Nikolaj methodically smoothed the lapel of his jacket, straightened his band collar, then dusted his left shoulder. The odd ritual had been born years ago during the architect's days on Dantooine. As a boy, the very thought of speaking before the Masters made his stomach churn. Now, more than a decade later, the time-tested ritual still brought him peace, a sense that was in short supply these days on Manaan.

With a final calming exhale, he stepped into the Sith Embassy's outer courtyard. Exhibiting confidence befitting a man of his looks, status and stature, Nikolaj strode toward the front desk where an elderly Mirialan woman with wrinkled, pale yellow-green skin sat. "Good evening, Lo-Min."

The notoriously sour Lo-Min's coal black eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of Nikolaj, though her bitter attitude remained the same as usual. "Nikolaj Fel," she nodded, begrudgingly acknowledging the Republic steward. "It's late. What do you need, boy?"

Ramping his charm and charisma into overdrive, Nikolaj casually leaned against the sleek white desk. "My assistant was understandably upset about the upheaval in the city and forgot to schedule a formal appointment with your director of veteran affairs," he began, his voice low and honeyed. "I was hoping to speak with him this evening to express the Republic's sincerest condolences regarding Elassa Huros since she served in the Sith forces for several years. May I drop in on him? I assure you it will only take a moment."

The Mirialan contemplated Nikolaj's request before reluctantly agreeing. "Fine," Lo-Min sighed before mumbling, "get it together, Amethyst," beneath her breath.

Nikolaj responded by wordlessly nodding his thanks, his thin lips flashing a cordial smile. Moving into the final stage of Penn's admittedly unorthodox infiltration plan, the architect slowly walked toward the metal detector arching over the Sith Embassy's main doors. One… Two… Nikolaj mentally counted, knowing his timing had to be just right if Penn's plan was to work. THREE!

BZERK! BZERK! BZERK! the metal detector screeched when Nikolaj stepped beneath its invisible rays. BZERK! BZERK!

Three Sith guards armed with stun batons - contraband on Manaan - emerged from the shadows, blocking Nikolaj's path. While one held his illegal weapon at the ready, the other two began patting Nikolaj's body without his consent, searching for whatever may have triggered the alarm.

The shorter of the two guards quickly found the prize in Nikolaj's pocket. One of his slice hounds' toys: a crumpled ball of lightweight metal. "Oh, bloody hell," Nikolaj cringed "I must have forgotten to leave the hounds' toy at my compound. Please, forgive me." Proving himself to be a non-threat, Nikolaj shimmied beneath the metal detector once more before the guards could stop him. This time, the detector remained silent, as did the guards who begrudgingly allowed him to enter the Embassy in accordance with Manaan's laws.

Once the courtyard's vacuum sealed doors slammed behind him, Nikolaj walked several paces and covertly scanned the area to ensure he was alone and free from security drones' prying eyes. He had entered the Embassy several times before, but never like this. This instance was decidedly different and called for extreme caution. "All clear," he whispered, finally releasing his long-held breath. Suddenly, Penn and Bastila materialized out of thin air, switching their stealth generators into the 'off' position. "How in the bloody hell did that work?" Nikolaj chortled, lightly rubbing his chin and shaking his head in disbelief.

The infiltration plan Penn crafted was deceptively simple: he and Bastila, invisible due to their stealth generators, would pass beneath the metal detector at the same moment as Nikolaj. Their belts would trigger the alarm but Nikolaj would be stopped in their stead as he seemed to be the only individual there. "Because no one's been bold or stupid enough to try it," Penn replied, monotone. Penn forbade himself from celebrating this small yet monumental victory. The trio still had a long, long way to go. This was no time to gloat, a fact which Bastila knew as well.

"Penn's plan calls for us to stay united throughout the mission," Bastila began, extending the tiny comlinks tucked into her satchel to Penn and Nikolaj as she spoke, "but being prepared for the unexpected is never unwise." Both men glanced at Bastila, mentally questioning where she had obtained the devices, items that were not part of the plan. "We've already broken countless ordinances and intergalactic edicts by entering this Embassy in this manner," she calmly reasoned. "I doubt borrowing three comlinks from that deplorable woman's desk will extend our prison sentences by considerable amounts on the off-chance the Sith discover our whereabouts. Besides," the Jedi Knight paused, eyes narrowed with concern, "I sense a great darkness lurking about these corridors. I haven't felt a darkness of this magnitude since the Mandalorian Wars."

