They'd been on Citadel Station for three weeks now, ever since they had returned from Malachor. They'd rented apartments in one of the residential modules, and then one day the Exile and T3 and the Hawk were gone. She had said nothing to them, but they all knew where she gone. Revan was out there. The True Sith were out there. And now, she was out there. Mandalore left the next day, back to Dxun and his clans. The rest of them--they had been at a loss. Until Visas had said, "Kreia said we are the Lost Jedi."
"Without the Jedi, there is no hope for the Republic," Mical had said.
"Well, we can't be the only Jedi around." That had been Mira. And a day of discussion and another of planning, and they had split off on their separate missions. He, Bao-Dur, and Visas were to go to the secret academy here on Telos to--well, they weren't precisely sure what they would do there, yet; it depended on what they found. Atton, Mira, and HK-47 were searching for Revan's old companions (apparently some of Bao-Dur's maitenence on HK had found some memory files referring to Revan).
"There are many places in the Galaxy where the Dark Side is strong," said Visas next to him, breaking into his thoughts. Mical looked at her in surprise; not that she would speak of the Dark Side, but that she would speak at all. She went on. "I have seen such places. But I have never visited a place where the Light Side is strong, until now. There has been much suffering here, and yet the people here are filled with hope."
"There must always be hope," said Mical. "Nothing good can come without hope."
"I used to think such hope was a weakness. But I see now that is wrong. Hope has its own strength to it."
"It is a quieter strength," said Mical. "It is the strength of many with good in their hearts, not the strength of one with evil."
"I used to think you were naive--you, and the Exile, and the others." Mical raised his eyebrows in shock. Visas had only ever good things to say about the Exile. "But it is not naive. I can understand that, now."
"Yes," said Mical, not particularly sure what else to say. It felt very strange to be discussing this with Visas. She had hardly spoken three words on the trip to Citadel, not even to put in her thoughts about their task. Of course, she had never been particularly talkative on the search for the Lost Jedi, either. If she did speak, it was usually to the Exile. He could never remember having a conversation with her.
His comlink trilled, breaking into the awkward silence that was building. "Mical here."
"Got 'em," said Atton's voice. "We got them," said an irritated female voice in the background, and Atton sighed. "Okay, fine. We got them. Happy, Mira? Apparently that killer droid has multiple talents."
"Statement: The HK series is programmed with a plethora of useful functions. Opinion: However, I would designate my ability to kill as the most useful of my many talents."
"Look, could you not talk about killing for five minutes?" said Mira, exasperated. "It's getting old."
"Statement:--"
"Hey, can you two wait a second?" Atton cut in. "Okay, prince, listen up." Mical gritted his teeth at the nickname. "The landing bay codes are 45-alpha-67-D4-epsilon."
Mical quickly entered it into his datapad. "Understood. Thank you."
"You won't be thanking me when you get there. Be careful of those ghost women. They can't tell if they've got a Sith right under their noses, but they'll be happy to put all of you in force cages anyway." Ghost women--the Handmaidens, Mical thought. That could be very difficult.
"All right." The comlink switched off. "Come on," he said to Visas.
His only reply was a silent nod. Mical suppressed a sigh. Even after all this time, he could not help but feel... unsettled around Visas. It was wrong, and he knew it was wrong, but in spite of that he could not ignore his disquiet. She had certainly been redeemed; the Dark Side no longer had any hold over her, and she had proven that time and time again during their travels with the Exile, but... How much of her past with Nihilus still lingered? he wondered. He shook his head. That was a silly, paranoid thought, of course. But ever since Kreia--Darth Traya--he had been feeling very suspicious. What if there was another like her, still out there? What if there was another Revan?
It was all down to the teachings of the Jedi. Revan, Ulic Qel-Droma, Kreia--they were to be blamed for the horrors they had wrought, of course, but the arrogance and the hypocrisy of the Masters had their own hand in their falls. The very reason Mical was here was to try and correct that, to rebuild the Jedi Order so that Jedi could answer their questions by the teachings, and not by turning away from the light. He only hoped they could succeed where the Masters had failed.
Visas Marr and Mical strode to the TSF Station in Entertainment Module 081. Bao-Dur was still there, conversing in his mellow voice with a TSF mechanic over a battered droid and a wide puddle of fluid. "We have what we need," said Mical.
The Iridorian looked up from his work. "That was quick," he said. "All right then, let's go. Don't put in so much coolant next time," he added to the mechanic.
"Do we have a ship?" he asked as the three of them boarded the shuttle to the docking module. Apparently he thought there was no chance of them being noticed or significantly overheard in the crowded little vehicle.
