A black leather jacket slid over the blue arms of Mission Vao; hugging her muscles tightly and conforming to the outline of her torso. She checked the holsters on her belt. Republic blaster pistol (that she may have enhanced with a few questionably legal mods): check. Trusty vibroblade, one of her only souvenirs from Taris: check. She applied two sweeps of mascara along her eyelashes before entering one of Coruscant's seediest bars. Look hot as a Tattooine desert at noon: check.
One of the most invaluable skills Mission learned on Taris was the necessity of a good entrance. Every head in the dim room turned to watch her, some with lust, some with fear, all with interest. Normally she wouldn't attract so much attention on outings like this, but this occasion was special.
"Ria, finally," wheezed a middle-aged human man with three missing teeth. Mission approached Viscal's grungy booth coolly and leaned against the adjacent wall. "I'm meeting another client the next district over in twenty minutes. The boss will roast my ass and call it dinner if I don't snag this guy as a regular."
"Sorry," Mission apologized flippantly. "Traffic was a bitch." She indicated a hand towards the bar's back exit. "Let's make this quick then."
They "discreetly" slunk through the narrow corridor and into the trash-littered alley between buildings. Mission scanned the location for any useful details. Only one exit, which was great, walls far too short for Viscal to climb with a blaster shot to the leg. Mission positioned herself so that she blocked him from the alley's exit. Reaching into his jacket, he mumbled. "You asked for the good shit so I got you the good shit. Must be some hell of a party. Spice like this costs you credits, though, and I don't know how a kid like you comes up with all these credits."
He held a huge clear bag of pale gold spice, just out of her reach. To prove she wasn't bluffing, she showed her fat bag of credit chips. "I ain't a kid, Viscal. When will people ever get that in their heads?" Faster than her victim could cry "don't shoot", Mission dropped the credits and simultaneously drew her blaster and her badge. "Mission Vao, Republic Intelligence. You're under arrest."
Her backup team of district CSF officers emerged from the alley entrance. "Fuck," hissed Viscal at the sight of ten blasters pointing towards him. The spice slid from his fingers and spilled onto the pavement. In defeat he placed his hands on the back of his head. "Shit, Ria, shit. Knews you was nothing but a dirty, blue-skinned—" A policeman shoved him out of the alley, inciting Mission's imagination to provide colorful endings to his sentence.
"Good work, agent," congratulated her commanding officer, Agent Xur. He must have been waiting outside with the police. "As soon as he talks we'll find his friends. Who knows, if all goes well you may be sent to Onderon in a few weeks." Although she caught him for dealing, Viscal's gang had been harboring fugitives from Onderon, rebels in the uprising against the Republic.
"Thanks, Xur. But until then, I doubt you'll need my expertise interrogating a bunch of thugs." They strolled along the block, passing bars and hideouts and apartments worse than any of her homes on Taris. His airspeeder was parked five streets over. "Have you approved my request for leave yet?"
Xur huffed. "Yeah, I can. Don't know why you just sprung up a vacation request, is all."
"I haven't taken a vacation in years, and there are some people I need to see." Big Z, primarily, or Chieftain Zaalbar of whatever he was called now. She hadn't seen her Wookiee companion face-to-face in two years, and he was lousy at returning her messages. "I wanna go to Kashyyyk."
"Can't imagine why. Isn't that the planet with nothing but trees, fur carpets, and a big 'Stay Away' sign posted by Czerka Corp.?"
"That's the place." She could also go see—well, Mission supposed there wasn't anyone else left to see. Except for the old geezer, who became even stuffier when he was promoted to Admiral. She and Carth regularly corresponded, but the guy lived out of his Hammerhead cruiser and had sent some ominous messages lately.
Quesa—Mission still couldn't call her Revan, or even Selena—disappeared from their lives four years ago, taking the Ebon Hawk and its two droids along. They all took it pretty hard, even those in their little group who had expected something drastic like that. She was alive; Carth insisted that he would "know" if she died and Bastila swore to still sense her through their bond.
By that time, Zaalbar had already returned to Kashyyyk, Canderous began some quest to unite the Mandalorians, and Jolee slithered off into seclusion again. Juhani and Bastila resided on Corsucant too for a while, at the Jedi Temple, until a small group of them left for a mission and the other remnants of the Order were summoned to a meeting on Kataar. Something bad happened there, some Force tragedy no one had the time to explain to Mission, and for months she and Carth did not know if their friends had survived. Eventually Bastila sent the briefest of messages, stating that she and Juhani and Dustil and that ex-Sith Yuthura Ban were alive, but that it was dangerous for Jedi at the moment so they were undercover. That was two years ago, and communication was scarce ever since.