From the moment the trio had stepped into the Embassy's courtyard, Penn had sensed the same crippling darkness; he imagined Nikolaj had as well. It weighed on his heart and mind though he did not dwell on it. He couldn't; not with Yannai's freedom and the only possibility of finding the Star Map on the line. "Stay close and out of sight," Penn ordered, naturally falling into the place as the group's leader. "We need to find Shasa and get the hell out of here. Move out."

oo-oo

After grabbing one of the pillows from her plush bed, Mission tip-toed down the staircase and into the kitchen where the only light on in the compound shone bright. It was late; the hustle and bustle of Ahto City had long since quieted and the endless seas of Manaan could barely be seen the dual moons' faint light. "Izzy?" she whispered, knowing the auburn-haired Mandalorian often stayed up later than the rest of her crewmates.

Instead of the General's silky voice, however, the sound of a gruff, bellowing man shattered the silence, threatening to wake everyone in the home. "Do I look like a woman to you?" he incredulously questioned. "Kids these days can't get their faces out of their datapads long enough to actually look up and see who they're talking to. Hmph..."

Realizing it was Jolee, not Isabet, in the kitchen, Mission scurried to the countertop nearest the elder, placed her pillow atop the solid surface and hopped onto it. "Whatcha doin', Jolee?" Mission asked, cocking her head to the side as she swung her legs back and forth, banging her bare feet against the cabinets with each pass.

Jolee didn't answer. Instead, he squinted his eyes, looked the teen up and down, then nodded. "Get some shoes on," he said, ignoring her question altogether. Using the arms of his stool, Jolee pushed himself up and walked toward the compound's main door. "We're going to be late, young lady. Follow me, and stay close."

Although she didn't understand, Mission followed Jolee to the front door where her only pair of boots lay. "Late? It's midnight. Where are we goin'? I thought there was a curfew 'cause of the murder, 'n riots, 'n stuff? Why are we leavin' now?" the teen asked. She followed Jolee out the door and into the courtyard, hopping along as she tried to wiggle her bare feet into the Sullust leather boots Griff gave her years ago. She always had a sneaking suspicion he didn't actually buy the gift due to their high quality and the fact that the soles were lightly worn by the time she first laid eyes on the shoes, but she never asked questions. Griff had told her long ago it was "better that way." "Hey!" she hollered, struggling to keep up with the old man's wide strides. "Wait up, ya old fart!"

"Hush!" Jolee chastised, spinning around to place his leathery finger on the tip of Mission's nose, making the teen go cross-eyed. Mission curled her lips inward and instinctively stomped her foot in anger. Then, with an exaggerated exhale she quieted herself, earning a grunt of approval from Jolee. "You'll find out where we're going soon enough, young lady. Now unless you want to get the both of us in trouble, you need to be quiet and follow my lead."

Mission hated listening to others without any context-she always had-though her insatiable curiosity ultimately triumphed as she nodded and followed Jolee across Manaan. The two trekked through the darkness of the night, successfully avoiding the patrolling Selkath guards. Soon, after scurrying down a maze of alleyways that made her head spin, Mission saw a glint of red, yellow and flickering green neon lights reflecting off the walkways. These walkways were not gleaming and tidy like the ones near Nikolaj's home; they were dull and hopelessly scuffed by hundreds of boot imprints. "Pee-yew!" she yelped, wildly waving her hand back and forth before covering her nose and mouth. "What is that?!"

Nostrils flared, Jolee inhaled deep several times before shaking his head. "Illegal spices. Ryll laced with giggledust, if I had to guess."

"So that's what you did in the forest all those years," Mission snickered beneath her breath as she quickened her pace to keep up with Jolee. Although she wasn't sure why, Mission sensed a cocktail of excitement and anxiety radiating from Jolee.

When the duo arrived at the source of the flickering neon lights, Mission was flooded with disappointment. "A swoop cantina?" she inquired, doing little to mask her dismay. "That's it? Are we gonna gamble? Man, I thought we were doin' somethin' neat. We had these back on Taris. It was pretty lame if you ask me. Big Z thought so too…"

Jolee opened the sealed doors of the cantina allowing a flood of music to pour out, forcing the teen and the old man to plug their ears. Mission felt the bass of the music pulsating within her chest, ribs, and even in her lekku. It hurt. "WHY ARE WE HERE?!" she shouted to Jolee. The old man ignored her question yet again, grabbing her forearm as he waded into the sea of dancing co-eds and seedy individuals.

Despite her original deduction, this place was nothing like the cantinas on Taris. She noticed a young Gand pickpocket working through the crowd; a group of grizzled Mandalorian veterans smoking cigarras and snorting illicit spices off a greasy table; two off-duty Republic soldiers drinking in the corner, trying to remain unseen; a topless yellow Twi'lek danced on stage in the corner, delighting a group of howling drunk Sith watching her every sensual move. Shocked and distracted by the mature behavior on display, Mission ran into Jolee's back. "Oof!" she squealed, her trance finally broken. "Why're we stopp-"

"Are you Zez-Kai Ell's girl?" Jolee asked a young woman sitting wrap-around booth, flanked by muscle-bound men and scantily-clad women. The woman's companions acknowledged Jolee's presence by reaching for their blaster belts and looking to her, almost as if they were waiting for a signal to attack Jolee. However, the signal never came.

