Chapter 1: Crash Landing and a Force BIond Ignited
The first tendrils of dawn were just staining the sky peach-grey over the dense Virginia pines when the screaming started. Not human. Metal. Tortured, shrieking metal tearing through the atmosphere like a dying beast. Brittany didn't flinch. She’d been on the porch since the tremor hit, the one that rattled the fine china inside her display cabinet. Now, cradling a steaming mug of black coffee in one hand and resting the other lightly on the cold, familiar polymer stock of her Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle propped beside her rocking chair, she watched.
Smoke billowed, thick and acrid, from a freshly gouged scar in her eastern pasture, maybe three hundred yards out. The scent of scorched earth and something alien – ozone and burnt wiring – cut through the clean pine scent. Flames licked weakly at the edges of a twisted wreck. It vaguely resembled a giant, crumpled insect, painted in Republic red and white, now mostly charred black.
"Well," she murmured, her voice husky from the early hour and lack of sleep. "That's new."
Her NCIS badge lay forgotten on the driftwood coffee table inside, next to a stack of medical journals and a tablet displaying live stock market feeds. Billionaire, surgeon, Marine sniper… the labels felt like ill-fitting clothes tonight. Mostly, she just felt tired. Tired of the noise, tired of the expectations, tired of the ghosts whispering in the corners of her too-large, too-quiet mansion.
A prickling sensation bloomed between her shoulder blades. Not fear. Awareness. It was like a subtle shift in air pressure, a silent frequency suddenly humming just beneath the world's usual static. The Force. She never called it that out loud, not even in her own head. Too flashy. Too… Jedi. But that’s what it was. And it was coming from the wreck.
She set the mug down silently. No sudden movements. Her thumb slid the safety off the Barrett with a soft, decisive click. She didn’t shoulder it yet. Just kept it close, her gaze fixed on the smoking ruin. Let them come to her. Her land, her rules.
Movement. A jagged piece of fuselage shifted. Clanged to the scorched earth. Then, a figure emerged, coughing violently, staggering. Tall, clad in strange, layered robes of brown and cream, now smudged with ash. He moved with an odd grace despite the stumble, one hand pressed to his side. His face, when he lifted it, scanning the tree line, was lean, etched with intelligence and a profound weariness that mirrored her own. Sandy hair, a neatly trimmed beard. His eyes, scanning the pre-dawn gloom, were startlingly blue and sharp.
He stopped. Turned slowly. Not towards the woods, but directly towards her porch. Towards her. His gaze locked onto hers across the distance. She felt it – a tangible probe, gentle but insistent, brushing against her mental shields. It wasn’t hostile. More… astonished. Confused.
Brittany didn’t blink. She met his stare, lowering her own internal barriers just enough. Just enough to let him feel the ocean’s depth within her, the crackle of latent power, the razor-sharp focus honed by countless kills and countless saves. Her own subtle query echoed back: Who the hell are you?
The man flinched, almost imperceptibly. His eyes widened fractionally. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, swaying slightly. He was hurt.
"Easy there, Spaceman," she called out, her voice carrying clear and calm in the sudden quiet after the crash. She kept her hand near the rifle. "You picked a lousy landing spot."
He halted about fifty yards out, at the edge of the scorched circle. He bowed his head slightly, a strangely formal gesture. "My… sincere apologies," he replied. His voice was cultured, crisp, an accent she couldn't place. "Our descent was… less than controlled. Are we… is this Naboo?"
"Try Virginia, USA, Planet Earth," Brittany stated flatly. "And no, we don't get many flying toasters crashing here. You hurt bad?"
He straightened, trying to project calm, but she saw the tightness around his eyes, the slight hitch in his breath. "A minor inconvenience. My Padawan… Ahsoka. And troopers. Are they…?" He turned back towards the wreck, concern etching deep lines on his face.
Before Brittany could answer, more clanging echoed from the debris. A head popped up – orange and white markings on armor that looked vaguely military but utterly foreign. Then another. Two figures hauled themselves out, dragging a third, smaller form – a young Togruta female, unconscious, her lekku matted with dust and what looked like hydraulic fluid. The armored figures moved with disciplined urgency, setting the girl down carefully before snapping their heads up, blaster rifles instantly swinging towards Brittany.
"General Kenobi! Get down!" one barked, his voice metallic through the helmet.
Kenobi – so that was his name – raised a calming hand. "At ease, Cody. Stand down! This… citizen… means no harm." He looked back at Brittany. "Do you have medical facilities? My Padawan requires aid."
