"You're the best of us, Dree. We need you. I need you. Malak and I are going, with our without you," Revan had been reduced to wheedling, which she hates, but does far more often with me than she'd like.

"Annie, you're asking me to defy the Council," I said reasonably. "I might agree with you, but…"

"You know they're wrong in this," Revan said passionately. I've always cautioned her on her temper and tendency to dramatize. "How many more will die while they debate and watch? Whole worlds are being crushed into dust by the Mandalorians, and all they can do is argue. You can't watch an injured bird without helping it. You're the youngest Jedi to make Master in the history of the Order, practically. We need you, dammit!"

"Let me think about it," I hedged. We've never really been separated before, and I hated the thought of her and Malak going without me. But mine was always the coolest head of the three of us.

"What's there to think about?" Revan demanded. "People are dying, Dree. We can turn the tide of this war, you know it."

"Master Vrook," I began, but Annie cut me off.

"Master Vrook hasn't seen combat in ten years," she said scathingly. "We have. Isn't this what being Jedi is all about? Helping people, protecting them?"

"Of course it is," I agreed, "but we're talking about going against what the Council has ordered. They have their reasons, I'm certain of it. That they don't share them points to a very grave reason indeed."

"We're leaving the day after tomorrow," Revan said flatly. "I hope you'll be with us. I'm not asking again."

She strode away, leaving me staring after her, undecided and uneasy. As I stared at her retreating back, another Jedi turned the corner and saw me watching, a slight frown on my face.

"Troubled, young Master Ladria?" he asked politely, brushing a lock of gold hair out of his eyes.

"It's nothing, Master Stefan," I said, forcing myself to smile. "Just thinking."

"Anything you'd like to share?" he asked curiously, his mild demeanor an excellent camouflage for the sharp mind behind those summer blue eyes.

Master Stefan was well liked for his easy going manner and ability to draw out the most stoic of Padawan learners. The younglings flocked to him like gizka pups seeking attention, and most of the younger female Padawan and Masters harbored quiet (and occasionally not so subtle) crushes on the handsome Master. I had much the same reputation for empathy, however, and knew how to deflect the curious. I gave him a brilliant display of teeth and bowed. He moved on, giving me a bow in return.

Revan, Malak and I had a certain reputation around the Conclave. Inseparable, they said. But I had earned the rank of Master already, and the rumor mill had it that the Indomitable Trio would soon become the Terrible Two, without my calming influence on the two passionate Padawans. I sighed. If they only knew how right they were.

That was over sixteen years ago, when I had been a seventeen year old Jedi protégé, the youngest to become Master in at least a century. I had been honored and humbled by the decision to promote me so young, and Revan and Malak, although happy for me, were terribly envious. It had put a strain on our friendship, one that I had tried hard to mend. Their decision to defy the Council and join the war against the Mandalorians had stretched that friendship to nearly the breaking point.

Revan, Malak, and Ladria…the three most gifted young Jedi to enter the hall of learning on Coruscant in decades. I don't remember not having the two of them in my life. We were playmates, dorm mates, fellow students, confidants and as close to siblings as any of us had known. Revan, the natural leader of 'we three', had dubbed me Dree saying Ladria was "too stuffy" and often referred to Malak as simply Mak. Most of the Padawan learners, including Malak, called Revan Rev; to me she was always Annie. I was the only one who could get away with it, not even Malak dared. It started in retaliation for Dree, which I secretly liked, and publicly scorned.

And now…Malak dead, irrevocably drowned in darkness. Revan – my Annie, that bright, passionate flame that had so shaped my life, had killed him. I understood, and would have done the same. I was grateful she tried to turn him back before she put end to the twisted life he had become. Our Mak was gone. And where in the galaxy was Annie?

I'd been searching six months now, and every lead had come to a dead end. I fervently wished Visas were here, if only to go over that scrap of information we had gleaned from Bastila. I have never felt so alone, even when I was in exile.

But I couldn't contact anyone; that path lead to disaster. One transmission would send Atton after me, and that I could not allow.

Pushing aside the thought of Atton, I thought about that day at the Enclave. I doubted Master Stefan remembered it; he gave no sign when I had met him again on Onderon.