The redheaded woman inhaled deep, flicked her cigarra to the side and parted her violet-stained lips to release a puff of white smoke. She jerked her head to the side, wordlessly ordering her companions to leave. One by one, they filed out of the booth, eying Jolee and Mission as they left. She took a swig of her beverage-alcoholic, no doubt-before pecking the lips of the heavily tattooed and woefully scarred man sitting beside her. "Wait for me, Riggs," she instructed her companion, ushering him out of the booth. "I won't be long."

The man had barely scooted out before Jolee scooted in, motioning to the other side of the booth, silently ordering Mission to slide in, too. Mission entered the booth without issue, but the same could not be said for her elder crewmate. "Why do cantinas feel the need to make these booths to damn hard to get into?!" Jolee huffed, awkwardly rocking his hips from side to side in an attempt to approach the redhead. The teen took the opportunity to observe the woman beside her.

Although the woman's makeup-caked face, heavy kohl eyeliner and mess of jagged-cut, shoulder-grazing hair worked to age her, Mission could tell she wasn't much older than she. Eighteen or nineteen-years-old, if she had to guess. Her taut midriff was bare and her 'blouse' was merely a strip of deep blue cloth knotted between her breasts. She didn't appear terribly large in stature or girth, but she made up for this by being armed to the teeth. "Didn't Father Time here teach you that staring is rude, kid?" the woman croaked, roughly poking Mission's arm. "Knock it off." Every fiber of Mission's being begged for her to tell this fierce woman she was not a child, but she refrained because she was awestruck by her counterpart.

"That's enough, you two," Jolee said, settling into the booth and doling out the piece of fatherly advice on the tip of his lips. "'Riggs' or whatever that hooligan's name is is too old for you, young lady. And your mynock brained companions aren't so great either. You need to be careful."

"Is sticking your nose into other people's business how you got yourself booted from the Order?" she retorted, her thin brow arched knowingly. "Look, Father Time, I fuck who I want and I fuck with whomever I please. I'm not looking for your 'fatherly advice.' Save it for her," the woman advised, clearly referring to Mission. "Trust me, anything you're thinking, Zez has already told me a million times. I came here to do a job and that's it. Mmk?"

Mission sensed the tension between the two rising by the second, but said nothing, allowing the uncomfortable silence to remain. "Hmph," Jolee snorted. "I'm tired, it's late, and these damnable young people are far too loud for my liking. Let's get down to it, bounty hunter."

The teen gasped when she heard Jolee refer to the woman as a bounty hunter. She'd heard Griff and Lena speak of them when they thought she'd gone to bed, but she'd never seen one in the flesh. Her body shuddered with excitement and terror. How's Jolee know a bounty hunter? she wondered. Why's he need a bounty hunter? And why'd he want me to come with 'im? Her internal questioning was interrupted when the bounty hunter dropped a major bombshell Mission never would have imagined.

"Between what little you and Zez knew about your daughter, I didn't have much to go off," she began, her bleak statement met with Jolee's darkened eyes. "But, luckily for you, I'm the best bounty hunter in this system. And that's not me bragging. That's a fact," the redhead boasted before retrieving a late-model datapad from her rucksack and shoving it across the sticky table toward Jolee.

Incapable of keeping quiet any longer, Mission managed to speak. "Jolee!" she screeched. "You're someone's pop? You've gotta daughter?! Does that mean you were married?!"

"Bah!" he snorted, angered Mission had announced his name in an otherwise anonymous transaction. "What, is it so surprising that someone my age could have had a wife and family? Hmm?"

"No," Mission retracted, "it's just that it's...ya know… you."

Mission's simple reasoning was surprisingly solid, though Jolee would never acknowledge such a fact. "Hmph," he sniffed before directing his attention back to the bounty hunter. "Go on."

"Don't be too hard on her, Jolee Bindo," she slyly smiled. "Did you really think I wasn't going to find your name in all of this?" the bounty hunter questioned. "Anyhow," she started, switching the datapad into the 'on' position, "There's not much on record about Neerja, aside from her date of birth and where your ex-wife -"

"Wife," Jolee corrected. "Nayama is my wife, Mira." The bounty hunter cocked her brows in shock when Jolee used her name, filling the elder with a momentary sense of pride. "Didn't assume you were the only one capable of snooping, did you, young lady? Go on."