Brittany’s surgeon’s brain was already cataloging: Unconscious Togruta female, adolescent, possible head trauma, signs of smoke inhalation. Priorities clicked into place. "Inside. Now." She gestured towards the house with her chin. "Move carefully. Don't track slag on my floors."
She stepped off the porch, leaving the Barrett leaning against the railing. A calculated risk. Her senses remained wide open, the Force humming like a live wire. She felt Kenobi’s intense focus on her, a mix of profound relief for his Padawan and deepening, bewildered curiosity about the woman striding towards them.
As she neared the group, the two armored troopers – clones, she realized with a jolt, their features identical beneath the helmet grills – kept their blasters half-raised, eyes wary behind their visors. Cody, the one who’d spoken, shifted his stance to partially shield Kenobi.
"Major Brittany Sterling," she stated, her tone leaving no room for argument. She knelt beside the Togruta girl, Ahsoka, her fingers already seeking a pulse at the neck. Strong, if a little fast. Pupils? She carefully lifted an eyelid. Reactive. Good. "I’m a doctor. Get her inside. Living room, left off the foyer. Couch is clean."
"You heard her, boys," Kenobi said, his voice strained but firm. He winced as he bent to help lift Ahsoka. Cody moved swiftly, taking most of the girl's weight. The other trooper, helmet markings blue, covered them, his blaster now pointed at the ground but his posture rigidly alert. Rex, Brittany’s mind supplied automatically.
They moved towards the house, Cody carrying Ahsoka with surprising gentleness, Kenobi limping beside him, Rex bringing up the rear, constantly scanning the tree line. Brittany followed, her own senses stretched taut, encompassing the groaning wreck, the whispering pines, the thrum of displaced energy still clinging to the air, and the three bewildered soldiers from another galaxy carrying their injured friend into her sanctuary.
Kenobi paused at the foot of the porch steps, looking back at her. The dawn light caught the lines of exhaustion and pain on his face, but his blue eyes were piercing, filled with a thousand unspoken questions. "You… feel it too, don't you?" he asked quietly, almost reverently. "The Force. It’s… different here. But you… you are a beacon within it."
Before Brittany could answer – a dismissal, a deflection, anything to push back this sudden, unwelcome intimacy – Rex’s voice snapped out, harsh and urgent.
"General! Movement! Northwest tree line! Multiple contacts!"
His blaster snapped up, trained on the shadows beneath the pines. Cody instantly shifted Ahsoka, angling his own body as a shield. Kenobi’s hand went to the unfamiliar cylinder belted at his waist, his weariness vanishing behind a mask of focused readiness.
Brittany didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed locked on Kenobi's for a fraction longer, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. Then she sighed, a short, sharp exhalation of pure annoyance.
"Relax, Rex," she said, her voice dangerously calm. She raised her hand slightly, not towards the woods, but towards the ornate lamp post beside her driveway. "They’re mine."
With a thought as simple and final as flipping a switch, the lamp post changed. Panels slid back. A sleek, multi-barreled rotary cannon emerged from within the rustic facade, humming to life with a high-pitched whine. Its sensors instantly tracked, painting unseen targets in the woods. Targeting lasers, invisible to the clones, flickered crimson in Brittany’s enhanced sight.
"Perimeter defense," she explained flatly, watching realization dawn on Kenobi’s face, seeing the clones tense further, their blasters now swinging wildly between the woods and the suddenly weaponized lamp post. "Seems your crash triggered the motion sensors. They’re just checking in. Don’t shoot my security system. It’s expensive."
She finally turned her head, looking towards the shadowed trees where her automated sentries held position. The dawn chorus of birds was conspicuously absent. Only the hum of the rotary cannon and the ragged breathing of the clones broke the silence. Kenobi stared at her, not at the weapon, but at her, his expression a storm of disbelief, wariness, and something disturbingly like awe.
"Who are you?" he breathed, the question hanging heavy in the charged air, far more complex than when he’d asked about Naboo.
The rotary cannon's whine lowered to an idle thrum, barrels still tracking the unseen watchers in the woods. Rex hadn't lowered his blaster, his finger tense near the trigger. Cody had Ahsoka cradled protectively, his helmet swiveling between the trees and the weaponized lamp post. Kenobi remained frozen, his hand still hovering near his lightsaber hilt, but his gaze was locked solely on Brittany. The sheer, impossible wrongness of a Virginia lamp post concealing heavy weaponry warred with the undeniable evidence humming before them.
