Sithkids
Chapter 12 / Sithkids
Carth walked off the Pearl straight into an awards broadcast. Lights flashed, and cameras whirred, and there were at least a hundred sentients from various branches of the Fleet standing at attention. Everyone was saluting. A band played the Republic Anthem. Flags and a red carpet lined the corusteel floor of the enormous groundside docking bay—a space twice as large as the Pearl needed—presumably to accommodate all this pomp.
A bald old man dressed in formal black and red robes was waiting for him, at the end of the red carpet.
"My apologies for all the frippery," the old man whispered, putting a steadying hand on Carth's shoulder. His thin lips stretched in a smile. "Sometimes these sacrifices are necessary for the Republic."
"Senator D'Reev, I assume." Carth nodded, shaking his hand.
"It's a great honor to meet you, Captain Onasi." The old man smiled sadly. "In some ways I feel like I already know you quite well."
Carth kept the neutral smile pasted on his face. Eventually, this would be over, and he could focus on finding Dustil. D'Reev was a tall man; now stooped and wrinkled with age. His Senator's robes made him look broader than the bones in his face and hands suggested. He looked, Carth noticed with a chill; like an older, frailer version of Malak.
D'Reev patted his hand. "After this, we're going to lunch with the Chancellor. It's a long drive to the District, so we'll have some time to talk. This all must be very hard."
Carth nodded, feeling kind of numb.
There were several speeches and the band played the Telos Symphony, sad and funereal. Carth had to blink his eyes several times and shook more hands than he'd ever thought he'd see. A pretty red Twi'lek corporal pinned the Republic Cross of Glory on his chest. Reporters asked him questions and he answered in a monotone, the same answers over and over again. Stop the Sith. Stop Darth Revan. Find Dustil, where was his son?
But his mind was elsewhere; trying to think of something safe to think about. Something unemotional, like the drive engines he'd refitted on the Hawk.
"Don't kiss me you're all oily,' she said, laughing. The way her nose wrinkled-where had they been? Tatooine, maybe. The first time. Not the second—don't think about the second time you were on Tatooine. When you knew what she really was and loved her anyway. How could you?
Funny, the more they called him a hero, the more he felt like a lie.
Captain Rew Ekkumi was there and General Jiya Sand. He hadn't seen either of them in years. It had been Corporal Sand and Commander Ekkumi then.
Ekkumi kissed his cheek. "We'll talk later," she promised. The familiarity of her Telosian accent hit home with a pang. Their children all grew up together on the base, not so long ago.
Carth nodded at her, he didn't trust himself to speak—didn't want to ask her if they'd made it out alive.
After what seemed like forever, the band stopped playing, and the crowds of well-wishers and press dispersed. An honor guard escorted him and D'Reev to the Senator's own personal transport. A sleek aircruiser, Durian-made from the look of it, shaped like a gleaming silver triangle.
Only the best, Carth thought wearily. Durians were famous for their ship design, although as a species they rarely left their own planet.
"You're holding up well," the old man observed, as the doors slid open with a soft click, revealing a sparse, but opulent interior.
The walls were gleaming: white lacquer, with two white silk couches facing each other across a table made of white stone. Carth sat down on one and the old man sat down on the other. The driver was an anonymous shadow behind a thick wall of reinforced dark gray ferracrystal. Tinted ferracrystal windows on either side revealed the Coruscanti landscape as the aircruiser slipped out of the hanger with an effortless purr and navigated deftly into the stream of planetside traffic.
Repulsor fields shimmered around them, and Coruscant spun beneath. It was beautiful.
"I've never been here before," Carth admitted, shifting in his seat. The psychdroid had declared him fit, but he felt so drained and exhausted. He wanted a drink and a room and to be left alone. "Is there any word of my son?"
The Senator shook his head. "I'm sure we'll find him, or he'll find you."
"I appreciate it." Carth realized his hands were clenched into fists.
"I know what it's like to lose a son," the old man said bleakly.
Carth didn't know how to respond to that.
XXX
There was a brief, happy moment when everything seemed fine. They'd gotten away clean. Crossing the ground floor of the Library, Mekel almost started whistling. Dustil was freaking out inside—whatever he thought about Mission was obviously bugging on him as much as his father's situation—but at least he'd shut up about it in public.
Mekel was just glad something was finally going to happen. Something besides being trapped in the Coruscant Underground. And the Twi'lek wasn't so bad. She was coming on a ship. Maybe she'd get them off this fracking rock, before his cousin came back, or Moms figured out he was around, and started in on him about working for family.
"See?" he muttered. Told you. This was cake.
Thank you. Dustil's hand brushed his arm. Don't think I could have done this on my own.
No kidding. Mekel felt one side of his mouth pull up. Anytime, Telos.
Will you stop calling me that?
You like 'Dusty' better?
"Maybe we should think up new names," The Telosian smirked. "Yours could be 'Asshat.'"
"Yeah, because I'm the one who got rolled by a Twi'lek half my size."
"No, you were the one who said we could take that Echani sworddancer."
"I didn't know he was armed!"
"The big sword on his back wasn't a clue?"
"I thought he was posing. Pervs do that." Mekel scoffed. "Didn't think he was a real sworddancer."
"You didn't think." Dustil snorted and elbowed him. Dumbass.
The outer doors slid open. They walked out of The Library.
"Dustil Onasi!" a voice called out.
Instead of doing what a normal sent would do: that is, keep walking until they got out of sight and then book it; Dustil Onasi froze, like a spideroach in downlight.
Oh, frack.
Surrounding them were at least two squads of soldiers. From their uniforms, they looked Fleet. Out of the corner of his eye, Mekel saw that the street had been hastily cordoned off. A shadow even blocked the milky sun, as another transport settled on the wide street, discharging even more troops.
You'd think we'd robbed the Gallery of Heroes or started the Sith Wars. What the frack, Mekk? Dustil was gaping like a rube.
Not a lot of time to think, not much time at all.
"Maybe I'll see you around," Mekel said and walked away. Casual.
As troops circled around his friend, Mekel wasn't the only random ped caught in the barricade. He slipped into the crowd of annoyed sents; trying not to think very hard.
Dustil's thoughts were chaotic and angry. They beat on his mind like a staccato of rain.
What are you doing, don't leave me? Mekel? What the hell? What the hell do I do?
I don't fracking know. Tell me the name. The one to meet them under.
Huh?
The name. Mission's message. At the Wheel. What's the name?
The Telosian boy's emotions were like an explosion. They almost hurt. Mekel winced.
H-handsome.
Huh. Normally he would have commented, but right now—
Okay. Good luck.
Mekel? You can't just leave!
What else can I fracking do, Telos? Shit, Jedi… heads up. Don't do anything stupid.
The Jedi walked right past him, a phalanx of brown-robes and beige. If he looked close, he'd probably recognize some of them. But he didn't. Mekel kept his head down, fingering the pages in his pocket. It was the only thing he could do.
I'll go meet your girl, he thought. Try not to die.
XXX
Mekel just walked away. Walked away.
What else can I fracking do, Telos?
They advanced on him. "Dustil Onasi!" a woman called. Commander's bars on her coat, naval branch, intelligence. "We've been looking for you, son." She had a reassuring smile on her face, but he wasn't reassured, not at all.
I'll go meet your girl, Mekel shot at him. Smug prick. Try not to die.
