Chapter Three

Maka wavers between being relieved that she and Soul weren't followed into space by the Demon Clan and annoyed because now she's stuck on his ship, drifting in a careful orbit around Entralla.

Even without the Force, he can feel her eyes boring into him. "So," he finally says after setting the last of the coordinates for orbit.

"So," she replies, still staring him down. He tries not to let her rattle him, but there's something about the intensity of her stare that reminds him of the kind of piercing looks Master Stein used to give him.

Soul clears his throat. "So you probably want to know what this is all about."

"That would be the understatement of the century right now," she replies. "You said something about an ancient Sith artefact?"

Soul gets up from his chair and scoots past Maka, beckoning her to follow him. The ship's a pretty standard YT-1300 as far as she can tell. Probably used for smuggling , she thinks, eyeballing the floors and the walls for hidden compartments.

"I'm not a smuggler," he says, ducking into the galley. "Mostly. Everyone's gotta make a living. You want a caf?"

"I-no, thank you. I'm good." She ignores the smuggling confession for the moment and files it away for later. "The artefact?"

"There's a lot of mixed mythology behind it," he starts, turning on the percolator, "but what the old Jedi lore seems to indicate is that a millennia or so ago, the Sith Lord Darth Asura and his apprentice Arachne managed to create some kind of superweapon, a planet destroyer. The Jedi Council couldn't stop them before they'd obliterated the entire population of a small planet called Brew. It took almost the entire Council to catch them and neutralize the artefact."

"Neutralize?"

Soul takes his tea and sits on the giant lounger. "They couldn't completely destroy it, so they dismantled it into two fragments and sent them to different sides of the galaxy."

"That's the stuff of...of children's tales - stupid stories my mom used to tell me!" Maka scoffs.

"Look, I can't say how much truth there is in the legend - nothing is ever as straightforward as it seems. But I do know there's a planet floating out past Hutt Space that used to have a thriving population on it and now it's just a lifeless rock with a bunch of dilapidated ruins on it."

"Supposing this is all true then what, now the Demon Clan are collecting the artefacts for nefarious purposes ?" She wiggles her fingers.

"If I remember what that barvy merc was shouting at us, I'd say it's more like they're collecting them for money and the Empire's nefarious purposes." Soul watches her face careful over the rim of his mug.

"What do you mean?" she asks after a moment, voice carefully neutral. He watches her fists clench rhythmically, feels her unease leaking out.

"I mean that if our little blue-haired friend wasn't just running his mouth, I think he was hired by the Empire to find those lost artefact pieces. And what's worse - they've already got their hands on one of the pieces."

"I don't believe it," Maka snaps. "He said 'my people' wanted the artefact found - that doesn't mean anything other than the Empire wants to find a potentially dangerous weapon! The Empire wants peace across the galaxy; they're probably trying to keep something that powerful out of the hands of Rebel scum looking to upset the order of things."

Soul looks up at her, elbows on his knees. "Do you really believe that, Maka?"

"I'm a soldier of the Empire, Jedi ." She spits the word like it's a curse. " You're an enemy of the Empire. Why would I trust anything you have to say? Why wouldn't I turn you in for the bounty myself?" She doesn't move from her position, halfway between the galley and the lounger, and Soul doesn't move, just watches her steadily.

"I think if you really believed that, you wouldn't be on my ship," he says. "You would have tried to negotiate with the mercenaries to take me in and leave you alone."

"I didn't have a choice," she snaps. "Besides, we were here to hunt down those mercenaries in the first place. I'm not making a deal with them."

Soul smiles a little and takes another sip of his stim tea. "One thing my master taught me - there's always a choice," he says. "It might not be a good choice, but it's there."

Maka glares at him. "If it's a choice between trusting you or dying at the hands of the Demon Clan, that's hardly any choice at all."

He shrugs. "So why didn't you turn me in? If you knew I was a Jedi and you thought the mercs were looking for the artefact for the good of the Empire?" He props his boots up on the table, trying to project relaxation as hard as he could. Her expression shifts minutely, too quickly for him to read.

