The troopers were aware of their jedi command team in their midst. Some felt a bit self-conscious. Some didn't care at all. Some resented the intrusion into what they considered their time. An interruption of their respite from the hardships of their daily lives.

One of the robed figures paused longer than the others. As her leaders moved on she stayed, mesmerized.

The trooper creating the most haunting sounds played an instrument she'd never seen before. As she watched, his tanned, strong fingers flew over the keys and strings, evoking something like a throbbing lilt. A lilting throb. However the music expressed itself, she felt it in her-sensed it through the vibrations it caused in the air-every bit as much as she heard it as displaced air striking her eardrum. It was inside her. Part of her. Part of all of them.

She was spellbound.

When he looked up and saw the rapt expression he smiled. She leaned into the sound, as though bracing herself against an opposing gale-force wind. Her eyes were vacant...lost. And the soft pink lips parted in an expression that was almost shock, almost awe. Almost a smile.

His music pleased her.

"Would you like to try it, general?" he asked softly.

He might have been standing inches from her rather than several yards away. His voice sounded harsh as the music ended and he gestured to her with both the instrument in question and raised eyebrows.

She started when she realized he was speaking to her.

"Oh. Um..." As the men closest to them watched a faint blush spread on her face and she chewed at the lips she pressed into a flat line. "No. I guess. It's a...lovely, I suppose...a lovely thing. Such strong, confident music you make with it. And I've never seen one before. Never heard one. Like all the smiles and all the sighs and all the sweetness and harshness and passion and calm-it was like listening to a star. Magical. And yet entirely earthly. All at once. And I felt it everywhere I have living cells. It pains me to think that there are beings who have never been exposed to such a thing. I hadn't. I know that there is nothing like this in any of the temple's treasures. I am sorry for those who will die without having taken part in such an art."

He laughed. Looking straight into her eyes.

So many of his brethren shifted their gaze slightly. Military protocol or not, she hated the stare that focused just over her. She wasn't tall, nor was she short, so meeting her eye-to-eye shouldn't have been a hardship. Except someone had taught these men that the proper way to address a superior officer-be they jedi or bothan or mon cal-was to not meet their eyes.

Perhaps because so much could be read there; much could pass between two beings in such an exchange.

It did so now.

The trooper flicked his fingers toward her. "C'm," he said confidently. "It's not such a hardship to learn to play. I'm not long decanted and I've become a fair hand at it already."

Brindar felt the laugh well up. "Please," she intoned. "No false modesty with me. You and I both know that just because a thing is easy for you that it mayn't be that way for the rest of the galaxy. You are, in fact, superior in every way. It grates," she admitted with a grin. "I hate being inferior. Or ignorant. Or challenged. I wasn't at the temple much. The newness of the feeling does not a novelty make it."

She sank to her knees in front of him and he settled the box on her lap, leaning slightly to strum the strings. Here was the lilting tone-just the light, soothing notes of the strings. Here most artists and artisans would have been content to stop.

"Perhaps it's best for pride such as that to undergo a few setbacks," the trooper suggested as he pulled her hand to brace the instrument's flat side and back. He splayed his own, showing her the positioning of the fingers. As each fingertip settled into the slightly hollowed depression beneath the strings a low, easy throb reverberated the air.

"Master Yoda suggested the same thing. I think I've purposely been assigned missions that test my resolve since then."

"Never pray for patience," the man warned her. "You usually get the opportunity to see if you've gotten it yet."

"I've little," she admitted. "I've not the desire for more. Just for more freedom. If the jedi must fight a war-which we shouldn't, no offense intended-then we should make a stand of it and be done. Spreading innocent men in a thousand different conflicts offers no hope of resolution."
"I'm pleased to meet you, General," he said softly as he gently placed her fingertips on the strings this time. She held them there, seeking the peace of the instrument's lighter side rather than the deeper tones he'd been invoking. "There's many among us who are starting to ask similar questions of whatever gods will listen."

