Song: "Swing," by Zero 7, from the album Yeah, Ghost.

Chapter Nine: Dancing In The Dark

There will be no unguarded kisses.
Let go of my hand when they're around,
They say I'm unsound.
But what do they know?
They can't figure out how to get down.

After a few more moments of reflection over the braided leather bracelet, Corliss decided that it was time to contact Antinnis. Slender fingers danced over the comm as she entered the secure code, after which she rose to kneel in her customary position as she waited for the transmission to be patched through. As always, her body seemed to quiver at even the thought of Tremayne's gray eyes settling over her frame; when his holographic image bloomed before her, she took a deep breath but kept her head ducked, waiting for him to address her before she spoke.

"Yes, acolyte?" His tone was curt, clipped. She wondered if he was in a meeting or some other place where it would be unseemly for him to speak her first name.

Corliss swallowed. "Master. I have information about the Altisian Jedi." There was a pause, during which she risked a glance upward, only to see him looking down at her, his frame seeming to fill her entire field of vision, though he made no response, so she continued. "A bracelet was found where the Antarian Ranger was spotted, near one of the Zygerrian slave markets. I sense that it belongs to a Jedi Padawan, one who has been in contact with Master Altis. It also seems that-"

"Master Altis?" Tremayne's voice was very low and dangerous on the word, and Corliss silently cursed her slip. But before she could rectify the error, the High Inquisitor spoke again. "The Jedi do not deserve such titles, acolyte. I thought that you knew as much, by now. Perhaps I have been remiss in your training..."

"No, Master," she replied, looking up to meet his eyes, which were narrowed at her indiscretion. "I said it as a title, only. I meant no overture of respect. Please..." Her head ducked again, dark hair falling like a veil around her face. "Forgive me."

The silence that followed made Corliss feel as though her heart were a bowstring of old, stretched between herself and Tremayne, and that her body was the arrow nocked and waiting for release. All she cared about in that moment was seeing him, knowing that he cared for her on some small level.

"Please, Antinnis," she said, his name a whisper caught on the edges of her voice.

When he spoke again his tone was gentle, and she felt her body relax a little. "You are so gifted, Corliss," he said. "And so beautiful. But often I don't know what to make of you. I have done the best I can to train you, to encourage you to make full use of your talents, yet you balk at each effort on my part. Perhaps I made a mistake, three years ago when I saved your life."

I am yours, she wanted to shout. I have always been yours, and I will always be. If it had been possible to send him her thoughts through the Force, even over such a great distance, she would have. As it was, Corliss couldn't speak for the fear that had lodged in her another living being been present, it would have reeled at the heady mixture of pheromones and emotions that were roiling off of her.

Indeed, Tremayne seemed to realize the effects of his words, and he gave her a very small smile, more of a softening of his eyes upon her. "I suppose I shall have to test your true mettle when you return to me." The unspoken promise in his words made her fingertips ache, and her eyes darted back up to him again, hope welling within her heart. They looked at one another for a moment before he brought his hand to his chin in the way he did when he was considering something. "The Padawan...do you know his name?"

"Her name is Zara Karell," Corliss replied, shifting in her kneel to better look at him. "She's a Nautolan and Twi'lek hybrid." The words we knew each other at the Temple formed in her throat, but for some reason they did not leave her mouth. "The magistrate said that the Ranger and the Padawan – in addition to some clones – fled the planet a day ago, dividing their forces between two vessels. They were unable to get a lock on the coordinates of either of the ships."

Her nose wrinkled at the idea of the Zygerrians managing to accomplish even the simple task, but at least she was not incompetent. Tremayne smiled at her at last, the sight of which made her heart attempt a leap out of her ribcage. "I take it that you know where the Padawan is headed?"

"She is in possession of an Adegan crystal," Corliss replied, sitting back on her heels and straightening her back, noting with satisfaction that Tremayne's eyes settled on her chest before he looked back at her face. "And she is going to Ilum."

His brow lifted. "That world was secured by the Empire years ago. What reason would she have to venture there?"

"The Jedi were careful," Corliss replied. "And the stormtroopers are stupid. Perhaps not all of the caverns were destroyed..."

"No matter," Tremayne said with a casual wave of his hand. He smiled at her again, and her heart fluttered. "You will bring her to me, Corliss."

Even through a flickering, imperfect hologram...he was beautiful. There was no one better, and she knew that there could never be anyone else for her. She nodded and made to stand, but he shook his head. "Master?"

