1: Heroes Always Get Remembered ...

Feeling was acutely inescapable, his nerves firing all at once in a never-ending cascade, starting from his fingertips until it reached his spine. Blood roared to life in his ears, deafening in its suddenness, skin burning. He lurched forward instinctively, to escape whatever was causing it – someone caught him during his vain escape attempt, before it ended with an undignified face-plant. He gripped their arm hard as they lowered him to his knees, and the heat ravaging his skin slowly retreated.

"Anna?" he breathed, voice grating in his throat as the heat on his skin was quickly replaced by freezing cold. He thought they answered, but rushing torrent in his ears drowned it — but he knew, somehow, that it wasn't her. He took several deep breaths, chest aching as his muscles protested. "Where is she?" he repeated.

"I am sorry, Admiral. She is not here." A woman spoke, louder this time, cutting through the unending roar. "Thaymina, blanket." Something heavy and warm had just been wrapped around his shoulders when his sluggish brain registered the words. He gripped harder.

"Put me back."

"Admiral … it has been three centuries. We must admit that Revan is likely long-dead."

"I don't care," he snapped. "Put me back. She isn't. I'd know. I'd—"

The woman helped him to a chair with a sigh. "I believe we will be fine from here," she said, and he suspected it wasn't to him. "You should return to your duties."

Another woman immediately answered her, voice level but wavering. "But — Master Satele, with my expertise —"

"I am sure the Temple healers will manage, Thaymina."

There was a pause, followed by a quiet "Of course, Grand Master," and the sudden sensation that there were now fewer people near him.

"Admiral Onasi," the first woman said, pulling away from him. "I will have our medics look over you."

"Where am I?"

"The Jedi Temple, on Tython."

"Tython? Where is … what about—"

"I will explain everything later."

He didn't know if it was hibernation sickness or not, but she sounded an awful lot like Bastila did when she was impatient.

"Who are you?"

"Grand Master Satele Shan."

His heart paused momentarily, the roar subsiding for the briefest moment. He couldn't have heard that properly — could he? It had to be the roar in his ears, confusion from the carbonite — "Shan?"

"Yes. You knew one of my ancestors."

Knew? One of his last memories had been her begging him to reconsider — "Yeah," Carth said. "Something like that."

#

After a cursory exam by someone who barely spoke, and with no sign of his vision returning in a prompt fashion, Carth was helped to a chair somewhere. He wanted to complain about being led, but bit it back down. He'd known the side effects of carbonite hibernation when he'd come up with this idea — he'd known what to expect when he came out. But he'd expected it to be her freeing him, hoped so hard that he'd started to feel her features against the pads of his fingers as he stepped into the freezing chamber.

But she wasn't here, and he was having trouble with his short-term memory. That, at least, was the carbonite.

Someone sat down across from him and he leaned on a table, resting his eyes in his hand.

"Admiral Onasi, I—"

"What was your name again?" Was this what she'd felt like, waking up on Taris with no idea who or where she was? If it was, he was handling it better than she had.

"Satele Shan." Right, Bastila's. Grand Master. He thought.

"Right. Sorry."

"No, there is no need to apologize."

"Where is—"

"Revan has been missing since your time, presumed dead in the Unknown Regions."

"Then why—"

With how quickly she answered, he suspected that he'd asked all this before. "We need your help. A Sith Empire attacked the Republic eleven years ago. I, and many others, suspect she faced them at least once before. Perhaps your knowledge would —"

Carth responded with an irritated hmph. "You're Jedi. That's your area of expertise."

"Admiral—"

"For — you woke me up on a whim. I said Revan, when Revan came back. What part of that involved information? None of it!"

Satele somehow made the same noise Bastila had whenever she was irritated. "I had little choice in the matter, Admiral. It was a decision made by the Council, and I—"

"The Council in my day blackmailed her with me to keep her in line. Saying it was Council-ordered hardly makes me feel better."

"Regardless of whether you appreciate it or not, Admiral, you are awake now." Now, that tone was definitely genetic. "You have knowledge and skills that could be of use to both the Republic and the Jedi. You may have information vital to the defeat of the Empire and the salvation of the Republic." Something creaked again, and he realized she'd gotten to her feet. "I suggest you rest and recover. I will send someone to help you shortly."