I had gone with Mak and Annie, of course. The explosive end to that war had caused me to cut off my connection to the Force. I could still hear in my dreams the screams of the dying, as a whole planet of souls were obliterated. By Revan's command, but by my hand.

I sometimes smelled the choking smoke and the bitter metal taste of blood in my mouth as Bao Dur and I dealt with the carnage. I had invited the inventor of the shadow generators to the bridge once the devices were in place. The Zabrak had accepted, mostly to please me, I think; we had become friends of a sort, although he was much too aware of our differences in rank, race, and my status as Jedi to be entirely at ease with the notion. Just as he had reached my side, the generators had gone off - a full two minutes early. I had set the time myself; it took everyone by surprise. The shock wave had hit the fleet with the force of a tidal wave. I remember the dreamlike sensation of watching my executive officer being decapitated by a flying chunk of metal while curiously, nothing touched me. Computer banks had been ripped from the walls and the central post had collapsed.

Shouting evacuation orders through the chaos, trying as calmly and swiftly as possible to get the bridge personnel to safety, I found the Iridonian trapped under a heavy chunk of steel support beam, pinned by one arm. There was no time to wait for a demolition crew; the whole bridge was about to be exposed to space.

"Get out of here, General!" he'd shouted, his eyes molten blue and face rigid from pain. "No time to waste; leave me."

"The hell I will," I snapped in my best commander's voice, and lit my 'saber.

Praying he'd forgive me, I cut Bao Dur free of the beam with my lightsaber. He went limp for a moment, but stayed conscious. I had just dragged him to his feet when the full force of the dying planet hit me. The last voice I heard in my head before everything went blank was Bao Dur's, the shock and pain of losing his arm overridden by sheer terror for me.

Bleeding from eyes, ears, nose and mouth, stumbling in shock and soul-tearing pain, I have no memory of him throwing me bodily, one-armed, through the door of the bridge and sealing it behind the survivors moments before the hull had been breached. He should have been in shock himself, if not outright unconscious from the pain of his sudden amputation; the Force only knows how he managed to hang on. I certainly don't.

I woke three days later on Revan's flagship, weak and blind, both literally and to the Force. I remember insisting that Bao Dur be cared for when I woke, at my expense if necessary. Revan had promised, and kept it; when I saw him again fifteen years later I was impressed with the quality of his prosthetic arm, if guilty for the reason for it.

It took me a week to regain my sight. I thought the Force was dead within me for good. They told me I was awake those three days that are still an utter blank to me. Not even Malak would tell me what I'd said or did; when I did come to myself, I was restrained. I learned of the execution of the Mandalore and the end of the war once I regained my vision, but I was too weak to protest the brutal measures Revan had employed. I merely turned to the wall, and willed myself to sleep.

Crippled and sick at heart, I couldn't continue with Revan and Malak on their quest to track down the source of the evil they sensed. I had tried, even going so far as to accompany them to the Unknown Regions. And, helpless to stop it, watched as the two closest people in the world to me slowly succumbed to the Dark Side. I had begged then to turn back, come with me to the Council and face their judgment, but they were bent on power then, and scorned me as a broken Jedi, not even worthy to join their ranks. A year later I had fled back to known space, and sought out the Council, accepting their punishment of exile.

When the Jedi Civil War started, I was deep in uncharted territory, under an assumed name: Naasade. Mandoa for nobody. I was nobody; not Jedi, nor general, not friend nor lover. Dree was gone; Ladria was a dim memory. The designation was fitting, and I did my best to atone for my sins.

My memory is hazy about how I came back. From what I can piece together, along with my far too few flashes of memory, Kriea found me, and set me on the path to rediscovering the Force. She used my pain and desire to be of use to lure me back into the Outer Rim. When I woke on Peragus, the only thing I could remember for a short time was my name. The only sources of information available were corrupted computer files, a cryptic old woman of unknown origin and intentions, and a sarcastic smuggler. When the three of us escaped, I had regained a good deal of my lost memories, but still had no clear idea how I had arrived on Peragus, or came into possession of the Ebon Hawk.

"I knew it would happen sooner or later," I heard when I entered the detention room. "But I even impress myself with the quality of my hallucination."