There was a pause and she watched him seem to debate something. It was maddening, not being able to read the currents of his emotions through the pulsing hologram, and she felt herself growing impatient to hear him speak. Finally he leveled his gaze on her again. "Although this mission of yours has grown into more than I was expecting, this new development is something which I have hoped for. If we are successful, many things will change...for the better. Failure is not an option, Corliss."

"It never is," she replied in a smooth voice. "I have never failed you, Master."

"Perhaps," he said idly. "But be that as it may, I'm ordering you to rendezvous with additional support, to insure that everything proceeds as it must. I shall send you the coordinates where you will meet them-" As he spoke he made to lift his hand to end the transmission, but Corliss interrupted him.

"I can handle the Padawan and a scruffy Ranger. The clones are a non-issue-"

When Tremayne spoke again, his voice was filled with ire, so much so that she cringed. "You forget your place, acolyte. You are to follow my instructions to the letter, and ask no questions...is that understood?"

Why she argued, she couldn't have said, but Corliss ducked her head as she spoke. "Master...please allow me the chance to prove myself worthy of the zeyd-cloth."

"You are not ready for the title of Inquisitor," he replied, his voice dark. "Nor will you ever be if you continue to defy me. You will meet with the other agent of my choosing at the following coordinates, and when you return to me..." His pitch dropped further, and she felt a shiver – whether from fear or pleasure she couldn't have said – pass through her body at his next words. "We will discuss your insubordination."

As he deactivated the holo-transmitter, Antinnis Tremayne smiled.

Even via hologram, the young Zeltron's emotions were transparent, and he could read her longing for him written across her features as surely as if it'd been tattooed upon her skin. It was difficult to walk the line he did with her, placing enough distance between the two of them to make her to yearn to reach across, while at the same time keeping her close enough to know that she was his, if not in body than at least in spirit, heart and mind.

Unfulfilled lust...it tethered her to him, which was the only reason he'd had yet to indulge himself of the young woman's supple flesh. After all, owning the body of a Zeltron was an easy enough accomplishment, but the possession of Corliss' whole self, the orienting of her considerable talents towards his own ends...that would be his greatest asset, one that – he hoped – would further anchor him into the good graces of Lord Vader and the Emperor.

However, despite Corliss' apparent devotion, there were times where he was uncertain, the feeling aggravated by her tendency to argue with him; additionally, Tremayne disliked her "slip" when she spoke of the leader of the Altisian Jedi. It was no surprise that she felt an attachment to the old Order – the rampant brainwashing of the Jedi was something of which he had firsthand knowledge – but it irked him to think that she was not as completely under his control as he would have preferred.

Deep within Citadel Inquisitorius on Prakith, he'd paused within one of the obsidian alcoves to receive Corliss' transmission, though he normally preferred to keep such conversations private so not to allow any of the others to glean even a minor understanding of his plans. However, since his meeting with his subordinate Inquisitors was set to begin in a few minutes, he continued on his way to the conference chamber, down one of the labyrinthine corridors within the Citadel.

As on the outside, the architecture within the Citadel was angular, from the columns that rested beneath the larger, domed chambers to support the stronghold's weight, to the narrowed hallways through which he traveled. The walls, floor and ceiling were all made of the same, highly-polished black stone that seemed to absorb all light, save for the recessed lamps placed at intervals along the seams. If he were to halt his steps, he would see his own face reflected back at him as if through a dark mirror. Save for the sound of his boots against the smooth floor, it was silent.

Without a pause, he contacted Priam Tor, one of the handful of the Shadow Guards who had been chosen to assist the Inquisitorius in their labors. When the holographic image of the cloaked man appeared at his wrist, the molded visage of his hood concealing all expressions and facial features. Only his head inclined slightly in acknowledgment.

"I have an assignment for you, Shadow Tor," Tremayne replied, reverting to the neutral title that all of this particular contingent of guards used. "You are available, I assume?"

There was a slight pause, as if the other man was considering. "I am at your service, Tremayne."

Tremayne did not miss the fact that the Guard did not use his title, as was fitting and proper, but he had little time to debate the matter, especially with a fledgling member of the Shadows like the younger man. "You are to take a squad of soldiers and make to the following coordinates, where you are to assist Acolyte Auset in the capture and confinement of an Altisian Jedi."