So Mission Vao was alone on Coruscant, with a fancy job she landed thanks to Carth and a stellar apartment she bought with her lavish salary. Republic Intelligence was usually dangerous, highly-skilled work, more entertaining than busting a gang dealer for information, so it paid in figures that Griff always dreamed about in his get-rich-quick schemes. She hadn't heard from Griff either, although she kept track of him through her contacts and connections. Currently he was on Nar Shaddaa, probably boozed up and flirting with some dancer. Mission did sometimes hear from Lena though. They even met to catch up occasionally.
But despite her success Mission still missed her old life, or at least the good company she kept. She would also admit she missed the wild adventures, but she had adventures of her own now, even if none were as exciting as saving the galaxy from Darth Malak.
"Alright, enough with the 'distant memory eyes' again. You can go. But don't get in too much trouble, we still need your ass on the field."
A giggle of delight rumbled in Mission's throat. "Thanks, Xur."
Agent Xur dropped her off at her apartment, which was located just outside of the Senate District. Close enough to Republic buildings, far enough so that she didn't have to deal with Corsucant's "Upper City" dwellers in her neighborhood. Once inside the spacious place, which was decorated as one would expect of a teenager suddenly rewarded with ample credits, she tossed aside her jacket and weapons and immediately searched for duffel bags in which to pack her things. Mission turned on the news holovids so that she would have some extra background noise while she worked. Did she have enough clean laundry for three weeks worth of clothes? Maybe she should start a load of laundry...
As she searched for a specific pair of boots in her closet, a few key words on the holovid caught her attention. "Telos." "Attack." "Sojourn." "Sith." Mission abandoned her pursuit for her boots and listened more attentively. Wasn't Carth supposed to be on Telos the last time they chatted? Yes, she was sure of it. He kept mentioning the Restoration Project, and how it would blossom with the help of some woman he was sent to pick up. What the hell were Sith doing on Telos?
The holovids didn't provide any answers. Was Carth even alive? The segment ended before she found out. Mission grunted in frustration and turned off the holovid. Apparently the Sojourn wasn't destroyed, but did that ensure the survival of its Admiral? She checked her e-mail for any recent messages from Carth. None.
After so many of her friends left her without assurance of their survival, Mission was pissed to discover the dread of uncertainty hadn't diminished. Besides Big Z, Carth was the last person she had left. Sure, he acted like a dad and tensed up whenever she told him about her undercover work hunting for Sith on Korriban, but he cared about her like no one else ever had. And she damn sure didn't want the guy dead. Maybe just a quick trip to the Telos Citadel Station, just to see he made it. Sorry Big Z. I'll get to you as soon as I can.
Mission was not sure of why she so desperately needed to go to Telos, but she trusted her gut. Maybe the Force is leading me there, she scoffed. Regardless, there were no commercial transports headed to the Citadel Station because of the attack, so she would have to take her own starship. It was her "work vehicle", but Mission had used it for personal ventures before. Sorry Xur. Not wanting to delay her departure any longer than necessary, Mission finished her packing and hailed a taxi to take her to one of the Republic's non-military hangars.
The Nightwing stood magnificently and proudly with the other vehicles. It was a small Corellian starship, but not Republic standard as she often worked undercover. Her attending droid was her co-pilot while she navigated through Coruscant's strict traffic procedures, but as soon as she was able Mission set a course for Telos IV. Once she was safely in hyperspace, she passed out on the single bed in her private room, knowing the droid would wake her when the journey was over.
Her nerves won in their battle against sleep, waking her before she arrived in the Telos system. After she changed clothes and prepared for a new day in the refresher, she paced around in the cockpit in attempts to dull her energy. When the Nightwing emerged from hyperspace, Mission had already been awake for an hour. The sight before her was shocking. Massive amounts of debris floated around the healing planet and its space station. A cleanup team needed to come soon, before the debris trailed too close to the planet and crashed through the atmosphere. Checking that her shields were working at optimal capacity, she crept the Nightwing through the battle zone. Most of the metallic hunks of ship were charred from explosions, but she did notice some white-and-red chunks from decimated Hammerhead cruisers. Mission inhaled to calm her heart. After maneuvering through most of the debris field, she saw a dozen Hammerheads and a plethora of various other Republic cruisers hovering above the Citadel Station. She scanned their ID signatures. The Sojourn was among them. A planet's worth of weight eased off her neck and shoulders.
"Nightwing to Citadel Station," she called out to the docking officials on their channel. There was a swarm of comm chatter to and from the Station, on local and galactic networks. "Nightwing to Citadel Station," she repeated. They received this message. "This is Agent Vao from Republic Intelligence requesting to land."
Static buzzed from the docking officials and the connection briefly shut off. "Apologies, Agent, but we're experiencing heavy traffic at the moment. Estimated wait for a docking bay is five standard hours."
If Mission was trapped inside of her tiny freighter for another five hours without knowing that Carth was unharmed and what she could do to help, she would combust. "I'm on a mission from the Republic marked highly urgent. Requesting to land."