Dustil backed away, backed up towards the library doors.
"Dustil Onasi!" a Trandoshan captain, dressed in black and gray. District patrol, maybe—the local cops. He frowned at the Fleet officer. "We've got orders to take him in. This is our jurisdiction."
The woman glared. "My orders are to take this boy to his father, sir. With all due respect—"
Dustil was almost back at the library doors now. Maybe he could slip back inside, and then— Mekel just left me. What kind of friend just leaves?
Dustil turned around to make a run for it—only to find his route blocked.
Behind him came another squad of civi guards; and in their midst was that dumb kid. Round face and red hair. The kid had been crying—he face was red and covered in snot. One of the guards had him by the arm.
Dustil wasn't really thinking now; he was just acting. On Korriban they'd train sometimes for crowd situations. Scenarios with the prisoners. How do you deal when you're outnumbered? Answer: make sure you cut the smallest and fastest swathe possible through your opponents, in the closest approximation you can get to a straight line. The civvies were the smallest group here; it wouldn't take much time at all to get through them—he could even try and avoid hitting that kid.
His lightsaber was in his hand before he had time to think about the utter futility of that strategy against the hundred blasters that would then be at his back.
They'll probably just stun me—right?
Maybe that was reassuring.
"Dustil Onasi!" called someone behind him. "We're not here to hurt you, son. Put down the weapon."
The kid looked up, looked at him. His mouth made a round O of surprise. Mouthed the name, Onasi.
Things seemed to move very slowly. Dustil was looking for a break between the astonished civi guards. Less of them than what was behind him. The saber was humming in his hand, red and bright. Somehow soothing.
Cut a swathe.
There was an opening on the right, where two of the guards seemed more confused than the others. Greener maybe. Gaping at him. Some of the others had drawn their blasters. Pointing at him. Behind them people were yelling at them not to shoot. Confusion.
He started to move but the kid moved faster. Broke away from the guards and ran. Ran right into him. Dustil's breath went out in an oomph of surprise as the kid's arms locked around his waist. The kid hung onto him for dear life.
What the hell?
"Carth Onasi's your father?"
Wide gray eyes looked up at him. His face was red and splotchy. Crooked tooth. The kid was really heavy.
"Get away from me," Dustil muttered. He couldn't move.
"Make them say they're liars! You know it's a lie! You have to know!"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The guards all around them seemed frozen. He could feel laser sights like little prickles on the back of his neck.
"Make them say it's a lie!"
XXX
"Make them say it's a lie!"
Selene's voice shook. Dustil trembled for her. Master Uthar had a smile on his face. That really bad smile.
Oh shit, Leenie, no.
"Make them say it's a lie! My father didn't bomb Telos!"
Master Uthar began to laugh.
XXX
"Kid, step away from… the boy." The civi commander looked terrified. Dustil wasn't sure which one of them he was talking to anymore. The kid had his jacket in a death grip, and he whirled his face around, and screamed at the soldier.
"Say it's a lie! Say it!"
"Get away—it's me they're after, not you," Dustil whispered. He held his saber out defensively, trying not to cut one of the kid's arms off. He felt funny, as if all of this was a dream.
The kid looked up at him again, eyes huge and drowning.
"They won't hurt you. They wouldn't dare. Tell them it's a lie."
"What— what's a lie?"
"Those things on the nets. About my mother."
"Kid, I don't know your mother." The guards were still frozen, and Dustil started to edge his way to the side, trying to get his back to the wall.
"You do. Your father does. I s-s-saw it on the vids. Your father looks nice. Like my mother." The kid's nose was running now too, and his face was wet with tears. His clear voice carried in the sudden stillness around them.
Like the eye of a hurricane.
The guards were whispering.
"For what we're not hearing, we're going to get a nice long trip to the Outer Rim," one of them said.
"I don't understand. Stun them already!"
"Shut up, Cally."
"Dustil Onasi."
A voice behind them, sad and kind. One of the Jedi. Great. Dustil didn't turn around, just kept trying to edge sideways towards the wall of the building. The kid was stuck to his side like a mynock.
"Tell them it's a lie! Tell them!"
"Malachor." The voice was dispassionate, that sickening calmness that was supposed to be concern—only it never was. They never really cared about you at all. Jedi. He could feel them against the fringes of his mind.
"Don't call me that." The boy sounded sad and scared. Dustil could sense the Jedi behind them now too, a ripple in the force.
Call him what? Malachor? Is the kid named after the system? That's really fracked.
Dustil wanted to laugh suddenly. Nothing made sense.
There was the wall of the building, solid ferracrete.
He whirled and pressed his back against it, holding the saber out in front of him. The kid was scrunched up against him, still had his jacket in a death grip.
In front of them were at least four different branches of the Fleet. Five brown-robes. And a squad of local guards. And the kid's guards. All fanned out, on every side.
"Well, kid, what now?" He really wanted to start laughing.
"Make them say it isn't true." The boy's voice was quieter. He moved in front of Dustil, and Dustil had to move his arms to keep from hitting him with the blade. His hand was shaking. Almost tentatively, the kid reached over and steadied them.
Great, now they were both holding the lightsaber.
No one was moving, not even the Jedi. Weird.
It was then that the explosions began.
XXX
If that stupid nerf herder had just gone to a public street terminal none of this would be happening. But no, he had to go to the one place that had Senate approval to track keystrokes on their end—the bantha poodoo bloody Library.
Mission's error was overconfidence; she realized that as soon as the name Dustil Onasi started setting off tripwires all across the system. (The fact that it was coupled with her own name and Selene Karath's probably didn't help.) The best she could manage at that point was damage control. At least her own response had been encrypted. But the damage was done. She counted at least six different alarms—set independently. Sithboy'd better get out of there fast.
And the Library was already on alert. She looked into why.
One of the Eglatines was missing. Senators. Most of them were clones, and they protected their heirs with more ice than she'd ever seen anywhere outside of the Jedi Temple's archives. Stupid Jedi. She still was having trouble getting through their ice too. At least the Library had the loopholes. Almost all activity on the public terminal floor was down now, but she was still tapped into the system enough to see the final request logged in.
Kwery / Revan Starfire Reesint news. Please.
The term replied with the usual trash. Revan Starfire, big bad Sith Lord. She would have snickered—except she was already reading the user's comment.
Liar dont say those things abot my mother
Wow. What were the odds? Mission calculated them. Three hundred, ninety-six thousand, eighty-four point nine seven six to one. She weighed the risks of a response and found them too high. Carth had probably spilled the beans that there was a supercomputer out there. Of course, he didn't know how super.
Besides, there were troop commands and requests to cordon off the entire district. She was impressed, who knew Dustil was that major? Malachi D'Reev wanted him badly—and so did the Jedi suddenly; which seemed kinda weird, because they hadn't seemed to be looking very hard for him before.
"Rulan?" the ship's speakers crackled and she adjusted the distortion to a more manageable level. The shapeshifter winced.
Rulan Prolik put down the thing he'd been making—some kind of wall hanging made from rope he'd found in the ship's stores, woven into a pattern of intricate knots.
"Yes?"
"Do you have any contacts in the Chancellor's District?"
"We get a great deal of work there."
"I need some legs to get Dustil Onasi out of a big stinking pile of poodoo. At The Library."