"Very well," Tor replied, though Tremayne thought he detected a note of pleasure in the other man's voice, and recalled how he'd felt the other man's emotions spike – just once – the first time he'd been in Corliss' company. With this memory, an idea occurred to him, brilliant enough to alert him to the fact that the Force must have been with him in this matter.

Corliss was nothing if not predictable, and Tremayne was well-aware of the probable outcome of sending two young people off on a harrowing mission together...if she fell for the Shadow – even for an instant – Tremanye would know the moment she spoke to him, and he also knew that guilt was a more effective method of coercion than any amount of force. It would provide, he mused, another way to bind her to him.

And it would be so easy to incite.

So, after pausing outside of the meeting-chamber where the others were to meet him, Tremayne cleared his throat. "I will emphasize, Shadow Tor, that you are to assist Auset only with the mission parameters you've been given. Nothing further. Is that understood?" The subtext was clear: she is forbidden to you. Stay away.

"I shall perform my duties as laid out to me by the Emperor himself," the Guard replied, placing a slight emphasis on the word Emperor. There was another pause, deliberate, before Tor spoke again. "Be at ease, Tremayne. Your acolyte will succeed in her mission, for the betterment of Imperial rule."

Despite the even pace of his words, the Shadow Guard's tone emitted a brief flare of irritation, which Tremayne only noted because he was listening for it.

"How fortunate that we are on the same side," Tremayne said, keeping his gaze steady. He ended the transmission without saying anything further, then smiled to himself once more even as he heard the Inquisitors approaching his place beside the door to the meeting chambers. As much as he despised most of his subordinates, it was necessary to ensure that vital information was communicated to each of them at regular intervals, and the easiest way to do so was through these infernal meetings.

However, necessity didn't equal enjoyment.

"You seem pleased with yourself." The accented voice of a Pantoran female broke into Tremayne's thoughts. Looking up, the High Inquisitor noted the petite, burgundy-haired woman as she cocked a brow at him. "Did you pass by a mirror?"

Tremayne's smile widened. "Always a pleasure to see you, Inquisitor Umari. Tell me...have you settled into your new position?"

Eshe Umari's pale-blue face darkened with irritation at his obsequious tone, but her voice was entirely cool. "Quite well, thank you. In fact, I already have several notions on how the effectiveness of the Inquisitorius can be improved."

Of course she did. The Pantoran was skilled in interrogation methods – almost as much as Tremayne was – but she was far too eager to improve her standing among the Inquisitors for the High Inquisitor's liking. Clearly, she needed to be taken down a few notches.

So he gave her his most patronizing smile and spoke again. "I'm so glad to hear that you are settling in. I know first-hand how difficult the transition to the Inquisitorius can be for a former Jedi, let alone a mere Agri-Corps member such as yourself. It is good to see that you have adapted so well, despite your lack of affinity with the Force."

The flush of darker blue across her face proved that his tactic had succeeded, and before she had a chance to reply, Tremayne swept past her and into the waiting room.

Actually, his arm hurt like hell, but Drake was not about to admit it to Zara, even as she leveled her dark eyes upon him while they stood in the gunwell of the Ranger's ship. Thankfully, he was able to return her gaze without revealing his true feelings, including the fact that every iota of his focus was on her hand as it rested on his forearm.

"Let me take a look, please?" Her tone had changed from its earlier one, softening with notes of worry, and he could read agitation in the trembling of her lekku.

So the clone sighed, slipped out of his jacket and pulled up the short sleeve of his shirt to reveal the blaster-burn; luckily, it had not been a direct impact but the skin had been grazed, and where the plasma had touched him the flesh was red and angry. Surprisingly, she gave him a little smile before she placed her hands on either side of the wound and closed her eyes in concentration. Her hands were cool and soft, though he could feel the callouses that had been created from hours of lightsaber practice.

As she accessed the Force to heal his humble flesh, her lips parted slightly and her breathing slacked – it was that way, he'd learned, when she was healing; she seemed to enter another plane of existence, a place that he could never hope to follow. Often he envied Stonewall the elder clone's ability to wield the strange energy alongside his wife, even though he'd seen just how heavy a burden it could be. But, he reasoned as he watched Zara, Stonewall and Kalinda had each other to share the load, and they were stronger because of that fact.