I stared at the prisoner, a tall, handsome, well-built man with dark brown hair and eyes. Something about him made it hard for me to look away, and I was acutely aware of being clad in only standard issue underwear, carrying a plasma torch for a weapon. I wasn't embarrassed; I never am about something as natural as skin. But he was looking at me in a way I hadn't appreciated in a long time, and it made me uncomfortable. There was frank admiration on his face and gleaming from those dark eyes. To cover my sudden uneasiness, I drew myself to my full height and glared at him. He grinned back, and winked. My scowl deepened.

"What makes you think I'm a hallucination?" I asked crisply.

"Well, they stopped feeding me a couple days ago," he answered. "The bastards. But then, the droids all went insane, so I suppose they had other problems. I've been wondering for a while if I was the only one left."

"I haven't seen anyone else," I admitted.

"Are you that Jedi they were talking about?" he asked curiously. "Or are you really just a product of my hunger induced mania? If you're just in my head, don't bother to let me out, okay? I'll just bask in the sight of you, and die a happy man."

"Does that really work?" I asked, suddenly amused. "Because as far as pickup lines go, that's got to be the worst ever."

"Hey, you're my hallucination, got it? Don't give me attitude," he gave me a mock glower.

"I'm afraid I'm not a figment of your fuzzy head," I said, trying not to laugh.

"Then would it be too much to ask to let me out of this cell?" the handsome dark-eyed stranger asked with a charming smile. "I'm not at all keen on dying of starvation."

My impulse was just to let him out, but having only woken a couple of hours ago and my memories still being spotty at best, I thought caution was the better course.

"Want to tell me why you're in jail?" I asked warily.

"It was a misunderstanding," he said easily. "A mix-up with paperwork. They thought I was a smuggler, and decided it was best to hold me until my documentation came through."

"And you didn't have it on you why?" I raised an eyebrow at him, and he smiled again. I didn't believe him for a moment, and truthfully, he didn't seem to expect me to.

"I was given the wrong datapad at the last port of call," he said promptly. "Didn't realize it 'til I got here."

"Right," I said, letting my skepticism show.

"Look, I haven't eaten for two days, and it sounds like everyone is dead. It's cruel to just let me rot here. I thought Jedi were about giving people a chance." His tone was almost wheedling, and I was forcibly reminded of Revan.

That brought on a slew of memories, and I almost staggered from the flood. Only my training kept me upright, and I barely remembered what sort of training that was, anyway. I gave myself a moment, masking my struggle by staring at the stranger in the cell with as close to a confidently cautious expression as I could muster. His eyes narrowed a little, as if sensing something going on he couldn't see. That served to make me even more uneasy.

"What is your name?" I asked when I thought I had control of my voice again.

"Atton Rand," he answered readily enough. "And yours, sweetheart?"

"Ladria Windbreak," I said shortly. "And I'm not your sweetheart."

"Ladria," he mused. "That's a lovely name. Sort of a mouthful though. Anyone ever call you Dria?"

"No one that wants me to let them out of a jail cell," I shot back.

"Ladria it is, then," he said promptly. "And are you Jedi?"

"Not anymore," I answered, and lowered the force shields.

I sighed to myself. It didn't matter what I did, I still thought about Atton about a million times a day. At this rate, I would be well in to old age and senility before I managed to get through an hour without examining another memory, or wishing to hear his voice. Pazzak bores me to tears, but I'd happily sit through a whole tournament, listening to his running commentary on strategy, if he were only here.

Resolutely, I turned my thoughts elsewhere. I'd had enough problems with memory loss, both induced by circumstance or involuntarily impressed upon me that I spent a good deal of time each day going over my history, searching for gaps. Plus, it was lonely with just the droids for company; my thoughts kept me sane. I took up the story again in my head where I'd left off before thoughts of Atton intruded.

Being shot down on Telos and waking to a familiar voice calling me General made most of the holes in my memory come back. Disoriented and injured, my shipmates unconscious, I allowed Bao Dur to tend my hurts and bring me up to date on the state of the galaxy, as far as he knew it. Seeing his face steadied me, the slow regaining of my Force connection grounded me again. His quiet devotion and loyalty was a soothing balm to my shattered psyche.

"It's good to see you again, General," was the first thing I heard when I coughed and sputtered my way awake on the surface of Telos. I knew that voice, and I turned my head toward the sound, blinking in disbelief.

