"Bao, get your ass in here, you need to hear this!"
Mission had nearly fallen asleep during a round of pazaak with herself but now she was wide awake. She had been piloting the ship while Bao-Dur and the Disciple rested. They were approaching their destination but it was important that someone always be watchful in the cockpit in case the Sith discovered their arrival and sent a welcoming party. They had been taking cockpit duty in shifts and it was her turn to keep watch. Now Mission stared, disbelieving, at the flight console. A tiny red light blinked, indicating an incoming hail from another ship. Bao-Dur stumbled into the cockpit, half-dressed, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
"What is it?" he groaned.
"Hey check this - " Mission stopped in midsentence, turning to face him. "Okay, wow, next time you need to warn me when you're gonna do that."
"Do what?" he asked, yawning, dropping down into the seat beside her.
"Show up… Like that… A girl needs a heads up, know what I mean?"
The Iridonian glanced down at his bare, muscled chest and chuckled, shrugging.
"Just keeping you on your toes, little Twi'lek."
Mission rolled her eyes and pointed at the blinking light, "You're not going to believe this transmission but I'll play it for you anyway. Make sure and tell me if you hear the same thing because I might just be losing my damn mind."
She hit a switch and the recorded transmission crackled to life; a low, gruff voice filled the cockpit.
"This is Admiral Carth Onasi, identify your craft. I repeat, this is Admiral Onasi, report your position and cargo, over."
Mission squealed with excitement and delight even after listening to the transmission several times already.
"Can you believe it!?" she trilled. Bao-Dur stared at the speaker as if it had just sprouted leaves. Mission nodded, sharing in his blank, mystified stare. She played the transmission again, and then again. Bao-Dur sat back in his chair, shocked.
"Well answer him!" he finally barked, scrambling to put on a headset. Mission let out a little shriek and went to work, preparing to patch a message over to the Admiral. She lowered her microphone into place and took a deep, steadying breath.
"Carth! I can't tell you how good it is to hear your voice! "
"Mission!?"
"This is… I mean, can you believe it? Wait - why do I have a funny feeling we're going to the same place?" Mission's smile could be heard loud and clear in her voice. Carth's hysterical laughter filled up the cockpit. In the background Mission was sure she heard someone else, a woman, and she jumped out of her seat.
"Revan? Revan is with you, isn't she? Holy frak, I knew it!" she cried into the microphone, suddenly feeling lighter than air; the doomed mission might have half a chance. She beamed at Bao-Dur, and she knew he was thinking the same thing: They might just make it out alive and together.
"Affirmative, precious cargo onboard," Carth replied over the com.
"Send us your coordinates, we'll wait for you at the landing sight," she said.
"Revan says there's a decent field to land in, I'll send over the coordinates. The planet is called Lokan, it's a Sith industrial and military command headquarters, one of many, apparently. Keep your eyes peeled when you land and do everything you can to jam your scanners. The landing area is far enough away from the Sith base to give us some time to regroup. Revan's been trying to reach your friend but so far no luck, we'll send a message when we know more."
"Thanks, Carth, safe travels," Mission replied, pulling off the headset with a huge sigh of relief. She was shaking, with surprise or happiness, she couldn't tell. Bao-Dur was already out of his seat and running down the hall to the sleeping quarters. Finally, she thought, some good news for the Disciple.
Bao-Dur found the Disciple awake, or mostly awake, floating just above his bed, meditating. He hesitated to interrupt his friend but decided it was information well-worth telling. He took a step into the room and the Disciple floated back down to the mattress, disturbed.
"Something's happened," he murmured.
"Yes, Revan and Admiral Onasi have sent a transmission. They're joining us," Bao-Dur said. The Disciple turned to face him, nodding. They were silent for a moment and Bao-Dur's shoulders fell; he had hoped the news would at least make his friend smile, but the Disciple was unreadable, as usual. Bao-Dur took this as his cue to leave. The Disciple had been extremely quiet the last few days, lost in concentration, pouring every ounce of his energy into finding the Exile. It was exhausting him, that much was obvious, but it was impossible to argue with the Jedi, who went about his task with unwavering determination. Bao-Dur turned to go.
"Thank you," the Disciple said softly.
"We'll be landing in an hour," Bao-Dur replied, closing the door behind him.
When Bao-Dur was gone, the Disciple felt his heart leap with excitement; they were reaching their destination, soon the restlessness would be over and he could finally do something. It was torture, sitting in the ship all day and all night with nothing to do but search the Force for any sign of the Exile. The wound in the Force had eased, or at least the crying had died down, but now it was more difficult to find any signs at all of where she might be. It was unfair, he thought, that the Force could send him cryptic visions and horrible, rending feelings of impending death and then grow completely quiet. But this was what happened, he realized, when you came to rely so heavily on the Force. He wished he could find some other way to communicate with the Exile, reach her through some other means.
Knowing that Revan would be joining them, their chances of success were better, certainly, but it was also likely that her presence would draw the attention of the Sith forces. He had hoped that their relative unimportance wouldn't even register with the Sith, but now that the infamous Jedi Revan was arriving, subtle and discreet intervention was no longer a viable option.