Moments after she began her attempts his arm began tingling in a pleasant way; there was a cool, trickling sensation along the burned flesh, a feeling that he likened to droplets of water rolling across his skin. Fascinated, he watched the swelling retreat even as the pain ebbed entirely in the wake of Zara's healing.

Then her eyes opened and they looked at one another, and he realized that they were only a breath apart. Neither one spoke for a moment until he found his voice. "Thanks, Zar. It does feel better." As if to illustrate, he flexed the muscles of his arm and gave her what he hoped was a casual smile to conceal the race of his heart.

Her cheeks darkened to indigo, the tips of her lekku flushing in a similar fashion, and she nodded and stepped away from him. "You're welcome."

Despite the flush over her skin, there was nothing in her voice besides professionalism, so he swallowed his own feelings as well as Stonewall's words came back to him: try to live with it, vod'ika. It'll be hard, and it'll likely hurt, but if what she wants isn't you, then you must respect that choice.

Whatever it was that had been between them was easier to handle while he was on the move all the time with Trax and Ares, when they only saw each other every few months, they could each pretend that neither was troubled by the past. Now, he knew he needed to be careful. Letting his feelings get the better of him was a dangerous road to travel, especially when he knew it was, in fact, a one-way sentiment.

However, things unspoken were unnecessary burdens that he didn't want to carry with him on this journey, so Drake cleared his throat. "You've become a really great Healer," he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. "All that study and training has paid off, and I'm happy for you."

Of course there was more he could have said, but he waited for her reaction. Sure enough, her forehead creased for one moment before she nodded. "Thanks. And...I'm glad that you were able to pilot us out of Zygerria. You've gotten really good at flying."

"Experience is everything," he replied, thinking of his time aboard the Stark Raven with his brothers, Traxis and Ares. "Guess we've both come a long way."

Despite everything else that was between them, he really didn't want to be awkward around her, and he thought – he hoped – she felt the same way. To his surprise, she nodded again, and then gave him a hesitant smile. "It's good to work together again, isn't it?"

The words were a white flag. It was time to move on from the past, so Drake met her eyes. "It is." A few moments of silence stretched between them before he nodded in the direction of the helm. "We should get back. We've got a Holocron to find, don't we?"

Not until she stepped past him and through the door that lead to the cockpit did he release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, and then he was able to follow.

The Antarian Ranger and Levy were in the pilot and nav stations, respectively, and the clone Tully was standing between them, his blindfolded face awash in a haze of blue light as they tunneled through hyperspace. As Drake and Zara approached, Levy turned around and lifted his hands. I finally got a transmission from Finn, he signed. He was able to get a lock on our codes just before we parted ways...they're on the way to Altis' people. Risky's unconscious, but alive.

Good to hear, Drake replied in the sign-language, though he still felt a pang of guilt at the separation from his brothers.

The slender, pale-eyed woman glanced back at Zara. "From what I could glean from the old Ranger database on the Dance, it will take us about a day along the Perlemian Trade Route to reach Metellos, which is the only place where we can make the jump to Ilum."

"That sounds good." Zara was quiet for a moment, then shot a curious look at the Ranger. She had also come to stand behind the helm, and Drake watched the interplay of starlight along her face as she spoke.

"Are there many Rangers left?" the Padawan asked. "I heard that they were hunted down along with the Jedi, just like anyone who openly supported the Order."

"I'm not certain," Jo replied, her eyes turned towards the viewport. "Very likely some of them were able to go into hiding, as we have many secret bases scattered throughout the galaxy, but in truth I haven't seen or heard from any other Ranger since a few years after Order 66 went out."

Tully exhaled and frowned, shuffling his weight from foot to foot as he leaned over the back of the Ranger's chair. "Yeah, and we've been a little too busy trying to survive these past six months to worry about contacting Jo's old Ranger buddies."

There was something challenging in his tone, though it was underwritten with a thick sort of remorse that Drake didn't need the Force to sense. Clearly, Tully wanted to change the subject. He figured that Zara picked up on it as well

"Atreus Rand...I'd heard of Jedi Seers, but never his name. Is he...alive?" Zara's throat moved in a tight swallow, and her eyes fell to study her hands.

The Antarian Ranger shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "I don't know..." Here she paused, seemed to collect herself, and then continued. "Much of my memory of the last few years is spotted. All I know for certain is that he asked me to ensure that the Great Holocron would be kept safe, and returned to the Jedi as soon as possible."