"You need him eliminated?"
Stupid order of assassins. One-track minds. How small.
"No. I need him extricated. Unharmed. I'll arrange a distraction—" she was already working on that; traffic grids weren't that hard to get into—harder though, to override their automated safety controls. "It would be, like a rescue."
"It's not really our normal line of work."
If she had teeth, they'd be gritted. "Can you do it or not?"
"You need to give me more information."
She was working on a visual, one of the security drones outside the Library doors. She couldn't get readings inside—Library didn't have visual—something about the Right to Knowledge being private—which was sort of funny considering how much they monitored—but Coruscant didn't seem known for its logic. The grids were a tangle of overlaid systems, some dating back over a thousand years. Coruscanti laws were much the same.
"On it..." she said, and the holo sprang into view.
Lots of sentients in uniform, standing around with all of their guns drawn. Not good. She tried to get the drone to pan out to see what they were doing—or rather, where Dustil was—since the odds seemed high that this was the pile of utter crap he'd wandered into.
And yeah, there he was, looking like small-time coreslime in a tight gray coverall and shiny plastol jacket. His hair was longer, and it fell over his eyes. He needed a shave too. He was waving a lightsaber—real smart—and there was a red-haired kid stuck to his legs like glue.
What are the odds...?
Five hundred million, two hundred forty-two thousand, eight hundred sixty-four point three two seven to one.
The kid turned, and she ran a close-up on his face, transposing it with an image of Revan's at about the same age from the Telos incident, and one of Malak's at twelve that she'd swiped from an underground tabloid. Match. Primary target identified.
She stored the image to show Polla-Revan later. She'd want to see.
But not now, not until Mission sorted this all out. Polla-Revan would freak if she saw this.
"I'm sorry; I regret my organization can't be of any assistance." Rulan sighed, setting his Twi'lek body back in his chair. His fingers deftly tied another knot in his project.
"What?"
"That—Eglatine is the property of one of our most generous benefactors. We can't get involved."
"Seems to me you're already involved," Mission snapped. "What with Hulas trying to play both sides of the fence, and you agreeing to assist me in exchange for passage off Kashyyyk."
Freyyrr was thankfully asleep. She didn't need distraction across the ether. The grids were a snarl. Mission tried to patch into the safety automation herself. Somewhere a terminal beeped. Denied.
"You didn't tell me this involved D'Reev interests." Rulan sighed regretfully. "My appendages are tied."
There are more than a billion curses in the known universe. Part of her began running through them all.
Dustil and Malachor D'Reev were backed up against the wall of the Library now. No one seemed to be shooting at them, but that wasn't really a surprise.
It would be inconvenient if Dustil managed to get captured by D'Reev's people. And since Carth hated Revan now, they needed Dustil to lure him back. She noticed the flock of Jedi—that was a slightly better option.
Although from the look on Sithboy's face, he didn't think so.
"That Eglatine isn't important," Mission lied. "He's just a bystander. You must be mistaken. All Human children look alike at that age."
The shapeshifter chuckled. "I know who he is. That's Malachor D'Reev. There's an abbey on Dathomir whose entire operations are funded by a retainer not to take any assignments that concern him."
"Well, I don't want him killed! Just—get Dustil out of there."
Somewhere a terminal beeped and chimed. Override accepted.
"You can get the kid out of there too, of you want?" Mission offered. She pulled the grid offline. A public airbus collided with a troop transport. There was a flash of light on the holoimage, and several of the soldiers looked very distracted. Good.
"You don't understand, we can't act against D'Reev," Rulan said, frowning at the screen. "Was that an explosion?"
"They might be in danger," Mission said ominously. "You could help save them?"
"I'm sorry. No. Our efforts might be misconstrued."
"They could die."
Hastily, she put the grid back online. The effects were already impressive. Air traffic everywhere tried desperately to land with mixed results. Repulsor fields shimmered around the Library building, shielding it from any impact damage. The scene began to resemble a war zone. She panned the camera view back out.
Stupid nerf-herder was still just standing there, slack-jawed with his lightsaber. Anyone with any sense would have ducked inside The Library by now. What traffic was left in the sky started flying again, although there were panicked civilians everywhere. The troops were dealing with that, mostly. And some of the Jedi.
Rulan shrugged. "As long as we're not involved, that's not my concern."
"I could let it be known that you were involved." Blackmail was highly effective with sentients.
"I am truly sorry; my code of ethics forbids it. If the Genoharadan began double-crossing our clients, who would ever hire us again?"
Well, most sentients.
"But Hulas—"
"Hulas will be dealt with."
Why didn't that dumb boy move?
XXX
"You seem troubled," the old man said.
The cruisers engine's hummed softly in perfect synch. Below them spun Coruscant, a matrix of lights and spires.
Carth gritted his teeth. The Senator was nice enough, but he really didn't want to talk about it. What was there to say?
I'm no hero, I'm a traitor. I was going to betray the Republic for her.
"You're thinking about Revan." It was not a question.
Carth nodded slightly, feeling ashamed.
"Believing the best in people isn't wrong," D'Reev said. "I knew her quite well when she was younger. I believed the best too."
Malak's father. Did she lead Malak to the dark side too? Did she twist him like she twists everything?
Carth frowned. "I-I met your son once."
XXX
The man looked up from his empty glass and glared at Carth with cold, durasteel eyes. "Seat's taken," he said. The cantina was crowded and the bar stool next to the big man was the only empty seat left.
"Doesn't look taken to me." Carth grinned. "Let me buy you a drink, soldier." He was celebrating their minor victory off Reisu, one of Althir's moons. You had to celebrate what you could. Live and fight another day. In the morning he'd take stims to take care of the hangover he planned on having, and then they'd fight some more.
"I'm no soldier." The big man scowled at him, raising a heavy brow. "Can it be that you truly don't know who I am?"
Carth shrugged and sat down. "This is a Fleet hang-out; I'd assume you're with the Fleet. You groundside? I don't know all the new mechanics." Whoever he was, he wasn't in uniform, but that wasn't that surprising. Regs were regs—but they tended to be overlooked in this part of town. The man wore a generic black coverall. His hair was cropped short, thinning and gray at the temples; but his face was round. Despite the hair, he looked young.
"Groundside crew." The man lifted his eyebrows. "This week we're mopping up groundside—so yes." A trace of a smile crossed his mouth.
Carth signaled the buxom Althiri to bring them both another round. Althiri firewater—tasted like fuel oil but it did the job. "Hey, we're all on the same team here."
The man grunted and drained his glass, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked almost friendly. Almost. "You're one of Admiral Karath's commanders, aren't you?"
Carth tugged self-consciously at his fleet jacket. The bars were still shiny. It had only been a month since his last promotion. "Yeah. How'd you know I was with Karath?"
"I could say it was a lucky guess. You're Telosian. So is most of his command." The big man shrugged and signaled to the barmaid for another round. "This one's on me, Commander Onasi."
Carth narrowed his eyes. "You could say?"
The big man grinned shortly. "I could say. Or, maybe I read your mind. We Jedi do that. Sometimes." His words were slightly slurred. Carth wondered how long he'd been sitting on that bar stool.
Carth edged away, trying to laugh. The Jedi occupied a strange position in the Fleet: necessary; but there were stories—and they kept to themselves. Gave everyone the creeps. "You're saying you're a Jedi?"