"Have they answered you?" she asked suddenly, facing him.

The face-identical to all of those around her-was but centimeters away. She met his eyes, then let her gaze flicker to the small scar at the corner of his eyebrow. She reached out to touch it.

He jerked as though burned and she sharply withdrew her hand. His own fingertips replaced hers on the side of his head and his eyes narrowed as he frowned.

"I don't have the answers you seek, General. I'm a simple soldier and, believe it or not, I enjoy what I do. There's a rush in running headlong into the enemy and knowing that if you're still standing at the end of it you'll be the winner. It's as easy as that for me."

She arched an eyebrow and turned back to the instrument. She tested a few of the depressed pads, finding the range of each row of strings and buttons.

"Have you not lost anyone, then?" she asked as she concentrated. She felt him stiffen as he moved so that he could guide her hands. Felt his anger at her probing and his own frustration that he should feel so. And she felt him. He wasn't overly close, nor overly intimate. His knees parted so that he could kneel beside her, one very close to where she'd settled her rear on her heels, the other almost brushing her own.

She tested the force cautiously, then let her eyes close for a moment's self-evaluation. He didn't alarm her, although her pace raced frenetically. She felt...safe. She decided. And that scared her more than any of the battles she'd been in, more than the degradation of her society, more than the role of her people in this conflict.

"General?" he asked sharply. He eased back, but at the same time reached out a hand toward her. "General?"

She'd gone still. Bone, dead still. Almost not breathing. Eyes unfocused. The muscles of her hand beneath his suddenly locked and unyielding.

"Shab," he swore under his breath. He clutched her hand and shook it. He wasn't sure if he'd frightened her by getting too close or if she was having some sort of fit or what. "General!"

Brindar shuddered and looked over at him, her eyes widened now in shock. Her mouth glanced at his face, then down at their hands, then formed a little "oh" sound that he couldn't hear over the pounding of his own head.

"Kriffing sakes, ma'am, don't do that again."

Brindar pulled a face, then smiled. "I'm sorry. I got kind of...lost in thought, I suppose." She watched him draw a shaking hand over his face and let out a long breath. "And my name is Rar. Well, Brindar, actually, but Rar."

He held out the hand and she shook it as offered. "One. As in number one. Seriously. I'm c-t-zero-zero-zero-one. And I've made damn sure that I'm the best one."

"Hmmm."

He snorted at her dubious response. "Brindar's pretty. It's a nice name. Does it mean anything in your language?"

The jedi shook her head. "It doesn't, no. But it's close to several things in yours. One of the first cuy'val dar I met was Mandalorian. He wouldn't tell me what it meant and I can't find a translation module that will catch 'close to' as a search criteria. I don't know where Rar came out of Brindar. I just know that everyone uses it. Even Master Yoda."

"No surname, no middle name or family name, no clan name?"

She pursed her lips and shook her head.

"In Mando tradition dar means no longer. Or never, depending on its use. Batiir is a form of concern...to worry or fuss over someone, to care for them or about them."

"So my name has negative connotations."

She watched his fingertips as he gently urged hers over strings and concussion depressions. He shook his head. "Not so much, ma'am. More...profound, I guess would be the word. It's a serious thing, a Mando's word. It's all he has-his honor and his integrity. To make a vow or to disavow is earth-shattering. And to open your heart, to make yourself vulnerable because of affection for another human being." He was quiet for a long moment. "I can't think of two more balanced parts of the Mandalorian culture. Extreme sentiment, extreme practicality. To love with everything, to hate strongly enough to stake your word on it. It makes for an intriguing puzzle to happen across a being named for those two traits."

"And only those traits," Rar muttered. Beings all over the universe had multiple names. Their identities were passed down with monikers from generations past-added to and expanded and mutated. To have only the one name...to be known only by a few letters rather than have a family name that told a story...this was unusual in most of the communities she'd studied in her life.

"You got it, general."