"Your memory is...spotted?" Drake asked with a frown from his place against the bulkhead. "What does that mean? Are you kriffing insane or something?" At the words, Tully inclined his head slightly, but said nothing.

Johari seemed uncertain, then took a breath. "I think he did a mind trick on me, to make me forget...well, I'm not sure, actually. I have the crystal, and some rather broad coordinates, but that's it. I suppose it was the safest precaution to prevent the Holocron from falling into the wrong hands, should I ever be captured."

"That won't happen, Jo," Tully spoke up. He'd taken to leaning on the other side of the ship, back stretched out and arms crossed before his chest, mirroring Drake's posture. "Because they'd have to get through me, first. And nobody gets on the wrong side of an ARC trooper unless they're suicidal."

At these words, Drake and Levy each lifted their heads and looked at Tully. "You're an ARC trooper?" Drake asked, awe tinting his words despite himself.

The elder clone gave a sarcastic salute. "War's over, kid. But yeah, I was an ARC."

Levy's hands lifted and Drake voiced the words. "A captain?"

"Lieutenant," Tully replied, his mouth stretching into a grimace. "Special Ops, assisting General Rand." The tone of his voice was dark in a way that suggested the conversation should end there, so Zara looked at Johari again.

"I never thought I'd get to meet an actual Antarian Ranger," she said. "It seemed like kind of an exclusive organization. I know that your efforts during the war were appreciated."

The silver-eyed woman cut her gaze to Zara and gave her a faint, sad smile. "Much the same can be said of the Jedi, can't it?" Zara's lekku bobbed as she nodded, but Johari shook her own head. "It's an arduous path to walk, but I managed. Leaving Eshan was the hardest part, actually." She paused, then glanced at Zara once more. "My ship, the Spiral Dance, is the only remnant of that life that I've been able to retain. Which reminds me...Tully?"

The former ARC made a noise of acknowledgment, and Jo continued. "Ilum is cold and hostile. How much of our supplies do we have left?"

"Most, actually," he replied, standing more upright. "Didn't know where we'd be headed, so I only traded in a few things on the dustball those slavers called a planet. But," he added with a scowl. "We should have waited and gone to a friendlier place; only got a fraction of what those halpiton circuits were worth, and that thieving chakaar of a merchant tried to pull a fast one on me."

At this, Zara straightened. "We have a little bit of money. If you have some gear, I think between us we'll be able to manage."

The mention of their funds – Kalinda had actually given Zara a considerable amount of cash, though Drake knew that much of it was aboard the Deep-X – made him wince. It wasn't the smartest thing to talk about with relative strangers, even ones whose minds you'd peeked into, but he realized after a moment that he was more bothered by the idea of Risky, Keo and Finn – arguably the three least fiscally-sensible people he'd ever known – alone in the galaxy with a fast ship and handfuls of creds.

With this thought came an image of Risky, bleeding, lying at his feet, and Drake felt his irritation flee in the wake of his worry.

But the Echani woman was shaking her head. "We should have adequate cold-weather gear, though I'm not sure we're equipped to accommodate a Nautolan," she added, glancing at Zara.

"Mostly Nautolan," Zara replied with a shrug, pulling out the crystal once more and considering it as she spoke. "A little Twi'leki. I'm kind of a mutt, I guess." Her tone was casual, but Drake found himself grimacing at her words, because he knew quite well that there was no one else in the galaxy like her, nor would there ever be.

However, saying such silly things would have been pointless, so he held his tongue; instead he decided to place some kind of distance between himself and Zara for the time being. "I can go take a look around the hold," he offered in a genial voice. "May as well make myself useful when I'm not in the pilot's seat, saving our shebse."

He turned to go, but Tully was beside him in an instant, making for the door that lead to the gunwell. "Sure thing, kid. Let me show you around." They slipped out of the cockpit and into the small room that held the controls for the ship's blaster cannons, then out the right side to a room with a round dining table and chairs, complete with a galley, conservator and storage compartments for food.

"Lounge," Tully said, then pointed to the right. "'Fresher's in there. The other side of the ship has the bunks; me and Jo each have our own, so you three will have to work out who gets the other two. Engine room's in the center, and through here's the cargo bay."

Tully activated another door and they stepped into one of the cleanest, most organized cargo holds that Drake had ever seen. Rows upon rows of crates, barrels and boxes were stacked neatly against the wall, no more than one deep, and each was outfitted with a panel of raised, Aurebesh letters.