The channel was silent for a full five minutes before they answered her. "Please proceed to Docking Bay C in Module oh-five-four. Enjoy your stay on the Citadel Station, Agent."
As Mission weaved through the space station, bypassing multiple lanes of standstill traffic, she studied the planet below. All she knew about the Restoration Project came from Carth. Despite the Sith devastation it was expected to eventually recover. He told her that it was a possible prototype for other planetary restorations. Maybe Taris could be next. Sure, it hadn't been in the Republic long, but it was home to billions more than Telos was. Maybe her home could be next.
She found the docking bay with relative ease. Before exiting the Nightwing, she clipped her weapons holsters to her belt and donned her black leather jacket. Waiting to greet her in the hangar were two exhausted and limping TSF officers and their bald human commander who seemed so tense that it was probable he lost all of his hair since the battle. "Sorry, Agent, normally we'd have more men out here but it's been a hell of a week. I'm Lieutenant Grenn of the Telos Security Force," he introduced. "I'm afraid, because of the battle, we're going to have to confiscate your weapons."
Reaching for her badge, Mission explained "I have government clearance from all Republic weapon checks and confiscations."
After inspecting her badge, Lieutenant Grenn grumbled, "It's protocol, but to hell with it. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"I need to speak with Admiral Onasi."
The Lieutenant emitted a thoughtful noise. "He's on the Station. May I inquire why?"
"Classified." That one little word instantly made any Republic employee cease to ask questions. Useful, especially when she was lying about an urgent mission to fast track her goals. "The Admiral is well? No battle injuries?"
Grenn led her out of the hangar and to another, this one with a shuttle intended for transportation between modules. While they walked, he answered, "Admiral Onasi is fine. After we cleared most of the Sith out of the station and while that Jedi took out their ship, the cruisers provided covering fire. A lot of fighters lost, but they only took out one cruiser."
Jedi? Mission thought they were all in hiding. They boarded the shuttle and she asked, "Why were Sith soldiers even here, anyway?"
"I don't know the whole story, but someone let it slip to a Sith Lord that there was a group of Jedi on-planet. More trouble than they're worth, if you ask me." He exhaled a relieved sigh, and shut his eyes. "But the threat's over, even if the headache of recovery isn't. And we have fuel from Sleyheyron, even if it's coming from the Exchange. The worst is over."
They landed in the docking bay of some residential module. Grenn pointed her in the direction of the apartment Carth was temporarily housed in and Mission power-walked to its door, even though she knew he was alive and undamaged. She must have missed the old guy. Mission knocked on the metal door and entered after hearing a confused, "Come in?" from inside.
Carth had a few more gray hairs and lines in his face than the last time they met, but otherwise he was largely unchanged. "Mission? What the hell are you doing here?" he laughed. His tone was surprised but certainly not displeased.
She dashed up to her favorite Admiral and engulfed him in a hug, burying her face in his fresh-scented casual wear. "I saw on the holovid that there was an attack, and your ship was here, and I didn't know until I arrived if you were alive or dead, and," Mission rambled. Carth hushed her gently, pleased that she cared. His eyes were still sad, as they had been since Quesa left, but his toothy smile beamed. "And I guess I had to know that you were alright."
"I am," he promised. "It's good to see you. Sit, sit." He motioned to the basic metal table in the grim room, which was surrounded by four hard chairs. They each took one. "I never expected so many reunions in such a short amount of time."
"What do you-" she began, but was interrupted by another voice.
"Carth, who's that you're talking to?" And out from the refresher walked Bastila Shan, who had certainly changed in the last two years. She kept her hair longer, allowing it to flow down her back, dressed in slimming spacer clothing instead of Jedi robes, and abandoned her double-bladed lightsaber for a pair of blaster pistols at her hips. Her position was defensive until she recognized the identity of the newcomer. "Mission, how good it is to see you," she greeted, as warmly as Mission supposed she could.
Although they were not the closest friends during their quest on the Ebon Hawk and afterwards, they'd known each other for long enough to discover all the quirks and personality facets that tighter bonds provided. So Mission hugged her as well, although Bastila did not understand comforting platonic physical contact as well as her brother-in-law. "Where have you been? What are you doing here? I thought you were hiding?"
"The Sith Lord who destroyed Kataar was just killed aboard the Ravager. We have little to fear anymore," she explained as they joined Carth at the table.
"I heard you took down a ship, but a Sith Lord? Damn."
"No, no, that was not I. I came back into Republic space searching for Carth." He sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "It seems the Force led us together here at a very opportune time."
"That's one word for it," Carth remarked. Almost to himself, he muttered, "I made my peace with doing my duty, but now..."
