any less screwed up?”

“I’m a Klingon,” I say. “Of course I’m attracted to my enemy.”

II. Jedi

A Jedi is never supposed to give over to his passions; he is always supposed to be in control. But last night, at some point between Coke Pluses, Master Sven must have spiked mine with a little bit of rum. My being such a lightweight might be a contributing factor in the mess I find myself in this morning.

I know that most of my Order don’t go for anything outside of the Star Wars universe. It’s all
Star Wars
all the time with them. Which is cool. I get it.

There is something about the Jedi in
Star Wars
that feels more right to me than any other made-up alien life code. It’s the Force, really. I have this thing inside of me that is light and wants to do good, but I struggle with my own dark side. I try to keep it in balance, but it’s hard. I like the idea of there being something larger than yourself that guides you. The Jedi code.

I am not adverse to liking a bit of this and that from other universes, though. Heck, I like
Star Trek
. I even own all the original series on DVD. And this Klingon girl, Arizhel, whose real name I still don’t know, isn’t like any girl I’ve met before.

“Careful there, you might break something,” I say.

I’m watching her wolf down some breakfast and I’m trying to act all cool and all that in front of her, because she’s witty.

“You are in more danger of being broken,” she says. “I am a Klingon. I could break you with a roar.”

And funny. God, she’s funny. That’s what I liked about her at the party last night, the way she made me laugh when she came over to my Master and me.

“So you’re a Jedi Knight,” she said, brandishing her scary sword. I lifted my lightsaber and parried with her.

“Apprentice,” I said. “An honorable start, for a human,” she said.

“I’ve mastered many levels since I’ve started my training,” I said.

“Have you done battle?” she asked.

“Well, we do fight exhibitions,” I said.

“So you are a dancer,” she said. “No wonder you wear a skirt.”

“It’s a tunic,” I said.

And then I blushed and felt embarrassed. I was worried that she wouldn’t think much of a Jedi Apprentice.

Master Sven just handed me another Coke Plus with rum and left me alone with her. He told me he’d find another place to crash, and I took that as encouragement that I was doing well.

“Every dog has his day,” Master Sven said.

I make sure my clip-on braid is in place while she pushes the button to call the elevator. I am wearing my Jedi uniform and she is wearing her Klingon costume, but not her ridges or wig piece, nor her makeup. She’s very different from what I remember about last night.

I’m watching her out of the corner of my eye as we enter the hotel elevator.

First off, she’s Asian. And not dark and orange. She’s tried washing off most of her makeup but it’s still a little streaky. Still, she’s pretty. She also looks soft, almost shy for someone who seems so commanding. She’s got a great body. Really curvy and she’s an inch or two smaller than me, but I notice that she walks with a swagger that makes her seem taller. Her walk makes me want to get a little attitude in my step.

It makes the idea of turning to the dark side a little bit sexier.

I can’t believe I just thought that. Annakin went to the dark side for love and look what happened to him. I don’t care how cool this girl is. I’m not about to let that happen to me.

I’m a Jedi.

To become a Jedi requires a serious mind and a deep commitment, and here I am, feeling kind of giddy standing next to a Klingon.

She turns to face me.

“I didn’t hurt you or anything, right?” she asks. “Klingon mating rituals can be violent. It’s not unknown for there to be bruises, or broken bones.”

“Oh, no!” I say. “We Jedi are tough. I just used the Force.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “Good.”

“Yep.”

“So, you know, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but when we get downstairs, I’m going to pretend that we don’t know each other,” she says.

“Right,” I say. “Of course.”

But secretly I’m crushed because I thought maybe I could ask her to meet me for lunch between the Lightsaber Demonstration I’m attending and the Darth Maul signing I’m going to later.

“Good,” she says. “’Cause you know…”

“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, we were. Whew!”

I make a little hand gesture that is supposed to mean “drunk” but probably looks more like “I’m a loser.”

“And no matter what you’ve heard about Klingons,” she says, “it doesn’t mean anything. We don’t have to mate for life.”

“Good to know,” I say, and now I am just embarrassed. I don’t know how to tell her that we didn’t even mate at all. I wanted to. Oh, God, I wanted to. She is so hot. And we’d been talking at the con mixer all night and we had everything in common. Well, except for the whole Jedi / Klingon thing. And then I invited her back to my room, and I have never done something like that before! It was like the best night of my whole life! And Master Sven even gave me the thumbs-up. And then there was a hot girl in my room! And she wanted me. I could tell—she sniffed me! I was all set to lose my virginity. I even had a condom ready. But sleeping with drunk Klingon girls, even if they’re ravishing you, seems wrong.

So does defying the Jedi code.

Jedi are monastic. Celibate.

We’re quiet for a few seconds and I think our awkward conversation is over. And I’m glad, because I feel a little sad. So far, this was the best time I’ve ever had at a convention. And I think I liked talking to her last night way more than I did to my own Jedi Council.

So, I’m kind of looking down at my feet ’cause I don’t want her to see that it kind of meant something to me. Not mate-for-life something. But maybe get-her-real-name something.

And that’s when she does it again. Just like she did last night. She sniffs my arm, and pushes me into the corner of the elevator and growls. And then she kisses me and I feel weak in the knees. I give in to the dark side. I grab her. I kiss her right back.

She pushes me away right before the elevator door opens and she walks out of the elevator and away from me.

I still don’t know her name.