"I didn't know until after we were in my TIE, not really," she admits.

"But you knew something , didn't you?" he presses, still watching her carefully.

Maka's scowl deepens. "It was...you were weird ," she finally admits. "It was too convenient that you were there and the whole situation was...off. If I hadn't been so focused on trying to contact my squadron, I would have picked up on it earlier." She directs her scowl to his boots. "That's disgusting," she says, pushing his feet off the table top. It's an avoidance tactic, she knows , understands that she doesn't want to deal with what Soul is insinuating.

"It's my table," Soul protests, but he keeps his boots on the floor and wonders if now's the time to press. Maka is one of the hardest people he's ever tried to get a read on, and he wonders if it's her latent Jedi potential or just sheer cursed stubbornness. "Do you do that a lot?" he asks finally.

"What, shove people's feet off of tables?" she shoots back, deliberately obtuse. Maka can't help but remember a thousand different scenarios where she came out on top because she was lucky - because she was just a little faster, a little better than her competition. Her father used to tell her how proud he was that she was so smart, so talented. She never really understood why he smiled but his eyes always looked so sad as he said it. It feels like the air in her lungs is being squeezed out of her chest, and she wonders if it's Soul doing it - using his Jedi powers to murder her where she stands - but that's ridiculous and she dismisses the possibility almost as soon as it occurs to her.

She's still standing, still giving herself the high ground, but Soul can wait her out. Probably. Her breathing is shallow, nostrils flaring, when finally, "I'm good at reading situations," she admits. "I'm fast and a good shot and I read situations better than anyone else, even my squad leader. It's why I'm at the top of my class - it's why this training exercise should have been nothing more than a formality. It's why you stood out." Her words almost trip over one another they come so fast; she's always been this way, she wants to say. It doesn't mean anything. Soul takes a deep breath, trying to catch her eye. She doesn't want this, can't hear this, she can't -

Now or never , he thinks. "It's called being Force-sensitive."

He's not entirely sure what he expected - screaming, denial, rage - some combination of all three. He wasn't expecting her to collapse quietly and suddenly in the seat across from him, her hand in her hand, fingers tangled in her hair. "Um," he says.

It seems like an eternity before Maka huffs out a weak laugh, "You know, I think I always knew. I think -" she looks up at him. "I think I could use that caf, now please."

It's mostly silent on the ship as Soul gets up and makes another mug for Maka. He listens carefully for the tiny sounds of the nav computer, all the thousand background noises that are just a part of the familiar background hum of his ship. Nestled among them is the quiet, too-steady breathing of his guest. He can almost hear her counting her breaths.

In...two...three; out...two...three...in...two...three…

By the time her drink is done and he sets it, still steaming, on the table in front of her, the measured breathing seems a little less mechanical, a little less forced.

"You think you knew?" he finally prompts, sliding into the booth across from her.

Maka leans back against the over-stuffed upholstery, mug gripped tightly between her palms. "It was my mother." Soul doesn't pry, just waits, eyes soft but intent. Eventually she continues. "I was born on Alsakan, but I remember we moved off world when I was very young. My mother left one day and never came back, and then we left for Spira and that was it. I don't think Spirit - my father - ever spoke of her again, not really."

"Did you never ask?" Soul doesn't mean to vocalize it, but the question slips out before he can stop himself.

"I tried a few times when I was younger, and again when I was a teenager - I wanted to know something, anything about her, but he never said more than that she had had a very important job and that it had taken her away from us." She smiles, but it's a crooked sharp thing, and Soul has a hard time looking at it. "I left for the nearest Naval Recruitment Center as soon as I could and they sent me to Prefsbelt IV not long afterwards. I'm the top pilot in my class. I'm the best ," she cuts herself off, eyes intent on her mug.