"Selena's in danger," clarified Bastila, causing Mission's stomach to drop. How were they to help the isolated ex-Sith if no one knew her location? "Distance has weakened the connection of our Force bond, but it is still present. I've been dreaming terrible nightmares, visions really, all blurry images and distant feelings of dread. I believe she's calling out for help."
Carth, plainly feeling conflicted, interjected, "She told us to keep the Republic safe and strong."
"And now that these Sith have been eliminated, it can be." Bastila reached for the Admiral's hand, which rested on the table. "Your duty is done. My sister needs you. Your wife needs you."
"I know that, Bastila, but Telos, the Republic...I'm not a Jedi. I can't just disappear when people need me."
She scrunched up her face like a kinrath pup, as Revan/Quesa/Selena would say; clearly his words stung, but they were true. People were not fond of Jedi these days, and Mission couldn't really blame them. Her friends were great, but as a group they just started wars and caused a lot of collateral damage. Watching the Admiral and Jedi, Mission felt like she was intruding on some familial quarrel. "The choice is yours," she stated coldly. "If either of us should be hesitant, it is I, as I have a Jedi Order to rebuild, but if-"
"Damn it, Bastila, if you're not the most infuriating woman in the galaxy," he interrupted. "Of course I'm going, if she's in danger. But it's just...I wasn't there for Telos once. Huh. I guess I also wasn't there for my family once. Okay."
How odd, all the coincidences that contributed to Mission being on the Citadel Station at that exact moment with two old friends she hadn't seen in far too long. How odd that they could make use of her expertise as an Intelligence agent. Mission believed in hard work and determination as opposed to fate, but she was beginning to reevaluate that. The choice before Mission was clearer than a Tarisian evening. Her visit with Big Z would have to wait awhile longer. "I'm going too," she declared.
Her nagging father figure retorted, "Like hell you are, missy."
"I ain't a kid anymore, Carth, I'm twenty years old. I got connections, I can help you." To Bastila, she confirmed, "You said Quesa left because she thought something was wrong with the Mandalorians during the war? Like they didn't choose to fight?" She nodded, interested in whatever Mission had to offer. "I knew these Sith guys who said the same thing when I worked undercover on Korriban. Some of the Sith who survived the Academy left to find whatever it was too."
Eagerly, Bastila inquired, "Could you find these men again?"
"Easy."
"Why am I always stuck with the stubborn ones?" Carth mumbled.
"There was a reason I came here, Carth. Call it fate of the Force or whatever, I was led to this very moment like you two were." Mission glanced to Bastila for support.
The Jedi admitted, "We only have two leads, and if the other falls through..."
Mission sprung up from the table as Carth put his head on a hand in defeat. "Great, so when do we leave? We can use the Nightwing; it'll be cozy but she's fast and has all the latest stealth modifications. Shit, I think I left all my contact data on Coruscant, we'll have to-"
"Relax, Mission," Carth ordered her. They'd apparently been trying to interrupt her throughout her monologue, but she never noticed. "The Ebon Hawk is en route to the Citadel Station now."
The Ebon Hawk? But Quesa took the freighter with her to the Unknown Regions. That would mean... "It has a new owner, but somewhere on the navicomputer must be data that indicates where Selena went." Bastila stood from her chair and approached the window to gaze out at the vast galaxy beyond the space station. "Maybe the new crew could help us as well."
"I did ask her to find Revan," mentioned Carth. "When I thought she would stay in the Unknown Regions and you wouldn't drag her ass back here to commandeer a ship."
Bastila allowed the comment to soar past her. Now that she was a woman instead of a teenager, she could handle the occasional jibe or tease. "The four of us can pool our knowledge and resources. Together we can find her." The three shared a hopeful smile. They would recover their lost wife, sister, friend. Quesa was coming back. Mission knew her gut was right when it told her to take a vacation.
An annoying ringing burst from the apartment's communication console. Carth strode to the terminal to answer the call, saving their ears from the torture of the noise. Lieutenant Grenn's tired voice then sounded throughout the room. "Carth? You asked me to notify you whenever the Ebon Hawk returned. It's here, but it's in rough shape. Don't know how it managed the hyperspace travel without breaking into pieces. Anyway, I hope you find whatever you needed."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Carth pressed a button to end the call. His brown eyes, for the first time in four years, sparkled like they had when Mission was just a homeless girl on the Hawk. She placed a hand on his shoulder in comfort.
"Just like old times, eh?" encouraged Mission, and she headed towards the apartment's main door. "No time to lose. We've got four years worth of coordinates to sift through."
Carth and Bastila followed behind her out of the apartment, fueled by her optimism and enthusiasm. Her favorite ship awaited in Docking Module 126, and in it contained data leading to one of her favorite people. Once more Mission was on a quest of galactic importance, with good company and the Ebon Hawk to always depend on. Watch out, galaxy, Mission Vao's back in business. Just like old times.