"We will find one," said Visas calmly as she found a strap to hang onto.
"Does that mean we're going to steal one?" said Bao-Dur, a note of amusement to his voice.
"Yes," said Visas. She could feel Mical's displeasure at the prospect as he shifted restlessly from foot to foot. She took a breath. Out of all of them, he was the one most fixed on these tiny principles of honor and honesty. Bao-Dur treated it lightly; Mira and Atton would not have taken a pause, but it seemed Mical was still Mical, as he had ever been. "One pilot's inconvenience is nothing to our mission," she added, glaring at him beneath her veil. The glow of his life and the scars on her sight kept her from seeing his face properly, but she could guess. But if he did still have doubts, he was holding his tongue. Very unusual, for him. In fact, he'd been very quiet since they had escaped Malachor V. Visas could not explain it. But the peace was nice.
"It shouldn't be too difficult to find a suitable craft," said Bao-Dur practically, setting himself to the task at hand. "Even a courier shuttle would do, since we're not going to leave orbit."
"Where would we find such a shuttle?" said Visas.
"They make regular runs to and from different areas of the Citadel. They're built for cheapness and efficiency, so it's no big deal if we...borrow one from them."
"I suppose you are right," said Mical, not believing it, of course. The transit shuttle screeched to a halt just then, cutting off Visas from replying as she fought to hold on to her handstrap. Some of the other passengers were not so lucky; Bao-Dur paused to help a child to his feet as they stepped off.
"I can't say I'm too thrilled with it either, but there's not much choice," said Bao-Dur.
No. We do not have the means to purchase another ship. We need to reach the academy with all haste. Visas thought this, but she had already said as much and had no desire to repeat herself. There was nothing to be gained by arguing and regretting. She looked at Bao-Dur instead, waiting.
"We'll probably find one this way." He led them down the stark, wide corridors of Docking Module 043, much less crowded than the travelers' module.
"I am sure you are right," said Mical after a time, "but it still seems wrong to begin rebuilding the Jedi Order with an act of theft."
It was useless to continue arguing with him, so Visas did not. He was so perceptive to the currents of the Force, the flow of history, and yet he still had trouble seeing what was in front of his eyes. She could not understand it.
"Here we are," whispered Bao-Dur. The three Jedi halted at the open airlock doorway. Four tiny shuttles sat in the hangar bay, no activity of any sort around them. With a wave of his glowing arm, Bao-Dur led them in silence up the ramp to docking control. Visas pulled out her keybreaker pad and opened the door.
"What are you doing in here?" said the irritated female inside. "Civilians aren't supposed to be up here. Where is your permit?"
"We don't need a permit," said Mical, bringing the Force to bear with a wave of his hand. "We need to use one of the shuttles."
"That's right, you don't need a permit. Here are the codes to the shuttles; they'll work with any in this bay."
"Thank you." They hurried to board one before the mind trick wore off. Bao-Dur slid into the pilot seat, leaving the tiny space in the back to Mical and Visas. A blue light blinked on the console; the bay forcefield was down. The courier shuttle practically shot out into space, nearly knocking against the side of the hangar bay. Not a moment too soon; the light went red just as they cleared it.
Visas looked around the strange cityscape of Citadel Station. The hope she could feel in the travelers' lounge was still strong, even here in space. She could hear it, like a clear note from a bell, shining optimism that the wars would not return. She wished she could share in that hope as completely as they did. But the Exile was out there fighting that evil. Visas knew little of Revan; she had only heard of him as a conqueror and only for a short time as a hero--she could not place her trust in Revan, but she could do nothing but trust in Malara Etiston. Whoever, whatever the True Sith were, Malara would stop them.
Mical cleared his throat, jerking Visas from her thoughts. She looked at him questioningly, though it was not visible on her face. He gestured towards the empty crate on the floor, moving away from it the best he could in the cramped space. "What?" said Visas, not understanding.
"Take a seat." He apparently was perplexed by her perplexion.
"But you were closer."
"Sit down, Visas. He's being a gentleman," said Bao-Dur as he sent the courier shuttle soaring over the rooftops of Citadel.
"Oh." Visas hesitated, then sat down. "Thank you," she added, belatedly--politeness was as unnatural to her as idle conversation, but it seemed neccesary.
"My pleasure," said Mical. He sounded completely sincere; he felt completely sincere, which seemed very odd to Visas. Bao-Dur had said yesterday it would take probably two hours to reach the Academy from Citadel. In this low-grade little craft, it might take longer. Mical was very puzzling at times.