"That's enough about me," the big man drained his glass. "Let's talk about you. Your wife and son, you miss them very much."
Suddenly, Carth felt dead sober. The bastard was—somehow the bastard was in his mind.
"Don't—don't do that!" His hand was on his blaster, which was complete madness. Attack a Jedi in a Fleet bar? Court martial at the very least.
The man continued as if he'd said nothing. "Dustil and Morgana. Dustil's… eleven now? They're back on Telos. Morgana's very pretty. You're a lucky man. Some people never get to have that kind of happiness." He shook his head and stared at his glass.
"I'm out of here," Carth said, and started to get up from his chair.
"You soldiers think you know about war. You're wrong. You know what war really is?" the Jedi whispered, but his words cut through the cantina din like a vibroblade, Suddenly, everyone was quiet. "War is feeling a world die and knowing you could have stopped it. You think you know, but you don't. You Force-blind lucky son of a reek—you have no idea."
"Fighting for freedom is necessary! Where do you get off going through my mind? who the hell do you think you are?"
You couldn't shoot someone in a Republic cantina, but fistfights were generally overlooked. The man had several kilos of body mass on him; and was maybe a decade younger. Carth considered the odds. Possible. Maybe. Frack it. His hands curled into fists and he got up, swaggering.
Cold gray eyes stared at him, unblinking. Dead eyes in the young face. "I'm Malak D'Reev. Jedi Knight Malak."
"You say that like I should be impressed." Despite himself, he—he was. Malak himself. One of the two leaders of the Jedi command.
And now Jedi Knight Malak D'Reev was signaling for another round and gesturing for him to sit back down.
"Perhaps I've been rude," the big man considered. "Have another round on me."
"Sorry," Carth said, walking away. "I don't drink with assholes."
XXX
"Your son seemed… like he had a lot on his mind," Carth finished lamely. "We met on Althir, right before the Republic defeat."
A defeat that Canderous orchestrated. How could I have forgiven him for that?
The Senator sighed. "My son had good intentions." D'Reev stared at his hands. "He loved his wife very much."
"I didn't know he was married," Carth said.
"Very few people did," the Senator replied. "But I thought you deserved to know. In her own way, she was once a remarkable woman. Brilliant, beautiful, charming." He sighed. "But utterly ruthless."
If it was possible, his heart sunk even lower. "Oh."
XXX
"Malak—at the end he asked me to take him back. I remembered things then, things about him and me. We grew up together you know, and he was—we were—."
"Shhh… We all have our pasts." Carth held her hand tightly, trying to reassure them both.
XXX
Carth wasn't sure how to handle this. He looked outside. They were on the skyway now, a silver line stretching along the curve of the planet's horizon, merging seamlessly with the clouds that covered most of the groundside.
Why am I even surprised? Why do I even care?
He didn't care, but he felt a strange emptiness. He stammered for something to say. "She was—you said—Revan was ruthless. Was she—always?"
Something wrong? Something on your mind?
D'Reev looked pensive. "Revan was always ambitious. Something the Jedi Order frowned upon but tolerated—due to her… unique position." He shrugged. "She was a powerful Force user, and they needed her talents. They overlooked much, and in return she betrayed them. She led my son into darkness. In the end… he wasn't my son anymore; he was just a… thing. Mindless and brutal."
"I-I'm sorry." Words seemed inadequate.
The Senator sighed. "I hope we can find Dustil. It's a terrible thing to lose your son. I want to help you, Captain Onasi."
"Thanks," Carth's voice was hoarse.
"We should speak of happier things, perhaps. A more optimistic time. We'll have lunch with the Chancellor and then take you to your quarters. The Senate has been good enough to set up a suite for you in the visiting Ambassadors' building, while a more permanent residence is arranged. The Telosian Representative will want to meet with you, of course—but I've also scheduled some time for you to get some rest before the next round of press conferences."
"Telos has Senate representation?" That was new. The old bitterness struck again. If my homeworld had been properly part of the Republic, the Fleet would have defended it against Revan's attack. But we were just a border planet, one of the Outer Rim sacrifices to the glorious cause.
"They've been nominated for full representation." The old man looked at the floor modestly. "I've sponsored the nomination. It was the least I could do."
Carth nodded. He didn't trust his voice.
The car's commlink beeped. "Senator, we have a situation. It involves… the boy." The voice was crackling with static and it the background noise that filtered through the link carried sounds of explosions and screams.
Carth stiffened. "The boy? My son? News of my son? Is it Dustil? Is he in trouble?"
D'Reev looked up at him, with a blank look on his face. For a moment it was as if the kindly façade dropped, and what was left was an expression that Carth couldn't read. "Apologies, Captain Onasi. Text only."
The Senator pulled up a holocube from the console, peering into it. The lines in his face deepened, and his eyes were half-lidded above the hawk-like nose
He cares this much about finding Dustil? That's kind of him...isn't it? But this is Darth Malak's father we're talking about here. Can I really trust him? Can I trust anyone?
"What is it?" he repeated. "Is my son in trouble? You have to take me to him!"
D'Reev was tapping out commands on the commlink. He looked up from the screen. The gray eyes were kind again now—even a little frightened.
" Can I trust you, Captain Onasi? I want to trust you."
"If it's about Dustil you'd better just tell me!" Carth said. He realized he was shouting, and his hands were clenched into fists.
Malachi D'Reev lifted an eyebrow. "It appears I have no choice," he said. "Yes, Dustil has been found. But—there's something else you need to know."
"Is my son okay? Is Dustil okay? Is he hurt—is—did Revan do something to him?"
"Your son is fine." The man sighed. "But it appears that I need your help." His fingers steepled over the cube on his lap.
XXX
There was a ripple in the Force. Three Jedi broke away, running across the street as an airbus and a military transport fell from the sky.
The sky began to burn. People were injured—and a few of them died. Dustil felt them die, lives winking out like bulbs on an overtaxed grid.
Fire fell from the sky. Dustil wanted to curl up in a ball and scream, but he couldn't move.
What's happening, why is this happening?
Dustil? What the hell is going on? For a blurred instant he was in Mekel's body and not his own. Mekel was on the tube, slouched against a window. A Rodian musician was walking down the crowded aisle, playing a popular song on a seven-stringed jaiu.
I don't know.
Well get the frack out of there!
Jedi all around me, and the soldiers. Traffic grid must be offline, and there are fires and people are dying.
I know. I can feel it. Mekel's barriers slammed shut, locking him out again.
Dustil's hands shook and the saber wavered. The two remaining Jedi looked at him with sad eyes. One was an old woman. Human. The other one was Eosian man. He didn't recognize either of them.
"Put down your weapon," the woman said softly. "Come with us. Please."
"Sorry." The civi commander's voice was shaken. Most of his troops had gone with the others to help deal with the chaos around them, but the commander and two others stood firm. "You can't take them into custody. My orders. The Senator's on his way."
The boy quailed back against him, hands still gripping the hilt of Dustil's saber. "Say it's a lie," he said again.
"Malachor," the Eosian master's voice was gentle.
"Don't call me that! Y-you're not supposed to call me that. Grandfather said someday when I'm big people will think it's a good name, but it's now n-now. Not Malachor, not Malach, not Mal. Call me Korrie instead. Korriedreev. Say it's a lie! You know it's a lie too!"
