Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction. No monetary profit has been gained from its production and no copyright infringement is intended. The Star Wars characters and events used in this fan fiction are the property of George Lucas. This fanfic may not be republished in any way, shape or form without the consent of the author. Comments, suggestions and any grammatical errors found may be brought to the attention of the author at: sycamore@roguemail.net

Who is my neighbor?

A Parable Retold

Coruscant’s sun was setting as three figures made their way across a quiet plaza in the heart of the New Republic’s capital. The one in the middle, the tallest, was a Quarren. On either side of him were two small human girls, their tiny hands clinging to his three-fingered ones. The youngest could not have been more than five years old; the elder looked to be some four years older than that.

"But Uncle Nrin," the youngest was saying, turning wide, pleading eyes toward the Quarren’s face, "I don’t wanna go home yet. Can’t we see the rest of the park now?"

"Not now, Myri," Nrin answered calmly. "It is growing late. Your father will worry."

The older girl frowned fiercely. "No, he won’t. He knows we’re okay if you’re with us."

"Yes, Syal," Nrin sighed. "He trusts me. I am pleased to merit his trust, and I do not wish to lose it by keeping his daughters out past their bedtimes."

"Aw, Nrin…" Myri begged. "Just a couple more minutes?"

"Another day, dearest."

"Really?" Syal’s face brightened. "Will you take us to the park again?"

"Of course. I am pleased to do so."

The girls seemed to cheer up a little at this promise. They were silent for a few moments, swinging their companion’s arms playfully as they walked. Then the youngest spoke again.

"Uncle Nrin," said she, "tell us a story!"

"Yes, Nrin," Syal chimed in. "Tell us about when you flew with Dad!"

"War stories!" said Myri.

"Adventures!" said Syal.

"Children, children!" Nrin waved his hands to stop their sudden excited chattering. "Adventures?" he frowned at them. "You do not know what you ask. A warrior’s life is not all glory, dear ones. War is harsh, one grief after another. You do not know—"

"We would, if you would tell us," Syal grinned.

"Even if I did, you would not understand. Not unless you had seen it with your own eyes. Dear girls, I hope you never do understand. It is a sorrow your innocent hearts should never have to bear."

"So you won’t tell us a story?" Myri pouted.

Nrin began to answer, then hesitated. After a minute’s pause, he said quietly, "Perhaps I will. But not a war story."

"What, then?" asked Syal.

"You might say it is a love story."

"Aw, yuck!" the girl made a face. "Mushy stuff!"

"No, it is a different sort of love than that. Children, I shall tell you a tale that a dear friend once told me. When I flew in your father’s squadron, there was a Mon Calamari among our pilots. Her name was Ibtisam, and though there has always been contention between her race and mine, we became friends. We might have been something more, but she was killed in battle—just before I left the squadron; just before Rogue Squadron itself was reorganized." He fell silent for a few seconds, weighed down by remembered grief.

Nrin continued at last, "Once she told me a tale that she had heard from some teacher back on our home planet. I will tell you this tale now, as Ibtisam told it to me."

The girls were listening in a hush of anticipation. Nrin took a deep breath and plunged into the story.

"Once upon a time on Calamari, in the days of the Old Republic, before the Emperor came to power, before the Jedi order was all but destroyed, a Mon Calamari trader was traveling between Kee-Piru and Heurkea. Halfway through the journey, his sea-transport came under attack by pirates. His defenses were of little use against these thieves; they made off with every bit of merchandise he was carrying, leaving his ship in pieces and the Mon Cal in hardly better condition. Stripped, beaten, badly wounded, the trader managed to climb onto a bit of debris from his ship, and there he waited, drifting in and out of consciousness, hoping that some passerby would stop and help him.

"Since the sea-route between Heurkea and Kee-Piru is a well-traveled one, he did not have long to wait. The first ship to pass the unfortunate trader was the ship of Heurkea’s governor, a Mon Cal of great importance. The ship’s captain caught sight of the wreckage and called to the governor to ask what should be done. ‘Sail straight on,’ said the governor! ‘This is no business of ours.’ Our poor trader, regaining consciousness just in time to see the governor’s ship sailing past, called out with all the strength he had left, trying to catch their attention, begging them to stop. But it was no use. The ship sailed on, leaving the poor wretch no better off than before.

"Some time later, the Mon Cal awoke to see another ship approaching. This ship, as it happened, was bearing a Jedi knight from to Kee-Piru. The trader called out to him to stop, but the Jedi took no notice. This Jedi had heard that a gang of pirates were headed toward Kee-Piru; he expected to find adventure and glory there, fighting for justice’s sake. With his mind full of thoughts of glory, the trader’s voice hardly reached his ears. The ship sailed on; the trader passed out again.

"When the next ship came by, the poor Mon Cal was so weary he did not even awake to see it, to call out once more for help. But the pilot of this ship, who happened to be a Quarren, saw the wreckage and went to investigate. Now, children, perhaps you know that there has been strife between the Quarren and Mon Calamari peoples for as long as anyone can remember; hardly would a person of one race dare to trust a person of the other. Yet this Quarren captain, he boldly sailed up to the Mon Calamari trader. He threw out a lifeline, but the Mon Cal was still unconscious and could not save himself. So the Quarren lowered a ladder over the ship’s side, climbed down it himself, gathered the trader up in one arm, and carried him aboard the ship.

"Once he had the poor fellow inside, the Quarren pulled out the ship’s medkit and went to work on the Mon Cal’s wounds, treating them and bandaging them as well as he could. The trader finally awoke; the Quarren brought food from the galley and saw to it that his passenger had plenty to eat. Then, since the Mon Calamari’s wounds were more serious than the simple medkit could handle, the Quarren turned his ship around and sailed back to Heurkea. There, he carried his passenger to the nearest medical center, committing him to a physician’s care. He took out a handful of credits, enough to cover the costs of several days’ care for the Mon Cal, and handed them to the doctor, saying, ‘Look after this fellow for me. I must return to my ship and make the journey to Kee-Piru, but when I get back to Heurkea, I will reimburse you for any extra expense on his behalf.’

"Now, girls," Nrin concluded, "Ibtisam said that the storyteller finished his tale with these words: ‘Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell prey to pirates?’ What would you answer to that question?"

Syal, wide-eyed, replied, "The last one, of course. The one who helped him."

Myri agreed, "He was kind and the others were just selfish."

"You have understood this well," Nrin smiled. "And now you have understood what it is to love."

11/4/2000 Rebecca J. Bush sycamore@roguemail.net

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