Many humans consider Zabrak to be ugly. I'm not one of them. The man that greeted my startled gaze was so tall he seemed to tower over me, even crouched lightly on the balls of his feet applying a kolto pack to my aching head. Blueish skin, tribal tattoos snaking from the collar of his shirt and tracing the lines of his face, horns spaced around his bald skull, powerfully built with wide shoulders, barrel chest and arms bigger than my legs, he made the average Mandalorian look like a gangly teenager. But he possessed the gentlest blue eyes in the galaxy and I found myself staring into them, finding an odd sort of peace. He was the most beautiful sight I'd seen in years. I struggled for a time to remember where I knew that voice and face; I found my hand touching his cheek, just for a moment.

"The others?" I rasped, remembering Atton and Kriea. It also bought me a minute to bring my memories in focus.

"They'll be okay. Both of them are unconscious, but not badly hurt. You were the only one bleeding badly, General."

"Not…general…anymore," I said faintly, still coughing. I closed my eyes against the throbbing in my temples and wished the planet would stop spinning around me.

"I'm sorry, I can't help but think of you like that, General. I'm just an old war dog at heart, I guess. Wouldn't have figured you'd drop out of the sky on me, though."

I opened my eyes again, and his blue eyes were bright. I smiled with difficulty, and reached for his hand, wincing. He took it without comment, squeezing gently. I realized that it was warm, but seemed…off. I looked closer, still in that unreal haze that indicated a severe head injury mending faster than it ought to. The Iridonian replaced the spent kolto pack with a fresh one and soon I felt clearer.

"Bao Dur," I breathed as the memories flooded back, and squeezed the hand tighter. "They did a good job with it," I commented, admiring the artificial limb and unconsciously running my other hand along its length. "I'm glad I didn't cripple you for life."

"If you hadn't cut my arm off, I'd be dead," he said, shrugging. "For a long time, I wasn't sure if I wanted to thank you for that or not."

"I don't blame you," I said sincerely, if a little weakly. "For a long time I wasn't sure I forgave you for throwing me through that door, either."

"You were in bad shape; I wasn't sure you'd make it. By the time I was out of the hospital, you were long gone with General Revan. All I could find out was you survived; no one could tell me anything more. I was glad that you were alive, though, and when I realized I was, I started to forgive you for seeing to it I lived, too." The blue eyes were penetrating, but the voice was as soft and smooth as ever.

"That was about all I found out about you, too," I said softly. "I tried to find out more, but by the time I was in any shape to get back, we were in the Unknown Regions," I said regretfully. "Revan promised you'd be cared for though, and I trusted her word. I'm sorry I abandoned you."

"You didn't," he said quietly. "You were a general; I was just a major that fixed things. I knew you would have stopped by during my recovery if you could have, but I saw you, General, and believe me, I'm surprised you're talking to me now. You were a mess." He smiled, a genuine expression that sent warmth through me, better than a kolto pack any day.

"We were friends, of a sort, though," I said softly. "I regretted not being there, not knowing about your recovery. I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, General." His tone was absolutely sincere, and for an instant I wanted to cry; I'd cut this man's arm off, for Force sake, and he wants me to be okay with it.

"It's not a general anymore, Bao Dur," I said firmly. "I asked you to call me by name once, remember? Ladria. You can call me that now, surely?" I pronounced it slowly, teasing him a little, Lay-dree-ah.

He gave me that sidewise glance I remembered, the one that said he heard and understood and would show no disrespect…but would do what he thought he should, regardless of my orders.

"As you wish, General," he said, eyes twinkling back, and that was that.

We were silent for a little while as Bao Dur checked on Atton and Kriea. I hadn't recovered enough of my healing to be much use, and was still a bit dizzy, in any case. I could feel some internal injuries slowly knitting back together, and didn't think it was wise to move yet. Enough of my healing was working, however, for me to at least evaluate my companion's conditions, and found the Iridonian's diagnosis was right; they'd be fine.

Bao Dur returned to my side, this time sitting comfortably, half facing me. I was propped against a boulder which wasn't all that large compared to his shoulders; he was sitting very close. When he spoke, I could tell something was on his mind, something he didn't quite want to share, but his words gave nothing away as to what it was.