"Kid? Who the frack...?" Dustil's voice trailed off. The Jedi were looking at him as if there was something he should already know. The commander just looked uncomfortable. Behind them, things seemed to have stabilized. Traffic started moving overhead. A medic transport hovered above the accident scene, flashing green lights. It was contained. It was small. It was safe.
This kid says to call him Korriedreev?
Korrie dreev? Like D'Reev dreev? Mekel sounded surprised. What's going on?
That kid in the library, he's here. Says his name's not Malachor.
Well, yeah, that's a dumb name. Are you—you're okay?
No, I'm not okay. Some Senator is on his way to arrest me or something. Fracking transports are falling from the sky. Why did you leave?
What was I supposed to do, Telos? Get tanked with you? Mekel was trying very hard to stay as distant as possible.
Tell me what I'm supposed to do. The thought was helpless. Not like Mekel knew anything except how to save his own skin.
Wait. It's that kid from before? That kid's a D'Reev?
I guess? So?
Do you pay attention to anything? Ever? Senator D'Reev was Malak's father. Darth Malak.
Kid said he has a grandfather, Senator's coming—so his grandfather is Malak's father?
Mekel was weird about Malak. His thoughts spun, making them both dizzy. C-could Malak have a son?
How the frack should I know if your Sith Lord sugardaddy had a fracking son?
Rage surged through the bond—for once, all of it on Mekk's side. Don't talk that way about him!
In time Dustil had let his attention drop and get caught up in Mekk's banthashit, the kid fracking pulled his lightsaber away from him, holding it out and waving at the Jedi. "My mother is not evil, she's not! She's going to come for me, s-she promised she would when I was little. When the war ended, she was supposed to come back!"
"Kid, please!" the commander looked desperate. "Right now, I can still almost pretend I don't know what you're talking about."
"What is he talking about?" the woman next to him said.
"They'll send us to the Outer Rim, or maybe one of the mining colonies. A 'promotion,' they'll call it," replied the other guard through gritted teeth. "Balls. Kid, Shut. Up."
"Korriedreev, who's your mother?" Dustil whispered.
The kid whirled around and looked up at him with those anguished eyes. The lightsaber was dangerously close to his face. Dustil pressed back against the wall.
Malak's son is holding a lightsaber to my face. My lightsaber. Oh shit. Mekel...?
A wave of Force stasis from the Jedi rippled around them. And broke. It was as if… the two of them were in a bubble. The Jedi looked concerned, under all of that impassiveness. Was the kid doing this? The Force didn't seem to be in him, just around him, like a web of shining light.
"Don't you know? Your father was supposed to love her… but they lied about that too. Why would your father lie about her?"
"My father…?"
"They said she was dead, but I knew she couldn't be dead, and I was right. She's not dead and the war's over and she'll come get me. She'll come get me." The kid's eyes dropped. "Grandfather said never say her name out loud. Not ever. Not ever, not yet. Maybe when I'm older… and the people only remember that she was a hero, and that she saved them all."
The soldiers were frozen. Frozen from the Force.
Eye of a hurricane.
My father only ever loved one hero.
"Revan." The kid had red hair. She had red hair, in that vid about the Sith fleet. On Korriban it had been black, but on all the vids it was red.
XXX
"I don't know what it's like to make a sacrifice like your father did, Dustil. Whatever sacrifices I made, I can't remember." Revan's voice was as bleak as the stone dormitory room in the Korriban Academy. "But the Sith can't win. And when this is all over, your father wants to have a life with you again. He loves you. He did all of this for you."
XXX
"Your mother's Revan Starfire."
The kid's lip trembled. "Don't say it out loud? But tell them it's a lie. Those things about her are lies!"
"I don't—" My father's caught up in all of this somehow. Mission said someone bad had him. Mekel said Telos was a lie. Malak's orders, not hers. Revan's coming here. Mission wouldn't follow her if she was bad...but I felt Revan fall.
The red particle blade hummed too close for comfort. The kid had it in a dangerously loose grip. Dustil didn't even want to breathe.
Malak's son, that's Malak's son. Malak who bombed Telos. Mekel said Malak did it. My father said Revan did. He's their son...whichever...he's their son.
He expected the familiar wave of hate, but it didn't come.
The kid's eyes were lost and red-rimmed, and his lip was trembling.
XXX
"Say it's a lie!" Selene's fists clenched.
Master Uthar laughed.
"Your father was only following orders, Selene. Regret is a weakness. He'd be disappointed in you."
Leenie let's just get out of here, let's just run away.
Their Master looked at Dustil, amused. "Through tragedy, we find hate. Through hate, we find power. Power to leash the dark side of the Force, isn't that right, my young apprentice?"
XXX
"When there's nothing left but hate, there's nothing left at all. That's all I remember." Revan looked at him levelly with cold green eyes.
XXX
"Come here, Korrie." Dustil breathed.
The blade clattered on the ground, deactivated, and the kid's arms were around his waist again. He was crying, great heaving sobs. Dustil knelt down cautiously, so that they were at eye-level. He put his hands on the kid's shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes. A kid's eyes. Still trusting and hopeful.
"It's a lie," he whispered.
XXX
Dear Captain Onasi,
I feel like I know you, even though we've never met. I'm not sure how a great man like yourself could be mistaken, but our Polla would never be the Dark Lord of the Sith—and since your Revan is practically her, I'm sure she wouldn't be either.
I can see why our Polla admires you so much. You looked very handsome in that awards ceremony—but you seemed a little blue. Are you making sure to take multivits? They can make a real difference—and I don't just say that because I sell them.
In any case, I'm writing to you about Beya Organa, my cousin several times removed. She served the Republic in the Mandalorian wars, and now is on trial for her life in Manaan. Bendowen, her father, is just beside himself with worry. We all are.
I'm an old woman, and I've seen many things. I know terrible things can happen in war; but I can personally vouch for Beya, just as I can vouch for your Revan. They are women of excellent character. Perhaps you could use your influence to clear Beya's name?
Like my niece Polla, she's an Organa—and you should realize that we Organas are quality people.
I hope you forgive my informality—old women aren't much for ceremony. I've seen many things in my time—
Auntie Mita was pottering around the kitchen, ostensibly straightening up, but Polla heard crashing noises. She winced—both at the unfinished letter on the vid screen and the presumed carnage of her mother's kitchen. At least Ma wasn't around—she'd gone to town for more supplies. It was near time for Junior to be born, and Polla was staying here for the birth.
Much better than some sterile clinic, Ma said—and that did seem true. Of course, the downside was, Polla had to put up with her relatives.
"Mita!"
"What is it, dear?" Her aunt's wrinkled face appeared, around the corner of the doorway, scalp shining pink under her white topknot.
Polla tried to count to ten, but that seemed like too much effort. "What in the frack is this letter you're writing?"
"Oh." Her aunt looked guilty. The rest of her came into view, carrying a heavily laden tray of sandwiches.
"Oh? You're writing to Carth Onasi about me?" Polla's voice was furious. She put her hands on her hips and felt the familiar twinge of pain in her lower back. It was bloody hard to strike a threatening pose when you were swollen up like a weenka gourd at harvest time, but she did try.
"Dear, this isn't about you. I'm writing to him about Beya. The man must have some connections. Perhaps he can help her."