When she looks up, she finally meets his eyes, green on red and he still can't read her. "I don't really remember a lot from Alsakan, but she used to do these things, I dunno. Tricks. I was so little. But I thought they were the coolest things ever - she used to spin a staff when I got really upset and nothing else would calm me - so fast it didn't seem real, or she always knew where I was, no matter how hard I tried to hide. She was always different , special somehow."

"We're not the bad guys," he says finally. "The Empire - the Emperor - wants the galaxy to think that, but it's not true."

She shakes her head violently. "I know that's what you want me to believe, but how can I? The Empire has been my whole life! You can't just sit here and look all sad-eyed at me and expect me to believe you!"

"Her name was Suzume Albarn, wasn't it?"

Across from him, her face drains completely of color. "Wh -"

He pushes, taking a chance that doesn't feel like a chance. It feels like something he's known in the back of his mind since he first saw her. "Your mother's name was Suzume Albarn, and she was a Jedi Knight." Her grip tightens on the mug and Soul wonders how much more it will take before she breaks it either accidentally, or by hurling it at his head. "She died 20 years ago trying to help the people of Sy Myrth -"

"The Sy Myrth were traitors to the Empire!"

"Why? Because they wanted to be free?"

"They - they couldn't be trusted!"

"To do what, Maka? To choose their own destinies without the say-so of an Emperor? Who is he to have reign over countless systems?"

"The Emperor's only goal is for a peaceful galaxy! Do you want a repeat of the Clone Wars?"

"It's going to happen anyway if the Emperor keeps trying to control every system he can get his hands on!"

"They just don't know what's good for them," she yells, face flushed, and whatever tenuous grasp Soul had on his temper frays.

"They don't know what's good for them? Do you know what the Empire does to populations - to planets it considers rebellious ?"

"Of course I know," she says, eyes sliding past his, shoulders tense, spine rigid.

"Maka." She doesn't want to meet his eyes, but she can't quite look away, the deep red of them inescapable. The thing of it is, she does know what happens to those who defy the Empire. She's gone through military academy, is the top of her class, sheknows . She's learned the history of the Empire along with every other citizen, learned about the valiant blood bath that lead the galaxy out of chaos and into peace. She knows that the price of peace is obedience, that defiance must be met with swift and decisive force, or else it'll all dissolve into anarchy again. It's for the greater good.

She doesn't realize that she'd said that last part out loud until his voice comes again, soft.

"Maka."

It has to be for the greater good, or everything she's built her life around has been a lie.

"The Empire murders them, decimates their populations, enslaves them, razes their cities, their fields, their livelihoods. Is that the kind of greater good you want to serve?"

He's almost expecting the explosion of motion as she stands and screams, wordless and sharp. He doesn't bother dodging the mug. It sails past his head close enough to ruffle his hair and he can feel lukewarm caf dripping down the collar of his shirt. He watches the set of her shoulders, tense and trembling.

"Come with me," Soul says finally. "Just...come with me. This artefact - it's bigger than just the Empire and I could use the help." He smiles just a little and her eyes catch on the razor points of his teeth. "It can't be allowed to be put back together, that's the most important thing."

She doesn't want this. What she wants is to go back to Entralla and Nexus City and her squadron. She wonders if they're still there, if they waited for her, or if they've gone back to base for repairs. Had they'd left and gotten caught out by the Demon Clan again? When she didn't check in, did they assume she'd been killed in action? Even with her skills, it was a long shot for her to take on the Demon Clan on her own - Kid would be perfectly justified in labelling her KIA.

She wants to know . She wants them to know that she did it, that she's still alive - wants to know that they all made it to the surface ok. There's a tug in her gut and too many adrenaline spikes have left her feeling jittery and exhausted.

Even still, she can't deny that she wants to see where this is going - if Soul's wild tale about a superweapon is correct. If he's lying, she doesn't have anything to lose, and she maybe she can return to the Empire with a prisoner who may hold valuable information about the rebels. If he isn't lying about this Sith artefact, well - she doesn't trust him to just handle it on his own. She'll be there to make sure that nothing goes wrong and the weapon is dealt with appropriately.