And I only have twenty minutes to get to the convention center for the Jedi Lightsaber Demonstration.

“Hey! Thomas!” Master Sven waves me over to where he’s sitting onstage before the demonstration. He’s cleaning his lightsaber and he’s smiling big, like he thinks he knows how it all went down.

“Thanks, Master Sven, for finding a place to crash last night,” I say.

I don’t want to tell him that I didn’t score, so I just let him keep smiling.

“No sweat, my little Padawan,” he says. “Besides, I had no idea the Battlestar people could party so hard! I ended up crashing with five Boomers last night!”

“We’re about to start,” one of the other Jedi, Padawan Pete, snaps. “Could you guys focus?”

“Careful, Master Sven,” I say. “Don’t defy the Council again.”

“I will do what I must,” he says.

The music begins and we start our choreographed lightsaber routine. Master Sven is the star of the show. That’s why no matter how much of a rebel and sort of code-breaking Jedi he is, our Council won’t ever kick him out.

I’m just learning my lightsaber technique, so I just have one little fight. But I do well enough that people clap.

When we’re done, it’s always the same. The people swarm us and want to take our pictures.

While we’re posing, Padawan Pete starts laying into me.

“I heard you guys were mixing a little too hard last night,” he says. He’s got a green lightsaber that won’t stay on, so he keeps shaking it. “We have an image to maintain and it’s a Jedi image.”

“Leave me alone, Pete,” I say. He is really bugging me.

“Figures with a Master like Sven that you would get funny ideas,” Master Doug says.

“Give me a break, Doug,” Master Sven says. “All Thomas did was meet a girl.”

“She was a Klingon,” Padawan Pete says.

“When was the last time you hooked up with a girl, Pete?” Master Sven asks.

“That’s not the point,” Padawan Pete says.

But my anger is rising and I can’t take it anymore.

“Okay,” I say. “That’s it. I challenge you.”

“What?” Padawan Pete says. “You can’t challenge me.”

“Right here, right now. Lightsaber fight.”

“You are totally going dark side,” Padawan Pete says.

“Trust your feelings, Thomas,” Master Sven says.

“What kind of Master are you for encouraging your Padawan like that, Sven?” Master Doug asks.

“Better than you,” I say, which is exactly what gets Padawan Pete to whip his cape up and pull out his lightsaber to fight me.

A ring of people form around us and I start to use my lightsaber technique to wipe that smugness off Padawan Pete’s face.

And just as I am getting into my rhythm, I see a bunch of Klingons walk by. Including Arizhel, in full makeup again. She stops. She looks at me. I smile at her, wanting to say hello, and I get sliced right in the stomach.

“Gotcha!” Padawan Pete says just as she’s stopped for a second and is watching me fight.

I’ve been killed. There is nothing I can do.

By the rules of the lightsaber fight, I have to fall.

III. Klingon

My plan is to go back to the room and sleep for pretty much the rest of the day, but when I get there, Kadi, D’ghor, and Noggra are dressed up and waiting around for me. Noggra smooshes my cheek against her leather breastplate in a bruising hug.

“Oh, honey,” she says. “I feel so guilty for losing track of you.” She gives Kadi and D’ghor a frown, more severe because she’s got her ridges on. “And those two should never have let you drink so much.”

“I’m fine,” I say, even though I know I look like a hot mess.

“You’re underage.”

I hate when Noggra gets like this. She’s D’ghor’s mother, but she’s been a Klingon for her entire adult life. She basically raised him Klingon. Most of the time she just acts like our
totlh
, but sometimes she forgets and acts like a mom.

“Where were you last night?” Kadi asks. “We called your cell, but it turned out that you’d left it here.”

“I need a shower,” I say.

“Was it that cadet guy?” D’ghor asks. “I’m going to kick his ass.”

“My honor is mine to defend,” I say, and growl to show how serious I am. “I’m a warrior and I can take care of myself.”

“Let her be,” Noggra says, and I nearly flop down on the bed with relief because there’s no way I can explain where I actually was. I’m the youngest Klingon in our group, so I’m always struggling to be tough enough. I figure that if I match the others swig for swig, blow for blow, they’ll forget how young I am.

Unless I do something really dumb, like, say, spend the night with a Jedi.

Under the hot spray, though, I can’t help thinking about Thomas. About his soft and lilting voice and the fierce way he kissed. When we were in the elevator, he kissed me so hard he bit my lip. Of course, hot girls in Star Wars are always princesses and queens with elaborate looping hair, so maybe he figured he didn’t have to be so careful with a girl like me.

I used to be a good girl. Everyone expected me to be quiet and studious and I was good at fulfilling expectations. Chung Ae, perfect lab partner. Princess.

But inside, I knew I was a Klingon. I could feel the growl in the back of my throat when I spoke, itching for me to give it a voice. Honoring my parents and grandparents was a big deal in my house, but Klingons allowed for a different kind of honor. One that didn’t make you small and quiet. One that venerated you for belching the loudest, louder even than your brothers. When I met D’ghor in debate club, it was only a matter of time before I was attending a dipping party and having a life cast made so I could sculpt my first ridge.

It doesn’t take me that long to get cleaned up and ready. Kadi comes in and helps me blend my base and disguise the edges of the latex. Then we’re back on the floor, stomping in our big black boots, frowning and growling and prowling.

“Hey, look.” D’ghor smirks and gestures with his beard.