"Perimeter's clear," Brittany stated, her voice flat, cutting through the tense silence. She ignored the clones' palpable suspicion and Kenobi's wide-eyed stare. Her focus snapped back to the unconscious Togruta. "Kid's breathing's shallow. Possible pneumothorax or internal bleeding from impact. Inside. Now." The command brooked no argument, a tone honed in trauma bays and combat zones. She turned and strode towards the porch steps. "Leave the blasters on the rack by the door. You won't need them in here."
Cody hesitated only a second before following, Rex falling into step beside him, his blaster now pointed deliberately at the ground but his posture rigid. Kenobi took a shaky breath, wincing as he put weight on his left leg. He glanced at the smoking wreck, then back at the woman disappearing into the shadowed doorway. A beacon. And a fortress. He limped after them.
The interior was a jarring contrast to the carnage outside. Warm wood paneling, soaring ceilings with exposed beams, plush rugs over polished hardwood. The scent of old books, lemon polish, and faintly, antiseptic, replaced the acrid smoke. Cody laid Ahsoka gently on a deep leather sofa in the expansive living room. A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall; floor-to-ceiling windows offered a view of the chaotic dawn and the smoldering gunship.
Brittany was already moving. She grabbed a sleek, compact medical kit from a concealed panel beneath a bookshelf that slid open at her touch. Kneeling beside Ahsoka, her hands moved with practiced efficiency, pulling back the girl's tunic to expose her torso, palpating ribs, attaching small sensor pads from the kit to her chest and forehead. A holographic display flickered to life above the kit, showing vital signs – heart rate elevated, oxygen saturation low, internal pressure building near the right lung.
"Definitely a pneumothorax," Brittany muttered, pulling a sealed package from the kit. She tore it open, revealing a compact, self-guiding needle decompression kit. "Collapsed lung. Trapped air. Gotta relieve the pressure." She positioned the device expertly over Ahsoka's ribcage.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Rex demanded, taking a step forward, hand tightening on his blaster.
"Keeping her from suffocating, Sergeant," Brittany replied without looking up, her voice clipped. "Stand down or get out." The small device emitted a soft hiss-click. Instantly, Ahsoka gasped, drawing a deeper, less ragged breath. The holographic display showed oxygen levels starting to climb.
Rex froze, conflicted. Cody placed a restraining hand on his brother's arm. "She knows her stuff, Rex. Look."
Kenobi watched Brittany work, the clinical detachment, the absolute certainty in her movements. The Force swirled around her, not the disciplined focus of a Jedi healer, but something deeper, wilder – an ocean current beneath a calm surface, immense power held in check by will alone. He felt the subtle ripple as she used it, not overtly, but to steady her hands, to sense the precise location beneath Ahsoka's skin, to guide the tiny device with impossible accuracy. It was instinctive, ingrained, like breathing. His own senses strained, trying to map the contours of her power. It was vast, layered – the electric tang of the storm, the cold depth of the abyss, the ancient stillness of stone, and a fierce, blazing core he couldn't name. It unsettled him profoundly.
"How did you know?" Kenobi asked quietly, his voice rough. He gestured vaguely towards the porch, the hidden cannon. "About the defenses... activated by the crash?"
Brittany finished securing a bio-seal patch over the decompression site and glanced up, meeting his gaze for the first time since entering the house. Her eyes, a startlingly clear grey, held no warmth, only weary pragmatism. "I designed them. Everything within five klicks of this house has sensors. Big metal bird screaming out of subspace? Yeah, that sets off alarms." She turned her attention back to Ahsoka, checking her pupils again. "Concussion too, probably. Need a scan. Medbay's downstairs." She stood, wiping her hands on a sterile wipe. "Cody, Rex – help me move her. Carefully. Support her head."
As the clones moved to assist, lifting Ahsoka with surprising gentleness, Kenobi felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. The adrenaline of the crash, the confrontation, the strangeness of this place and this woman, coupled with the sharp pain radiating from his side, suddenly became overwhelming. He swayed, bracing himself against the back of a heavy armchair.
Brittany noticed instantly. Her gaze, sharp as a scalpel, swept over him. "You're bleeding."
Kenobi looked down. A dark stain was spreading through the layers of his tunic and tabard over his left hip. "A piece of shrapnel," he admitted, his voice tight. "During the crash. It's... manageable."
"Manageable until you bleed out on my Persian rug," Brittany retorted, already pulling a portable scanner from the medkit. She stepped towards him. "Let me see."
Obi-Wan approaches cautiously.
He tensed instinctively as she moved closer. This woman was an enigma wrapped in lethal capability. Her power hummed in the air between them, a tangible force. He saw Rex’s hand twitch towards his blaster again, saw Cody’s watchful stillness. Trusting her felt impossible, reckless. Yet… she’d saved Ahsoka with swift, skilled action. She hadn’t attacked. Her home, though armed, felt like a sanctuary, not a fortress under siege. And the Force… the Force didn't scream danger from her, only profound, guarded depth.