She doesn't let herself think about any other implications just yet, doesn't acknowledge that, even if she gets in touch with her squadron, she doesn't know that she'd be welcomed back, especially if they knew her mother's history, if they suspected her of also being Force-sensitive.

Maka says yes.

Soul tries not to let his palpable relief shine through, and instead shows her the data his Master (just "Stein," he had insisted) had sent him with a shortlist of places that were his best guess as to the location of the next artefact. Maka scoffs at that because "best guess" is not exactly encouraging. Soul scowls, staring at the nav coordinates and the sector map.

"Yeah, look, I know, but it's so hard to access records about anything to do with the Sith and the Jedi before the Purge, so this is the best we have." She tenses up at the word "Purge," and he doesn't blame her, but now is not the time for her to start having second thoughts. "Just take a look at it, tell me what you feel."

Maka cuts her eyes to his, then back to the map. Five planets and moons are highlighted - tiny little glowing orbs of possibility. "I feel like this is a waste of time," she mutters.

"Humor me?"

She grumbles under her breath, but takes another look, staring at each planet like the lifeless map is somehow going to divulge its secret with a bright neon "HERE" sign. It's hopeless, impossible to narrow down without more information. Even still, her eyes keep drifting back towards one little blip.

Soul makes a triumphant noise in the back of his throat when she finds herself staring at it for the fourth time, like it's some kind of victory and not just coincidence. He gives her a crooked grin and says, like he's reading her mind, "There's no such thing as coincidence. Stein and I have both looked at those coordinates for hours already."

"So?"

" So , you spent a few minutes looking at it and I believe the Force has directed you to where we need to go," he falters, trying to determine just how much Maka is really willing to hear.

"Th-that's stupid," she scoffs.

Soul shrugs. "That's the Force," he corrects.

"I'm not a-"

"It doesn't matter," he cuts her off. He can't lie to her. "The Force is in everything, everyone."

"We don't know if that's actually the right planet," she stalls, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"We don't know it's not, either."

Maka huffs, and Soul sets a course for Eibon, a small, half-forgotten, ice-waste of a planet that she'd never heard of before, but that she apparently divined using the Force.

"It's about a week's flight," Soul says after he locks the course into the nav comp and they make the jump to hyperspace. "We're probably going to have to make a layover before we get there, unless you happen to have cold-weather gear under your flightsuit?"

"Ha, ha."

"Right." He doesn't really want to stop, but he wants to go to a frozen hellscape planet unprepared even less, so layover it is. "You, ah...want to see your quarters?" he offers. Next to him, Maka nods once. "We're a little light on the passengers at the moment, so you've pretty much got your choice of spaces," he says. "The head's right next door, so it's nice and convenient."

There's not much to the crew's quarters of the ship - it's a pretty standard YT-1300 that way, but what's there Soul has made surprisingly comfortable. He shows her to a bunk with space for three; two bunks along the long wall and one across the short. Maka glances around the room, and at the very least, it's a lot larger than what she's used to back at the Academy, and each bunk has full complement of sheets and pillows.

"This is pretty nice," she admits, flopping down onto the lone bunk, fingers straying to the soft blanket folded at the foot of the bed. It looks homemade.

Soul rolls a shoulder awkwardly from the doorway. "Well, it is pretty much my home, so, uh. I like to keep it cozy." She thinks he might be blushing a little bit, but it's dim enough that she's not positive.

"Thanks," she offers instead.

"No problem. My quarters are right behind the lounge area, and -" he hesitates for a moment. "I shouldn't really be hard to find if you need something. It's kind of a limited space."

"Give me a tour of the rest of the ship?" She's not totally sure what prompts her to ask, but the small smile on Soul's face is kind of nice, like he's glad for the opportunity to show his starcraft off.

"Sure."

She returns his smile and tries not to think about how easily she could feel comfortable here, how quickly this ship could feel like a home to her if she let it.