Polla closed her eyes. "Fine. But leave my name out of it."
"Well dear, if I do that, he won't listen to me at all. I mean it's almost like you and he were—"
"We've never even met."
"Yes, of course, dear. You shouldn't get so upset so close to your time. Why don't you sit down and eat something? You're looking very pale."
It had been one thing, when they were all safely dead, to speculate and daydream about the heroes of the Star Forge.
But that was when they were all dead. Now that they were alive...Polla just wanted to forget about them.
If only her family would let her.
XXX
Somehow, they'd all ended up in this small room off the main floor of the Library. Dustil, Malachor, two of the Jedi, and the civi commander who refused to let the kid out of his sight. The kid was sitting in a chair next to Dustil, holding onto his hand for dear life.
"The grid coming down just then seems like an odd coincidence," one of the Jedi mused. Her gnarled hands were folded neatly on the table, and the expression on her wrinkled face was sickeningly serene.
"If you're implying the Eglatine had something to do with that—" the commander broke in angrily "—grid crashes happen all the time!"
The Jedi sighed. "Only too true," she said sadly. "The system is overtaxed and in desperate need of an upgrade. We are fortunate that the casualties were minimal. If that air bus had been full-"
"Master Jopheena wasn't implying anything of the sort," the Eosian Jedi said quietly. His brow wrinkled in a gesture of sincerity. "The Order is doing what it can to help with the tragedy. What we must concern ourselves with now is you, Dustil Onasi. What are you going to do?"
"My orders are to hold them both until the Senator arrives," the commander said.
"Young Dustil is a Republic citizen, free to go where he will," Master Jopheena said. There was an expression in her eyes that Dustil couldn't read. "I sense much darkness in you, young man. So much hate and loss—but also the potential for great good. We could help."
"Don't leave me," the kid whispered. He was trembling.
"What the hell is going on?" Dustil said angrily. "You'd better tell me. Why are there goon squads of Fleet chasing me, why is the kid so scared, and what's wrong with my father?"
The male Jedi raised an eyebrow. "You sense something wrong with your father?"
"I don't have to sense anything! I saw the damn broadcast! Telos is a lie! Someone told me who really ordered the attack. Don't Jedi know everything?"
The man sighed. "Sadly, no. We don't know everything." He looked pointedly at Malachor. "Perhaps it would be best if we didn't discuss Telos now."
Yeah, sorry kid, your mother didn't destroy Telos. That was your insane father's work. Poor kid. Two parents and both of them Sith Lords. No wonder he's so messed up.
Dustil? Are you okay? Mekel's consciousness brushed against his mind.
Jopheena frowned. "Master Klee and I can offer you sanctuary, Dustil Onasi. If you choose to take it. Safety for you and your friend—Mekel Jin, isn't it?"
"Thanks… but no fracking way," Dustil spat. "We've—I've been doing just fine without your help."
He felt the pressure of the Force around him, but as long as he held onto the kid's hand, it seemed as if there was a wall of ferraglass between him and the Jedi. Dustil's mouth twisted into a defiant grin.
Useful trick, you have there, kid. It was really strange though, because the kid didn't seem to react to the Force at all—it was just...there.
"Malachor," the Eosian—Master Klee—frowned. "It's been some time since we've spoken."
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," the kid mumbled. "Grandfather will be angry if I talk to you."
"Still, you should be tested again—I sense something most curious..." The Jedi's voice trailed off, and his orange eyes considered Malachor as if the kid were some kind of lab specimen.
"Grandfather said I don't have any Force powers yet, but my father got it late. Maybe I will too. Or maybe not. Grandfather said it would be better if I didn't. I'm not supposed to talk to you, okay? It would be better if you didn't talk to me either."
Malachor looked up at Dustil for reassurance. Dustil just stared at him. It was strange the way the Force rippled around the kid. The back of his neck prickled.
Revan and Malak's son.
Malak came to the Academy once, but Dustil's encounter with the Dark Lord had been mercifully brief.
XXX
"Onasi, Dustil. From Telos." The clipped metallic voice read his name off the roster and Dustil stepped forward, heart pounding.
"Master." He knelt formally on the cold stone floor. Behind him the other apprentices stood in a line. No one dared breathe for fear of the consequences. Uthar and Yuthura stood, arms crossed, surveying their charges for the slightest infraction. Reprisal for any weakness would be swift and final. No one had to tell them that.
The Dark Lord of the Sith loomed above him, black eyes boring through the top of Dustil's skull as if he could see everything in it.
A dark chuckle issued forth from the man's artificial jaw.
"Oddly fitting," the Dark Lord said. "Tell me, young Onasi. What do you think of your homeworld's destruction?"
Dustil didn't need to think to know what to say. He'd rehearsed the words in his mind over and over again, ever since Selene vanished and he was left truly alone at the Academy.
"The experience made me stronger," Dustil said. "A world that cannot defend itself doesn't deserve to exist."
"Your father serves the Republic, does he not? Admiral Karath was always impressed with his dedication, even to a losing cause."
Dustil dared to look up from the floor. The cold eyes were rimmed with yellow. Lord Malak's face was utterly damned, and the force rippled around him with so much power that it seemed hard to breathe.
"I am not my father," Dustil said coldly.
The Dark Lord of the Sith chuckled again. Horrible toneless laughter. "Well said. You have much potential." The bald head nodded at him in a gesture of dismissal. Dustil got up and walked back to the line, trying not to piss himself.
XXX
"You should be tested again, Malachor," Klee said.
Malachor's hand was small and sweaty. Dustil squeezed it reassuringly. "Haven't you Jedi done enough?" The words tumbled out before he had a chance to consider them. "You sit here on Coruscant and send people like my father out on suicide missions!"
Some unspoken communication passed between the two brown-robes. The commander stood awkwardly at the door looking really uncomfortable. "Promotion to a prison detail," he muttered. "If I'm lucky."
"If you come with us now, we can offer you sanctuary, Dustil Onasi," the woman said finally. "But you must decide now. There isn't much time."
"Sanctuary from what? If you want me to trust you, you have to tell me what the frack is going on!"
The commander was whispering something into his commlink. "The Senator requests that you stay, Citizen Onasi," he said. "Your father is with him, they're almost here."
The kid's chin lifted, and he glared at the Jedi. "My grandfather's not gonna be happy to see you talking to me."
"Malachor," Jopheena said gently. Her eyes were sad. "I knew your parents, years ago. The Knights D'Reev were great Jedi."
"Then say it's a lie!" The kid's voice rang out across the room. "Those things on the vids are a lie!" His chin trembled.
The brown-robe blinked and nodded her head slightly. Master Klee shot her a warning glance. "Jopheena…."
"Some of those things they say are lies, yes." The woman stared at her hands as if there were answers written on them. She raised her head slowly and looked hard at them both. "But as with all things, the lines between lies and truth, dark and light...blur. Remember. You always have a choice."
Dustil's lip curled. "Yeah? Did Revan have a choice?"
The old woman looked at him. "She has one now."
The Eosian Jedi frowned.
XXX
They'd gone inside the Library, and since they weren't using any terms, she was blind. Well, maybe Dustil would escape somehow. To have survived this long, the boy must have some resources.