He met her steady grey eyes. There was no malice there. Only assessment. Exhaustion. And an echo of that same profound loneliness he sometimes felt in the vastness of space. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered his hand from his lightsaber. He forced himself to relax his stance, though every instinct honed by decades of war screamed caution.
"Very well," Kenobi said, his voice carefully neutral. He kept his movements slow and deliberate as he peeled back the layers of his robe and tunic, revealing the jagged tear in the fabric beneath and the dark, wet stain spreading across his hip. The wound pulsed with a dull, insistent ache that sharpened as the fabric pulled away. He held his breath, watching her face, feeling the weight of her scrutiny and the unnerving, magnetic pull of the Force that seemed to emanate from her very core. The question burned brighter than ever, unvoiced but screaming in the quiet tension of the grand room: Who, truly, are you?
The jagged tear in Kenobi’s tunic revealed angry, scorched flesh surrounding a twisted piece of durasteel shrapnel buried deep in his hip. Blood, dark and viscous, seeped steadily. "Manageable?" Brittany scoffed, her voice dry as desert sand. The portable scanner in her hand whirred to life, bathing the wound in pale blue light. Holographic schematics flickered above it – muscle tissue shredded, the shard precariously close to a major femoral artery. "This needs out. Now. Rex, get my black case from the medkit. Cody, keep her stable." She nodded towards Ahsoka, whose breathing, while improved, was still worryingly shallow.
Rex hesitated, his helmet tilted towards Kenobi. The silent question hung: Trust her?
"Go, Rex," Kenobi commanded, his voice tight with pain but absolute. He met Brittany’s grey eyes again. The sheer scale of her power wasn't just sensed now; it was a physical pressure against his senses, vast and complex as a nebula, yet controlled with surgeon's precision. It wasn't the Light he knew, nor the Dark. It was… other. Primal. "Your medical technology… it is advanced."
"Comes in handy," Brittany muttered, not looking up as Rex returned and handed her a sleek, hardened case. She snapped it open. Inside, nestled in foam, were instruments gleaming under the room's soft light – forceps unlike any he’d seen, a device humming with contained energy, vials of clear fluid. No bacta. "Gonna sting," she warned, picking up a syringe injector.
Before Kenobi could react, she pressed it against his neck. A sharp hiss, then a wave of cold numbness radiated downwards, deadening the screaming pain in his hip to a dull throb. Local anesthetic. Efficient. Ruthlessly so. She didn’t wait for acknowledgment. Her free hand, clad in a suddenly materializing sterile glove, probed the wound entrance with unnerving confidence. The humming device – a compact field cauterizer – flared with intense, focused heat.
Kenobi watched her work. Every movement was economical, devoid of wasted effort. She wasn't just treating a wound; she was dismantling a problem. The Force swirled around her hands, not guiding them overtly, but enhancing them. He felt the microscopic vibrations as she isolated the shard, felt the controlled pulse of energy sealing ruptured vessels even as the cauterizer hissed. It wasn’t Jedi healing. It was… engineering. Biological engineering backed by immense, quiet power. He saw a faint, almost imperceptible shimmer around her fingertips as she manipulated tissues – water responding? Air pressure? He couldn’t tell. It was seamless, instinctive.
A metallic clink sounded as she dropped the jagged durasteel fragment onto a tray Rex held out. Blood flow slowed to a trickle under her precise application of sealant foam and a quick, self-adhering synth-skin patch. The whole procedure had taken less than two minutes.
"Good as it’ll get here," she announced, stripping off the glove. It vanished into a discreet disposal chute in the case. "Avoid acrobatics. You’ll need a proper regen tank later. For now…" She turned back to Ahsoka, the scanner already hovering over the Togruta’s head. "Medbay. Cody, Rex – lift. Support the lekku. Kenobi, try not to bleed on the stairs."
They moved through the grand living room, past floor-to-ceiling windows framing the surreal vista of the smoldering gunship against the brightening Virginia dawn. The contrast was jarring: ancient woods, alien wreckage, opulent wealth, and armored soldiers carrying an unconscious teenager. Brittany led them down a wide staircase into a basement that was anything but typical. Sleek, brushed metal surfaces replaced wood paneling. Harsh, clinical lighting illuminated a space that was part advanced medical bay, part… something else. Diagnostic beds with holographic displays, sterile instrument cabinets, but also racks holding equipment that looked distinctly non-medical – and non-terrestrial. Rex’s helmet snapped towards what looked suspiciously like a dismantled ion cannon power core propped in a corner.