"I have a system," Tully said without preamble, giving Drake what surely was probably a glare from beneath his blindfold. "Don't screw it up, or you'll be on the receiving end of my boot up your shebs."

"Understood, sir," Drake replied, frowning at the unwarranted hostility in the elder clone's voice and responding with a healthy dose of sarcasm. As he turned to examine one of the crates, he felt himself being grabbed and roughly shoved against the bulkhead.

Tully's voice was low and quiet, but there was steel behind his words. "Like I said, kid, the war's over. No one on this ship goes by 'sir,' but that woman up there will receive the highest level of respect from you and your brother. Now, I may have my doubts about the Padawan, but I'm going to trust Jo's judgment when it comes to Jedi-related matters. But as far as I'm concerned, you two are unknown elements, which makes you dangerous until you can prove otherwise to me."

"We're all on the same side, you know," Drake replied, wrenching his shirt out from Tully's grasp. "And a Jedi trusts us, so you should, too."

"Trust isn't a gift," Tully replied in a dark voice. "It has to be earned. If you don't know that, kid, you're in for a rude awakening on this – hopefully brief – little jaunt."

"Drake."

The blindfolded clone frowned. "What?"

Taking a breath, Drake drew himself up to his full height, so that he and Tully were face-to-face, and he tried to fight back the surge of anger he felt at the implied accusations in the elder clone's words. "My name...it's Drake. I worked hard to get it, so I'd appreciate it if you dropped the 'kid' bit."

Rather than react with anger, as Drake had prepared himself for, Tully only chuckled at him and moved to a nearby crate labeled 'cold weather gear,' which he opened and began to withdraw an assortment of clothing. "Right. How old are you...seven, eight years? Have you even seen a real battle, or were you still in flash-training when the war ended?"

"Not that it's any of your business," Drake replied with a scowl. "But Lev and I are about fourteen or fifteen standard years old. Give or take a few months. Biologically, we're about twenty-one or twenty-two."

Tully actually sounded surprised. "Really? You sound...younger. Did the long-necks do something screwy to your genes?" He sniffed a jacket that was in his hand before setting it back down with a frown and pulling the crate away from the wall, separating it from the others and indicating that Drake should sort through it.

"We got a hold of the rapid-aging cure," Drake replied, stepping over and peering within the crate's contents. Inside were an assortment of fur-lined cloaks and boots, and he wondered if he could fashion something for Zara to protect her sensitive lekku. Absently, he fingered the soft furs as he added: "You know, the one from Kal Skirata?"

The blindfolded clone went very still at the words, so Drake turned to him, curious. After a moment, Tully exhaled out of his nose. "So it is true. We'd heard a rumor, but never got a chance to look into it."

The former ARC's tone was solemn and a bit sad, the sound of which startled Drake enough to step forward as he puzzled over the elder clone's initial reaction; however, after a moment of reflection Drake realized that he'd taken the cure – and the doors it opened for himself and his brothers – for granted. Along with many things, he supposed, thinking of Mundali.

"I know where to find more of it," he said, keeping his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather. "Maybe when all this is over..."

"Yeah," Tully replied, though he was shaking his head. "Maybe." There was a moment of quiet, then his head tilted down and he nudged a nearby crate with the toe of his boot, giving a soft, bitter laugh as he did so.

Drake knitted his brows, wondering at the former ARC's shifting moods. "You okay?"

Tully gave a deep sigh, then shrugged. "Sure thing, kid," he said with another, dark chuckle. "Just taking a moment to appreciate the irony of my life."

Once Drake and Tully had slipped out of the cockpit, Zara looked up at the Ranger. "Thank you again for coming to our rescue back there. I guess the Force was with us on Zygerria, after all."

At this, the silver-eyed woman gave a duck of her head in acknowledgment. "It is the duty of every Antarian Ranger to support the Jedi, Zara. I'm only glad to be able to fulfill my role again. It's been...a long time."

The words were hushed, and Zara got the sense that there was much sorrow surrounding this woman, even if she didn't speak of it. She thought that Kalinda would have not pressured Johari to talk, so Zara chose to let her curiosity go unsatisfied for a while longer; she'd seen the interior of the Ranger's mind, and knew that Johari's intentions were pure, even if her past was shadowed.

Levy shot Jo a brief, almost shy glance, and then lifted his hands; Zara watched as the Ranger studied his movements carefully even though she repeated the words aloud so Jo could understand. You're Echani, aren't you? I could tell by your fighting style.

