Anaya Vrees sat alone in her hovel, staring at the holorecorder on the lone table and questioning her ability to get a message out. The last communication she’d received had resulted in one of her contacts being burned. She’d only narrowly avoided the exposure of her entire network by framing a drunken Sith trooper for beating him to death.
She knew there were Inquisitors looking for her, but had thus far evaded them by hiding in plain sight, among the myriad refugees and slaves being pressed into Malak’s service as laborers or soldiers.
Anaya spent her days toiling in the mines of this rocky world, uncovering the remains of a Sith tomb long buried beneath its surface. Slender to begin with, she had lost even more weight in recent months, to the point where she could be considered emaciated. Her immaculate hair had been shorn to a fingernail’s length, where she’d kept it. Her normally vibrant amber eyes were red and irritated from rock dust and sleep depravation. Her existence was one of pain and privation, but those had ever been the norm for her.
And it would be worth it in the end. Although the excavation was well behind schedule, Anaya could sense the power of several Sith artifacts, and it would only be a matter of time until the arrogant Apprentice in charge of the dig sensed them too. She would need to remain undiscovered until the last possible moment, when she would kill him and take the artifacts for herself.
She risked much by sending this message, but in the end, sentimentality won out. She would do what she could to help those she cared about. Most Sith called that a weakness, but she believed it to be her greatest strength.
She keyed the recorder on and spoke in a low, hoarse voice, careful not to name names or speak in detail about anything. Her usual smokey tones were replaced by the heavy rural singsong of her sister. Even if the message were intercepted, enemy agents would see nothing but a frail slave huddled on a stiff, bare mattress, with ragged clothing revealing wicked scars up and down her arms. The contents of the message itself would not be enough to incriminate her. Only if the recipient were known would she be in any real danger.
"It’s been a while since you’ve seen your big sister. I hope you’re doing well for yourself, back home on the farm," she began, innocently.
"Just the other day, I remembered it’s nearly planting season, and thought I’d give you a few pointers to help you out. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how much trouble you find yourself in when I’m not around."
Anaya forced a wide smile, as if she were telling an inside joke. The feeling was entirely unnatural to her.
"The first thing to remember about planting is that it’s all about your senses. You’ve already got your seed in your hands, but you need to make sure the soil’s just right. The best way to do that is to pretend that seed is you, and you have to grow into something big and strong.
"You’re bound to feel like there are a lot of little tiny factors – sometimes it feels like a million things! – that you need to keep track of, but when you really focus on the energy of that land, the way your hands feel when they’re touching that cold soil, the scent of tilled earth, it all just comes together. The seed knows what it needs to grow, and if you’re the seed, that means you do, too. Just take your time, let your worries go, and it will just… click.
"I raised you to be a good farmer, and that’s what you’re going to be. You should already have everything you need. Just remember what I taught you, and you’ll be enjoying the fruits of your labor soon enough."
She blew a kiss, which she immediately thought may have been overkill, but she wasn’t about to redo the message this far in.
"Ah! Before I forget, tell papa I won’t be in touch for a while, but I’ll bring presents when I get back! Don’t grow up too much while I’m gone, or I’ll have to start calling you the big sister!"
Anaya turned off the recorder and sighed deeply, her expression sinking into a scowl. Pretending to be normal was mentally exhausting, and she had no idea how spies could handle this sort of thing as well as they did. The only thing that let her handle her local assets any sort of finesse was her resolve not to be worse at spycraft than Sandra Mana.
Thinking of Sandra, oddly enough, is what made her miss her old life. She was strong enough to sense that no ill had befallen her Master and student, and thus hadn’t had cause to worry about them, but this wasn’t worry.
She missed learning. She missed teaching. She missed the little political games she used to play with colonial authorities. She missed her books, and she missed her holovids. She missed drinking terrible alcohol with the people she loved. She missed the ozone smell of her ship as she sailed through hyperspace, and the warm glow of her saberstaff in her hands as she battled her enemies.
With another sigh, the woman calling herself Anaya Vrees grabbed the recorder and walked into the muddy street, still crowded even at dusk, as the day laborers drank and gambled before the unnatural silence of curfew.
She had a few miles to walk to meet the smuggler who carried her messages off-world, but instead of keeping watch for tails, she found herself looking up at the stars. They shone brightly tonight, their shimmering light causing Anaya to wonder what changes had been wrought in her absence, and what sort of place she’d be returning to when at last her work was done.