She stepped past him, and he reached out to stop her. "Master Shan."

"Yes, Admiral?"

"She isn't dead. I would know."

"Admiral—"

"I would know," he insisted.

Three hundred years — no. It didn't matter. If he focused past the nausea wracking his gut and the fog settled in his brain he could tell, he knew. Back in that place in his chest, he knew. If she was dead, why could he still feel her life at the end of it? That was how it worked … right?

"Of course, Admiral," Satele placated, and a door closed. Carth sighed and rested his head heavier in his hand.

Carth wasn't sure how long he sat there — admittedly, he might have fallen asleep — trying to focus on that warm feeling deep in his chest. She'd told him it was a Force Bond, like the one she had with Bastila, just weaker, connecting them no matter how distant they were. And if he focused, thought hard enough, he could still feel something on that other end. Something that seemed to be stirring … as if his waking made something there live.

If it were anything else, he would have let his cynicism overrule it. But it was her … and if he believed in anything, he believed in her.

At some point the door opened again and he jumped, perhaps waking out of a half-contemplative slumber. Someone, and what sounded like a droid, stepped in, and they closed the door behind them. "Admiral Onasi," a lilting female voice said, accompanied by the sounds of several things being set down on solid objects. "I am Master Mara'ja Vay. Master Satele and Master Thaymina have asked me to help with your recovery."

"I take it you know who I am, then."

She laughed. "Of course. Thaymina could hardly contain her excitement when she spoke to me an hour ago. Since I am currently pursuing academic concerns whilst she is off mending the galaxy, she wanted to make sure you were in good hands."

"Am I?"

"Well … I'm not sure she knows how to make a bad decision." Mara'ja cleared her throat. "I've brought along the personal effects that were with you in the Temple, as well as a change of clothes and some food. After centuries in carbonite, I can only imagine you feel unpleasant. You've been given a guest room, so there is a 'fresher attached — will you need anything else immediately?"

He waved his hand at her. "I don't think so." No, right now, he'd much rather be considering a way to get back into carbonite, and maybe this time they'd only unfreeze him if she was standing there waiting for him.

"Very well. I also brought along C4-J3, in case you need assistance when I am not here — J3 has my commlink. If that is all, I will take my leave." Carth nodded, and the door gently closed.

It took some time but Carth eventually managed to find and use the fresher and exchange his clothes with the new ones, without breaking his neck or having J3 insist on helping. The food Mara'ja left was the same thing he'd grown used to after living in a Jedi enclave for six months, lean and extremely dry high-energy fare. He tried not to think while he ate or showered, because it inevitably led to the same place. He was here, and no one else was. And now, thanks to some typically overly-meddling Jedi, the main reason he'd frozen himself to begin with wasn't there, either.

Carth fell asleep a short time later, waking up still blind and severely needing a stiff drink. Almost on cue there was a light tapping on his door, light enough that for a moment he thought it might be in his head.

"Yeah?"

"It's me, Admiral," Mara'ja answered. Carth sighed and pulled himself to his feet, feeling his way back over to the table.

"Come in."

The door opened and something clicked. Light exploded in his eyes, and he yelped and threw his arm over them. "Oh!" Mara'ja said hurriedly, setting something down. Another click and the light disappeared, leaving him back in comfortable darkness. "I didn't realize you'd be recovering so quickly. My apologies."

"'S'fine," he mumbled.

"I brought dinner," she continued. "J3 said you were asleep, last I stopped by, so I did not want to disturb you."

"How long ago was that?"

"About four hours. I was called away almost immediately after — training accident with the Padawans. How are you feeling, Admiral?"

"Just Carth. I'm not an Admiral anymore — think Dodonna was going to put me down as killed in action." He fumbled and found the water she'd brought. "Master Vay—"

"Oh, please don't. Just Mara, or Mara'ja if you must. I'm far too young for the title."

"Yeah, uh …" He decided then that he had two options: he could sit about and sulk, as he desperately wanted to do. Or he could follow that single warm, desperate thread deeper into the dispassionate galaxy, hunting it to its source — and to her, he was sure of it. But for that, he needed information. "Do you have some time?"

"Of course."

"Could you tell me what it's like out there?"

Mara'ja replied with a deep exhale, and the other chair in the room creaked. "That's a tall order, Carth. But I will do my best."