"For a long time, I feared you hadn't survived your injuries and either no one knew, or no one would tell me. And things sort of fell apart when Generals Revan and Malak disappeared with half the Republic fleet; there was no more news of you at all. When the Jedi Civil War started, I didn't enlist again. I had done enough damage on Malachor. And… it was…confusing, to me." He looked me straight in the eye, and I couldn't look away. "I wasn't sure what side you were on, and I…well, I couldn't fight against you. And I had had enough of war; I wanted to build something. So I stayed out of it."

"I don't blame you," I said softly. I looked away from the intensity of his gaze. "I wasn't…directly involved in that conflict. If that makes a difference. If I could have been, we would have been on the same side."

"It makes a difference," the Iridonian said quietly.

I looked up, and his nearness sent a small shiver through me. "I'm glad to see you, Bao Dur," I said, hoping my voice was steadier than my insides. "And I'm glad you're whole." I touched his arm again by reflex.

"More than I have been, now, General," he said cryptically, and I was too tired to ask him what he meant.

The fact that Bao Dur knew me so well irritated Atton to no end, for a while. Unknown to me at the time, it enraged Kriea as well; she was bent on corrupting me, luring me to the Dark Side; my friendship with the gentle Zabrak, to her eyes, kept me too in touch with what was good and honorable in the galaxy. What she could never understand was that I had faced the darkness once; my incomplete memories allowed me to understand that much. I had no desire to see my own face in that twisted abyss, ever. I may not have felt my soul worthy of the Force, but I wasn't going to throw it away.

Regret, and pain, and sorrow, even self-loathing is one thing; damnation another.

I was wandering the Ebon Hawk aimlessly, trying to focus my thoughts. Remembrance can be invaluable in that, but my wandering mind was growing too inward again. Turning decisively on one heel, I sought out the droids.

T-3 was doing maintenance on the engines again. I watched; he gets testy when I try and lend a hand. For a droid, he's quite proprietary about the ship.

"How's it going, T-3?" I asked pleasantly.

He answered with a friendly series of beeps. I nodded, pleased.

"Yes, Bao Dur is an excellent mechanic. I'm glad he gave you that upgrade too. All is well?"

More beeps, and I patted the little droid affectionately.

"Glad to hear it. Let me know when the ship's ready; we'll head to the next coordinates then."

I headed to the garage to consult my only other companion, HK-47. The assassin droid has always made me uneasy; his bloodthirstiness outdid any Mandalorian at the height of their power. Or Iridonian, for that matter; even the Mandoa fear their kind. It always bemused me that one of the few Zabrak that I had known well was normally the gentlest soul I'd ever encountered. But I had seen him in a rage; the reputation of his race was well earned.

I had learned the inflections of Bao Dur's language on my travels in the Unknown Regions. It is a complicated dialect, one of the most challenging I have ever encountered. I was gifted in languages, although woefully short of Revan's genius in that respect. She could learn any tongue after hearing it spoken even casually, as if plucking the meaning and syntax straight from the speaker's mind. Which, most likely, was exactly what she did; she always could hear thoughts better than me. My talent was much more modest, but impressive by most people's standards, I supposed. I was unable to actually speak Bao Dur's tongue, but I had learned enough of the subtleties of inflection to apply them to other languages I knew. It's nearly impossible to learn Iridoni without having done so from birth. Megari, the newest companion on board the Ebon Hawk before I left, had been about three when she had learned. According to Bao Dur, her skill was as good as a human could get.

I was distracting myself with trivia, a trick I'd used since childhood. Dealing with unpleasant situations is always easier for me if I approached them with a calm mind. The assassin droid stood silent in the garage, and I spoke to engage his sensors.

"Query: how may I serve, Master?" the faintly sardonic tone from the synthesized voice got on my nerves. "Hopeful inquiry: is there someone you need me to kill?"

"Not yet, HK-47," I answered easily enough. "We'll be heading to the next coordinates as soon as T-3 gives me the go-ahead."

"Anticipatory statement: we will encounter another ship full of Sith meatbags and kill them," HK-47 was pleased.

"Possibly," I shrugged. "Report the state of your armament and functions."

"Resigned statement: fully functional and top repair, as usual. Irritated observation: you know I report any repairs needed immediately, Master; your redundant questions are unnecessary and irritatingly human."