She surveyed the damage outside from the security cam. All things considered, it could have been worse. The grids went down a lot, but Coruscantis were well-prepared. Medical reports only indicated ten deaths. Acceptable, considering the circumstances. Just last week a regular traffic accident in the next sector over had caused thirty. No alarms would be raised. She would have breathed a sigh of relief.
Except it was really frustrating that the damn boy hadn't just run away when she'd created this perfectly good distraction for him.
"Considering everything, Rulan, don't you think it's time to renegotiate the terms of our contract?" She used Polla-Revan's soft voice to say the words, well aware that the quiet drawl carried a heavy implicit threat.
Not that threats seemed to work on the shapeshifter.
"I assumed Lord Revan planned some action against the Jedi Council. Since I have no contract with their order, I would have been glad to assist." Rulan looked apologetic, and his lekku twisted down in a gesture of unfortunate regret. "But as things are… what do you have in mind?"
"Non-interference from your order. Since that's a thing you do, right? A binding contract of non-interference."
Rulan shrugged. His hands were working the knots on his… whatever it was. She ran a scan of the patterns. Some kind of art, maybe, popular in the Farlax sector. It was supposed to be very soothing for sentients.
"That might be expensive," His fingers deftly twisted the knots. It looked like a spiral pattern, uythas-gree, the pathway to god, they called it on Widek.
"I could just kill you," Mission reminded him. "Here and now."
His lekku twisted, but his face remained impassive. "Why don't you?"
Mission considered. Practically speaking, eliminating wild cards was a good strategic move. And this Genoharadan was a wild card, no question. A shapeshifting assassin running loose could cause all sorts of trouble.
"I could just kill you," Mission repeated.
"So, you've said." Rulan raised his right lekku in inquiry. With his left, he sketched a sum in the air. It was impressively large.
She'd have to make another run on the markets if she wanted to fund the Kashyyyk project and pay Rulan off. And it's not like sentients don't clue on when you pulled the same trick twice—but it was for a good cause. She couldn't kill him. He was one of the last of his kind, and biodiversity was important—under controlled conditions.
"Agreed," Mission said. "Where shall I transfer the funds?"
"There's a religious order on Widek..." Rulan began.
"All sentients must have some small faith in the patterns of the universe," Mission quoted. "Brother Egon's Tomes of Enlightenment."
"I'm glad to see you've been doing some reading," the shapeshifter said.
If she had teeth they'd be bared. "I try and keep up with these things."
On Kashyyyk dawn broke slowly through the forest, filtered soft yellow light through a haze of green. The Wookiees were lighting the ceremonial fires around her console, and singing the songs of a new day, and the prophecies of Empire.
XXX
The cruiser landed in the middle of the street across from a large, curved building made of glass. Most of the debris was gone, but there were still some of the larger fragments lying around; and the ground was blackened and smoking where the transports had crashed. It looked like the end of a war zone.
Carth followed the Senator off the ship, his mind barely registering the wreckage around them.
The driver's side door opened, and an all-too-familiar copper-colored droid emerged, with a smooth whir. In spite of himself, his breath drew back in a sharp hiss.
"Ah, the HK. Of course." D'Reev said. "She made it for me, years ago." He smiled sadly. "For me and Malachor. To keep us safe." He frowned at the line of civi guards that had moved in to flank the cruiser. "Where is your commander?"
"I-inside the Library, sir." One of them said hesitantly. Her eyes caught Carth's for a moment and she blushed and looked at her feet. "W-w-with the...boys and the J-j-jedi."
The boys. My son. Dustil and Revan's son. Malachor. He's eight. When Dustil was eight I signed for a second tour of duty. More money for a pilot there than with the Home Guard, and I supported the Republic—not exactly a popular position on Telos at the time. But I believed the Mandalorians were a threat to us all. I believed in the broadcast I saw, those two Jedi caught on Eos. I believed because—
"If you don't want to help us, help Malachor," the man said, his young voice breaking.
That vid. Widebeam broadcast across a hundred worlds.
Malak didn't mean the star system at all. He was talking about his son. He was only a father, scared for his son, as I was for Dustil.
Carth made himself put one foot in front of the other and followed D'Reev into the Library.
That poor kid. D'Reev hasn't told him about his mother. He doesn't know how to tell him. He wants me to help? How do you tell a kid something like that? He's eight. He's only eight years old.
I don't know what to tell him, but I'll keep him safe. I can do that. I can do that much.
"I appreciate this, Captain Onasi." The old man's voice was tight with strain. He walked them quickly past the wide-eyed woman in white at the reception desk and onto the main floor. It was empty, although a brown-robed Fosh watched them from one of the large tables in the center of the room, feathers backlit in a halo of light refracting from the solars thousands of meters overhead.
Carth's skin prickled. Another Jedi. He didn't trust them at all.
The HK followed them, soundless. Had HK-47 moved this silently? Carth couldn't remember. The damn droid talked so much it was hard to picture him as an assassin droid, despite what he claimed about his programming. This version was different.
Something about all of this felt wrong.
Dustil, I'm here. Dustil.
D'Reev led them unerringly to a door on the side of the chamber near the elevator banks. It slid open. Inside, a long conference table, a man and a woman in brown robes, a civi guard standing at attention. And two boys. Dustil looked half-grown and more than half-wild, with the shadow of a man's beard on his face and the shadows of old fears in his dark eyes. Morgana's eyes.
His son stood up as they entered the room, hand reaching for something that wasn't on his empty belt loop in almost defensive gesture. The smaller boy sitting next to him stood up too, gray eyes too big for his round face. Red hair. Tall for his age.
Carth's chest tightened, looking at the two of them.
"Dustil," he breathed.
His son's jaw clenched, and those black eyes flashed. "Father."
Dustil looked so wary it made his heart ache. Ignoring that, ignoring everyone else in the room—the commander was starting to stammer something that sounded like an apology—the Jedi were still seated—and D'Reev was very still, listening to the commander's explanations—Carth strode in and caught his son in a hug. He was thin and ragged, and his clothes smelled like dust and mildew. Where's he been living? What has he been eating? Is he okay?
Hesitantly, Dustil hugged him back. He was almost as tall as Carth now, but his head bent down and pressed into his father's neck against his ear.
"Father, we need to talk," Dustil whispered.
"We will, I promise." Carth breathed in the smell of his son, the real presence of him. Here. Alive. Safe. He felt something in his chest loosen, like calm relief. Everything will be fine now. Everything will be fine.
" Captain Onasi?" A small voice said.
He looked down, pulled back from Dustil. Revan's son looked up at him—with Malak's eyes.
He forced himself to smile. "You must be Malachor."
"Call me Korrie," the boy said, glancing nervously at his grandfather. He could see the echo of her everywhere in the boy's features. That red hair, the same stubborn chin.
The old man nodded, a benevolent smile on his face. "You can leave now," the Senator said to the Jedi. "Commander Qan'Jin, I'll see you get a promotion for this."
The commander coughed. "That isn't... I was only doing my duty, protecting the Eglatine, Senator. I'll...be outside. To escort you to your cruiser when you're ready." The commander left hastily but the Jedi didn't budge.
"Malachi D'Reev, we formally ask you again for permission to test the child for Force sensitivity. In light of recent events, the Order may be the safest place for him." The old Eosian's voice was careful and cultivated.