Brittany ignored it, directing Cody and Rex to place Ahsoka on a central med-bed. Sensors immediately whirred to life, full-body scans projecting intricate holograms above the girl. Brittany’s eyes flickered across the data streams. "Confirmed concussive wave trauma. Minor cerebral edema. The pneumothorax is stabilized. Sedating her for intracranial pressure management." She programmed the bed with swift taps. A soft hum filled the air as injectors administered medication, and supportive fields activated around Ahsoka’s head. Her vital signs on the display smoothed out, stabilizing further.
A heavy silence descended, broken only by the hum of machines and Rex’s modulated breathing. The clones stood rigidly at attention near Ahsoka, their blasters still held ready. Kenobi leaned against a bulkhead, the numbness from the anesthetic a strange counterpoint to the storm of questions and the persistent, low ache beneath it. His gaze swept the room again – the impossible blend of technology, the sheer capability laid bare. And the woman at the center of it, radiating calm, unnerving competence and that vast, layered power. He cleared his throat.
"You have saved our lives, Major Sterling. We are deeply indebted." He kept his voice formal, the Jedi Master reasserting itself over the wounded soldier. "But this place… your abilities… they are… extraordinary. Unprecedented."
Brittany didn't turn from the med-bed displays. "Yeah. Heard that before." Her tone was flat, devoid of pride. Tired.
Rex shifted, his helmet tilting towards a large, framed portrait hanging incongruously on the metal wall beside a bank of monitors. It depicted a man of impossible, severe beauty. Pale skin, eyes like chips of glacial ice, hair like spun moonlight. He wore robes that seemed woven from shadow and starlight, projecting an aura of ancient, chilling power. The plaque beneath it was simple: Grandfather. "Ma'am? Who…?"
Brittany followed his gaze. A flicker of something complex – sorrow, exasperation, maybe even dark amusement – passed over her face. "That? Just grandpa. One of them." She turned back to them, her grey eyes locking onto Kenobi’s. "Look, Spaceman. You crashed in my field. Your kid's hurt. You're hurt. Fine. But dawn's here, I've had about three hours of sleep, and I need coffee strong enough to dissolve durasteel before I deal with…" She gestured vaguely at them, at the portrait, at the ceiling where the hidden cannon resided. "This. Questions later. Much later." She walked towards a sleek food synthesizer unit embedded in the wall. "Anyone want pancakes? Synthesized protein sludge disguised as pancakes?"
Kenobi watched her punch buttons on the machine, her back momentarily turned. The portrait… he felt the echo of immense, ancient power radiating from it. Vampire. The word surfaced from some deep, instinctual place within the Force. Grandfather. Her calm, her arsenal, her hidden might… lineage. He finally voiced the question, softly, not to her, but into the charged air of the medbay, knowing she heard. "What are you?"
Brittany paused, the synthesizer humming as it produced a steaming mug of black liquid. She finally turned, leaning back against the unit, cradling the mug. Exhaustion etched deep lines beside her eyes. For a fleeting second, the mask of pragmatic annoyance slipped. He saw the weight of centuries in her gaze, the burden of secrets too heavy to share. She took a long, slow sip of the coffee, the steam curling around her face like spectral fingers.
"A story for bedtime," she said, her voice low, almost a sigh. It wasn't an answer. It was a deflection wrapped in profound weariness. It was a glimpse of the unfathomable depth beneath the surgeon, the sniper, the agent. And it promised revelations that could shake the foundations of everything Kenobi knew.
Cody shifted his weight, his helmet turning from the unnerving portrait to Brittany, then back to Kenobi. Rex kept his blaster angled towards the floor, but his grip hadn't loosened. Only the soft beep of Ahsoka's monitors filled the silence. Then, Cody spoke, his voice a low murmur filtered through his helmet comm.
"Sir? Permission to state the obvious?"
Kenobi didn't take his eyes off Brittany, the woman who wielded impossible power and brewed synthetic coffee while surrounded by the wreckage of their reality. "Granted, Cody."
The clone sergeant let out a slow breath. "We might be a long way from home, General. And I don't think the locals are exactly… friendly."
Brittany snorted, a harsh sound in the sterile quiet. "Friendly?" She took another sip, her grey eyes meeting Kenobi's over the rim of the mug. They held no malice, only a bone-deep understanding of the universe's indifference. "Try 'complicated'. And get used to it. The old ones usually are." She tilted her head slightly towards the portrait. The cold, ancient eyes of her grandfather seemed to watch them all.