"Perhaps," I said shortly. "Call it pre-battle routine; I like to double check everything when I anticipate a fight. We've had this conversation."

"Qualified agreement: many times, Master, but not with the same words every time. Puzzled obserservation: what I cannot understand is your inability to understand the logic of taking steps that we do not have it again. Resigned acceptance: but you are my Master; it is your will that will be done, even if it is a pointless and irritating habit to ask unnecessary questions."

I'd never encountered a droid that could sound so smug. I stifled the daily urge to shut it down completely and shove it out of an airlock. Better yet, strip down its components and make a food processor out of them. That might cure it of its superiority complex. On the other hand, it would probably poison the next crew that used it, simply out of spite. I refrained from sighing, and merely nodded.

"Yes, you're right, I am the one you follow," – I hated being called Master by it – "and what I say goes. Good of you to remember that." I said evenly.

"Statement: I remember everything entered into my databanks, Master," the droid said. "Irritated observation: although you do tend to clutter up my memory banks with repetitive trivia. Hopeful inquiry: is this a tactic to pinpoint a pattern in human meatbag behavior?" its metal head cocked to one side.

"Hardly," I snapped. "You push your limits of your programming; I merely remind you of your function."

"Factual argument: but you do not use my primary function, Master. Wheedling question: are you certain you have no one that needs to be dispatched? Proud statement: I will track them to the ends of the galaxy and bring their squishy bloody bits back to you at your command," its red eyes flashed.

"No, HK-47," I said irritably. "And thanks for the mental image."

"Satisfied statement: you're welcome, Master. Hopeful invitation: please feel free to ask for more."

"Right." I turned and went to the cockpit.

In truth, HK-47's ability to track a target had proved useful. It had agreed to some prodding by me and T-3 and we'd successfully downloaded his stalking (no better word for it) program into the Ebon Hawk's databanks. I'd spent days inputting everything I thought could be useful in tracking down Revan, and the program was running continuously, extrapolating data and coming up with leads. Between that and my instincts I had hope she would be located.

The computer's current suggestion was to fly to coordinates that were likely to encounter Sith ships and use the ingenious infiltrating program Bao Dur had invented to download as much data as possible from their mainframes, while pretending to be an injured smuggling ship. The program worked through the jamming system, which we would naturally enough employ if we were smuggling things. Timing, however, was crucial; with only me and the droids, if we got hauled in by a tractor beam on a big ship, escape would be tricky. I didn't relish taking on an entire warship, no matter how skilled HK-47 was at killing people. We had the Force on our side so far, though, and had encountered only ships slightly larger than the Ebon Hawk.

We had, however, been fired upon often enough that I was afraid we were pushing out luck. Sooner or later, we'd catch the attention of the Sith, and they would start hunting us. We'd left no witnesses yet; I wanted to keep it that way. I silently blessed my favorite Iridonian for upgrading the cannons before I'd left.

T-3 commed me, and I headed to the cockpit to change course. Taking the pilot's seat, which still felt like Atton's, even after six months of flying alone, I punched in the coordinates, and felt the familiar jolt as we entered hyperspace. When the stars resumed their twinkle, they were in an unfamiliar pattern. I double checked the nav computer; we were in the right place. I quickly powered down to an aimless drift and sat back to wait.

The waiting is the worst.

I combated anxiety and boredom, a horrid combination as any soldier could tell you, by meditating and searching for a glimmer of that presence I knew so well. I had a bond with Annie; I had thought it was stronger than the one she had shared with Bastila, or mine with Kriea. I could understand why, when I first felt the Force again on Peragus, I didn't instantly sense Revan – my powers took some time to regain control of. Even my healing, which had been the strongest ability I possessed, had taken weeks to regain its full strength. I had been wary as well of opening my mind sufficiently enough to sense other minds; the last time that had happened I had lost my powers. But Kriea had invaded my head, and with that slender toe in the door, I had heard the echoes of the deaths of the miners, and the horrifying emptiness of the Harbringer.

Now that I had full control over my Force connection, I was puzzled why I couldn't sense Annie at all. I knew she wasn't dead; there's a difference to that sensation; and I would feel it if she had fallen to the Dark Side again, or was blocking our bond. But this was simply blank. I feared when I found her, there might be nothing left of Annie.