"I don't have any stupid Force," the child muttered. "Captain Onasi, will you tell them it's all a lie? About my mother? You know her. Is she coming here for me?" His voice wavered, and the gray eyes brimmed with tears. "Why did you say those bad things about her?"
His words fell like stones in the suddenly silent room.
D'Reev raised an eyebrow. Such a small reaction, but underneath that lurked something darker. "What have you been telling my grandson, Jedi?" Without a change in his voice he made that one word sound like an expletive.
The old woman's face was expressionless. "Didn't your men tell you? Malachor got on the nets himself." She shrugged. There were undercurrents here that Carth didn't understand. "I can only imagine what he saw."
"Get out." The Senator's voice was still even, but there was more command behind those words than a polite request between equals.
The Eosian rose smoothly to his feet, glancing down at the woman, who refused to budge. "You'll be hearing from the Council, Senator," he said. "The child exhibits signs of Force sensitivity. Under Coruscanti law, no child, not even a Senator's heir, is exempt from testing. As you well know."
"I gave you my son," the old man said. "You will not have Malachor."
The woman blinked placidly and got to her feet. "Your son served you well, Malachi D'Reev, for a time. Your son and his wife."
"Get out." The old man's hand trembled, and he rubbed his temples. Malachor watched it all, wide-eyed. Carth felt a wave of protectiveness. The Jedi were circling like birds of prey, picking at old grief.
"Please go," Carth said quietly, even though he felt like screaming.
Dustil stood very still. He looked frightened.
"Dustil Onasi, there will always be a place for you, among the Jedi—if that is your choice," the old woman said. "Everyone has a choice."
Her eyes fell on Carth. Was that pity in her eyes? Pity for him?
If you Jedi had just killed Revan when you stormed her flagship, if you hadn't sent us off on that fool's quest alone, if you had told her who she was...if...you hadn't ordered me to follow her...none of this...
"The Council owes you a great debt, Captain Onasi," the old woman said. "You faced a great darkness on the Star Forge. And you won."
Carth watched them leave, bitter laughter welling in his throat. So bitter he could choke on it.
Right. I saved the Dark Lord of the Sith. Surely you can't think you can redeem her again?
Some things are beyond redemption. I was such a fool.
The door hissed shut. They were alone in the room. Two broken families. The Senator and his grandson and Dustil and him. And the HK droid, watching everything with red metal eyes. Dustil glanced at it nervously.
"That's...?"
"Revan made it for me," the Senator said quietly. "Before they left for the wars." Suddenly he looked even older. "There were two. She took the other one with them."
"Oh." Dustil seemed so contained, so careful, it made Carth want to hit something. He was like this on Korriban. Hasn't he learned anything since then? What if my son falls to the dark side again? What if he has? What if my son is like... her?
Carth's hands clenched. Small fingers tugged at the sleeve of his ridiculous jacket.
"Captain Onasi?" Malachor said. "You're here, so she must be coming too?"
"Korrie." The Senator's voice was heavy with old sadness.
Carth did what he could. He knelt down, so that he was eye-level with the boy and looked into that face, met those gray eyes that were shaped just like her green ones. Freckles on the boy's nose. That same nose; wider at the base than the brow, with a slight downward tilt.
He and Morgana had always believed in telling Dustil the truth, even when the truth wasn't pleasant. But there was no reason to hurt the boy.
"Your mother must have loved you very much, Korrie," he said, meeting those eyes. "More than anything, she wanted you to be safe." He took the child's hands in his own. "I promise I'll keep you safe."
Malachor had her same stubborn chin. It lifted, and his wide mouth curved down in a pout. "I just want her to come back," he said.
"I'll keep you safe," Carth promised again. His eyes met Dustil's over the boy's shoulder. His son was studying them both, a line of concentration between his brows. Is he jealous? He looks worried.
The Senator sighed. "Under the circumstances, I've cancelled our luncheon. I hope you and Dustil will accept my invitation to come to our apartments. We can all speak in much more comfort there." His heavy-lidded eyes blinked. "You both are welcome as my guests, until your own quarters are ready. For the next week or so, I think, if the contractor's estimates can be trusted."
To Carth's surprise, Dustil balked.
"I've got somewhere to go," his son muttered.
"You have to come!" Malachor's childish treble brooked no refusal.
"Son, please—" Carth began, uncertainly. It had never occurred to him that Dustil wouldn't want to come with him.
"Maybe we could meet later?" Dustil looked up at him, entreating. He glanced at Korrie. "All of us?"
This all must be such a shock. Carth almost wanted to laugh with relief. Hell, it's all such a shock to me.
His son was so thin. And there were shadows under his eyes, darker than the ones he'd had on Korriban.
We'll get him some better clothes, and a sonic. And a barber. And some food. I'll find some way to make his eyes look less frightened. What has he—how has he been living? Does he have a place to go? A job? What kind of job can a fifteen-year old boy get on Coruscant?
Better not to think about that now. Surely, there—maybe some charity had been taking care of him. There were charities in the Underground. Carth had sent Dustil's picture to all of them.
"I wrote to you, Dustil. Did you get any of my letters?"
Carth's attempt at a smile faded, as he remembered who had set up their communications.
"I—" His son looked a million kilometers away. "No. I got one from Mission."
XXX
"I don't speak Shyriiwook very well, but is that password really saying, 'Your fleas are my fleas'?"
Jolee Bindo chuckled. "A Wookiee courting phrase. From an old poem. 'Your fleas are my fleas, your hunt is my hunt, your tree is my tree.'" He glanced fondly at the sleeping girl. Mission had fallen asleep in the co-pilot's chair again. The Ebon Hawk sped onward towards their destiny. "You know what? I think the kid has a crush on your son."
Carth chuckled. He didn't want to wake her—or Revan—who was sprawled in the navigator's seat, murmuring softly in her sleep. They'd cleared the Korriban system and made the first jump, on the way to Tatooine. Then Yavin, and then the unknown.
The old Jedi grinned at him. "Isn't young love grand?"
XXX
Carth blinked his eyes and swallowed the lump in his throat.
"I-I'm sorry about Mission, Dustil. S-she—liked you, very much," He couldn't meet Dustil's eyes. Carth looked at the ground.
"Sorry?" His son's voice sounded confused.
He doesn't know. Maybe he thought that since I was alive, that we all were alive. He doesn't know how much I failed.
There was nothing to do but come out and say it. "I buried her on the beach." his voice trailed off. "She liked the beach; she'd never seen one before."
XXX
"This is much nicer than Manaan! Come on Big Z, get in the water!" Mission jumped through the spray, laughing.
XXX
"Mission's not dead." Dustil's voice was absolute. Oh son.
Carth raised his head and met those cold black eyes.
She's not," his son repeated. For a moment he sounded as young and confused as Malachor talking about his mother. That same desperation to believe.
The Senator got to his feet and coughed. "We should go," the old man said, gently.
Carth took Malachor's hand and reached for Dustil's. His son pulled away from him, with that same angry look on his face again.
He'd had that look when Carth told him about Selene too. Carth's words of comfort died on his lips. I know you, son. I know you're not the kind of man who'd live a lie.
"I'll come with you, I guess." Dustil said. "For now." He shot a suspicious glance at the old man's back. His jaw was trembling, every muscle in his body tense. Carth knew better than to offer him any more comfort. Not right now, not yet. Some things you just had to face.
XXX