Still, despite the vague visions and unreadable dreams, the Disciple could feel something tangible kindling inside; he sensed a transformation coming, like the unstoppable change of seasons, for good or ill. He could not tell whether it was a change he had brought on himself or if it was the Force creating some new power inside of him. The Exile had taught him to always be open to the Force and to one's own changing power. It was amorphous she said, ever-changing, ever-renewed and one could wake to find they were stronger and more powerful than before. He wondered if perhaps this growing, gnawing feeling inside of him was the will of the Exile, a seed she had somehow planted without him knowing.
She consumed his thoughts, and he poured over the letters daily, searching for clues. What Madalore had told him on Dxun… It was not hopeless, his love for her, something may yet still come of it. But not knowing, not having a good hold on the memories of her… It made him feel dangerously open, as if finding her might only make everything worse. The tower he had built up was in danger of tumbling down. What if she had no feelings for him at all? What if they saved the galaxy but destroyed his dire hopes in the process?
The Disciple picked up one of the letters. He had written it years ago on Dxun, holed up in his room, writing to her furiously, writing a letter that she would never see.
I know you love it here. The jungle fuels your soul. You feel a kinship with the prowling beasts and the untamed Mandalorians who watch as if you were a ticking bomb, ready to explode at any second. Trouncing through the jungle with you, surrounded by green and shadow, swallowed up by the undergrowth, I wondered if we could simply vanish into the trees. Who would find us if we chose to leave? Let it eat us up, I thought, let us wind ourselves into the vines and branches and return to who we truly are, who nature intended us to be. Let us forget all of these teachings and rules and just give ourselves over to the animals and wild trilling calls of the unknown. I looked at you, dripping with sweat and rain, radiant, and I thought: We could be happy here. No, we could be happy anywhere.
Some mornings he woke in a panic, feeling as if he had misplaced something terribly important. He would scramble out of bed and realize that he had been dreaming and the loss was in his head. The panic would shift into a nauseating stillness and doubts would worm their way into his brain, nagging until he reluctantly confronted them – what if he found her and the spark was gone? What if her time in the Unknown Regions had left her incapable of loving?
The "what ifs" continued piling up until he forced himself to go back to sleep or meditate or distract himself with a book. He wanted to share all of it with Bao-Dur and Mission but it never seemed like the correct time; he often felt distinctly unwanted as they began to discover feelings for one another. The Disciple was afraid of disturbing them and ruining whatever peaceful time the three of them had left. Peace, he winced; he hadn't enjoyed a peaceful moment in so long. At least, he thought, the torment would be over soon and for good or bad he would know what the Exile wanted. And if Bao-Dur and Mission were falling in love then that was okay, too and he would force a smile and congratulate them and do his best to keep from falling into a deeply spiraling depression.
No, he had to be strong and stay optimistic. His grasp of the Force waned when he was too caught up in his own mixed up thoughts, he would have to set his doubts and fears aside and concentrate on the task, on finding the Exile and helping her defeat the Sith. That was priority number one, and if afterward he had to deal with her indifference then he would confront it then.
He clutched at his stomach, grimacing. It was happening more often, the roiling sensation that made him believe something cataclysmic was coming and it was originating inside of him. Sometimes he would do a double-take when he glanced in the mirror, finding that his eyes were brighter than usual, glowing and even though he had lost weight from worry and lack of sleep, his skin was still ruddy with health. It didn't make sense – where was this bizarre power coming from?
The Disciple packed up the letters and left the sleeping quarters. Bao-Dur would need assistance getting all of the weapons ready for their assault. When he drifted into the garage he found Bao-Dur hard at work, soldering a reconnaissance droid back together, Remote offering help here and there. The zabrak put down the soldering iron when he heard the Disciple enter and pulled off his goggles.
"Hey, I'm glad you're here," Bao-Dur said. He followed the Disciple's eyes to a long worktable where scattered bits of crystal and metal lay glinting under a work light.
"Is that what I think it is?" the Disciple asked.
"Yes, the General will need a weapon," Bao-Dur replied. "I was going to do it myself but now that you're here… Well, it would be fitting, don't you think?"
"You want me to build her a new lightsaber?" the Disciple asked, drawn against his will to the worktable. He picked up a fragment of silver crystal and held it in his palm, it was warm and pulsing like a clear little heart. Confused, he picked up another sliver of crystal, this one was dark green.
"I recognize these," the Disciple murmured.
"That's because they're leftovers. The green one is from the crystals you chose in the kinrath caves, and the silver shard is from the Exile's."
"Her personal crystal?" he breathed, staring, awestruck, as if it were a holy relic.
"Yes, I kept the shards just as a precaution. It's not unheard of to lose or break a lightsaber and I wanted to have extras in case. The shards aren't big enough to function on their own, but I thought we could work some magic and fuse those bits together. With what's left of yours and hers there should be enough to form one, maybe even two entire crystals," Bao-Dur explained, crossing his arms over his chest. The Disciple was quiet for a moment, studying the bright twinkling shards, letting them glow invitingly in his palm. He could sense the power within them and feel how they were reacting to one another.
"It might actually work," the Disciple said, turning a shy smile on the zabrak.
"Well, let's get to it. There's no time to waste."