Kriea had accused me of forming Force bonds with anyone who followed me, even for a short time. The council had agreed with this assessment, and tried to strip me – again - of my connection to the Force, believing it too dangerous. I was going to let them, the weight of my guilt for my part in the Mandalorian Wars, and the resulting wound in the Force, was almost too much to bear. But Kriea had intervened, and killed the remaining Council to save me.

They found me on Dantooine, numb with shock and grief. Master Kavar in particular had always been kind to me, and I was taking special care with his body. The hours had passed completely without my noticing, and when Atton, Bao Dur, Mira, Visas, Disciple, and Canderous approached I was puzzled. I had told them to wait, hadn't I?

"What happened? Why didn't you comm us? Where the hell have you been?" Atton asked sharply, rushing up to me and apparently checking for damage. I stared at him, not comprehending.

"They're all dead," I said dully, and went back to straightening out Master Kavar's robes.

I had managed to get the rest of the Masters on makeshift funeral daises, and attempted to lift Kavar's body on to his. But I was so tired, and Bao Dur gently put me aside, tenderly lifting the body of my old friend into place. Atton stared at me, and if I wasn't so weary I could have followed his thoughts, that lightning brain of his summing up the situation.

"You're dead on your feet," he said gently, and I winced at his choice of words. "Let me help you. You need sleep."

"I can't," I said. "Not until I'm finished here. They deserve their rites."

But Disciple was already sprinkling the bodies with the sacred chemicals and Bao Dur was fashioning torches, Mira and Visas assisting. Canderous stood a little apart, silent and watchful as always. Atton tried to draw me to him, but I flinched away, and I saw the momentary hurt in his eyes.

"What happened here, Ladria?" he asked, careful not to touch me. "Where's Kriea?"

"Gone," I said shortly. "She killed them all."

"Why?" Canderous asked unexpectedly. I looked up, and despite the Helm completely obscuring his face, I swear I could see sympathy. I didn't want that; it almost too much to bear. But Canderous was the one person in our party that might not blame me for the destruction I'd caused; ironic, as I had caused him the most of all, on Malachor V.

"Because they wanted to kill me," I answered simply. "They should have; she didn't let them."

"But…" Atton swallowed hard. "Why would they…"

"It was me," I said, turning to him. "I'm the rip in the Force. I cut myself off; the council didn't strip me of my powers. And then I found the Force again. They were going to take it away, and that probably would have killed me. Kriea killed them instead. I couldn't stop her."

"Do you want to die?" Atton asked very quietly.

"No. But I don't deserve to live," I said, and started to cry.

My shipmates looked on, shocked; I never cried, or yelled, or blazed with fury. Not where I could be seen. But Atton just looked at me with infinite love and understanding. And then I realized all of them were looking at me like that, even Canderous, who had taken off his Helm. Or his version of it, anyway.

"No, Dria, no," Atton said, and pulled me into his arms. "Whatever you did, it was because you care so much. They were wrong, do you understand? They were wrong. The old witch had it right, for once. You of all people deserve to live."

Bao Dur was next to me now, a gentle hand on my shoulder, and I felt the look that passed between them, even though my face was buried in Atton's chest. Hysterically, I realized it was the first time he'd really held me, and I sobbed harder. I leaned into the two men that loved me most, and wished they didn't. Because then I could die and not hurt anyone, and mend what I had broken.

When the bodies had been consumed, we left the ashes to be taken where the wind wills, and made our way back to the Ebon Hawk. I had gotten a hold of myself, and drawing on my training, was able to walk back without assistance and stay alert. But I was silent; speaking was too much an effort.

As we boarded, Atton turned to me. "We should stay at least a day, let you rest."

"No," I said flatly. "Get me out of here."

"All right," he agreed. "Where?"

"Head to Nar Shadaa," I ordered. "We'll take stock there. Wake me when we arrive."

"Aye, Captain," Atton said without a trace of sarcasm, and slipped into the ship.

I went straight to my cabin, and not bothering to undress I fell on to the bunk, utterly exhausted. Somewhere during my sleep, I thought I felt Atton come in, and to my grateful amazement, I didn't dream.

I pulled myself sharply back from this memory; I didn't want to think of Atton now. I must be more tired than I knew. I set the ship to alert me if another vessel approached, adjusted my seat to a more comfortable angle, and slept.