"I am," Jo replied with another nod. She paused, then gave him an unreadable look. "Although, I am not allowed to return to Eshan." Sensing the questions from such a statement, Johari explained. "By and large, my people are not travelers; instead of the stars, we turn our view inwards, mostly towards the movements of the body during a fight. To an Echani, only two things matter: the fight, and the family. One keeps the other safe, and one gives reason to the other.

"But I chose to leave our homeworld," she added after a moment. "And I didn't look back until Mira came to join me. I suppose my mother thought that I'd talked her into leaving, for it was then that she expelled me from our clan and named me an outsider."

The words were spoken without emotion, but something told Zara not to pry further. However, Levy tilted his head and raised his hands again. Mira?

Zara said the name in a hushed voice. Johari's eyes closed, briefly, as she answered. "My younger sister, Miriam. She was...killed about six months ago, when the Empire ambushed us."

There was silence in the cockpit for a moment, so much so that Zara thought she could feel the blood coursing through her veins. Finally she couldn't stand it any more, so she cleared her throat and tried to change the subject away from what was clearly a delicate matter. "Is there a place I can meditate? It might help me figure out what to make of this." She pulled the crystal out of her pocket as she said the words.

"We have a few spare cabins, actually," the Ranger replied in a steady voice, as though their conversation moments ago had not occurred. "They're through the airlock behind you that leads to the gunwell, then to the left. Tully and I each have our own, so you three are free to divide the other two cabins as you see fit."

Levy glanced at her, and she felt the brush of his thoughts in the Force. Drake and I can share.

After thanking Jo and nodding at Levy, Zara slipped out of the helm and made her way towards the interior of the ship. The cabin that she selected for herself was sparse, but comfortable, outfitted with a single, small bunk against the wall, a rounded porthole, and not much else. The walls were bare. The only color in the room was some type of wool blanket draped over the bed, which Zara took a moment to study: it was a pattern of concentric circles in various stages of overlapping, the colors bright and vibrant. Save for the hum of the ship's engines, it was silent, and as she settled on the bunk, Zara glanced out the window to the space beyond.

She knew that Drake thought she was being foolish about the Great Holocron, but within the confines of her mind and heart alike, she also knew that the currents of the Force were urging her in this direction. On more then one occasion she'd been told that she had good instincts...well, her instincts indicated that she could trust Johari Senna, and by extension Tully.

With a sigh, Zara slid out of her boots and sat cross-legged on the bed, the crystal cupped in her hands, thinking that she could maybe try and glean something from it with the Force. Ilum...she'd never been, as there had been no time nor resources for anyone to take her when she constructed her first saber years ago on Coruscant.

For a few moments she studied the small object, feeling it grow warm from the contact with her skin, until she felt her vision relax and her mind begin to drift.

Minutes passed, but the crystal revealed nothing, until she blinked and sighed.

Corliss would have been able to figure it sudden thought of her friend made her eyes prick. Of course her friend was dead, she was sure, along with most of the other Padawans she'd known. Zara was well-aware of how lucky she'd been in the turmoil that followed the collapse of the Jedi Order, and she also knew that she shouldn't dwell on the past, because she could change nothing about it.

Even so, she missed her friend.

Honi would have advised her to do her best and work with what she had, so Zara took another breath and closed her eyes again, trying to relax. It felt like hours passed until slowly, so slowly, a thought came to her. It was not a vision, like Corliss used to describe, but it was more of a feeling, an idea, that gradually turned into a ripple of the Force that she felt strung through her consciousness. Like a river, moving to a distant sea, she felt the pull of it in her mind...towards the northernmost pole of the ice-planet. Just before it ended, she caught a brief flash of something like a rainbow, an image that filled her with hope.

Maybe she could do this, after all.

Little more exposition about Jo and Tully - and poor Mira. :( And you get to meet Eshe Umari - yet another OC who will come into play more in the sequel.

As always, thanks for reading! Please leave a review if you can; I love to know what y'all think so far!

Next week: Ilum. :)

Hey, guess what? I have a new story coming out soon! :D Check my profile for more info.

In other news, Star Wars Celebration VI is this August! Woot! Myself and a few other authors around these parts are going, and we're toying with the idea of having a fanfic dot net gathering/meet up of a sort at the convention. Interested? PM me and we can discuss. :)