"Whatever you say, Bindo," Mira sighed, subtly rolling her hazel eyes before continuing. "Like I said, there aren't many records of your daughter, but, thankfully for you, that includes death records, which means there's a better-than-good chance she's still out there. She's in her 40s, lived with your sister-in-law Ugnee, bounced from planet to planet for a while before she uh… uh…"

"She what?" Jolee asked impatiently, his voice rising. "What happened to her? Tell me."

"Uh," Mira cleared her throat. The confident woman was fidgety and visibly uncomfortable. "The last record I was able to find was a medical record…from Korriban. She enrolled as a student at the Academy there when she was a teenager. You're not gonna want to hear this, Bindo, but your daughter…she's a Sith."

For the second time during the meeting, Mission gasped, however, this gasp was far louder than the first. To the teen's surprise, Jolee was stoic, seemingly uneffected.

"You said it was a medical record," he said, uncharacteristically cool. "What happened to my Neery?"

"Do you really want to hear this, Bindo? I don't think you're going to like what you hear. It ain't pretty." When Jolee remained silent, Mira interpreted this as compliance. "Ok," she nodded, skimming her finger across the datapad to display a digital document filled with medical terms Mission did not recognize and gruesome images of a disfigured individual she could not bear to view. Jolee blankly stared at the images in complete silence, his long fingers tracing the outline of his lips. "Apparently there was some sort of an accident during her time at the Academy," the bounty hunter explained. "Neerja's face, head and hands were badly burned… as were her eyes… she's blind, Jolee. I'm not sure she even has eyes anymore."

For the first time, Jolee showed emotion; his eyes watered, his nostrils flared, and his jaw began to quiver ever so slightly. "What else?" he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. "What else did you find out, dammit?"

"Nothing," Mira shook her head. "I found an encrypted Sith message discussing her Force sensitivity, if you believe in that stuff, but the trail goes stone cold from there… Sorry, Bindo."

Mission sensed the elder's heartbreak and instinctively reached across the table to comfort him. The simple touch of his hand seemed to spring Jolee back into action. "Mission here is looking for her brother," he began, his voice unusually soft. "Can you help her find him? Exploring the galaxy isn't any place for a little girl like her. She needs to be in school, with a stable home and family. I don't want her to end up like you and I."

The thought of finding Griff made Mission's heart soar and sink simultaneously. For years, she had wanted to know why her brother had not returned to her yet, deep down, she was fearful it was because he did not wish to, not because he was unable to. However, she did the most adult thing she could do: she moved forward. "Could ya help me, Mira?" she asked sheepishly. "His name's Griff. Griff Vao. He's a real good guy. I just wanna make sure he's ok, ya know? I don't have any credits to offer; I know bounty hunters usually get paid alotta credits for findin' people, but it'd be awful nice to know. I miss him real bad."

Mission was right-bounty hunters were paid quite handsomely for their efforts-a fact Jolee knew. "I'll cover any costs you incur," he offered, though Mira promptly waved him off.

"Don't worry about it," she assured the duo, straightening in her seat as she pushed the booth's table away from the wraparound bench, giving herself a clear exit. "Just don't mention it to anyone, will ya? It's hard enough being a woman in this business. I don't need people thinking Mira's going around the galaxy granting wishes to orphans like some goodie goodie. It'd be bad for the brand."

"Where ya goin'?" Mission inquired, jumping to her feet, ready to pursue Mira as she walked away. Now that she was this close to finding Griff, she couldn't let the opportunity slip out of her grasp.

"Out," Mira replied before glancing over her shoulder. "I'll be in touch. See ya on the flip side, kid." Then, just as quickly as she had entered their lives, Mira disappeared into the crowd. Neither was sure if they would hear from her again and, for a few moments, the youngest and oldest crewmembers of the Ebon Hawk sat in silence, pondering this new mystery.

"So…" Mission breathed after several minutes, staring intently at her folded hands. "I'm sorry 'bout your daughter, Jolee. I'm sure she's doin' ok though."

"Bah!" Jolee roared. "What makes you say that, hmm? Are you trying to make me feel better now that I've failed not one, but two children in my lifetime?"

Two? she wondered. The inquisitive teen longed to know if Jolee had a second child, but she kept her inner questioning to herself. "Jolee," she began, her voice low and innocent. "Ya haven't failed me. And you're helpin' me find Griff; no one has done that for me before. That's gotta count for somethin' right? And you're goin' after your daughter now, which is what matters. I'm sure there's a reason the two of ya drifted apart. You don't have to tell me why, of course, but I don't think you should be so hard on yourself. Ya know?"

When Jolee stayed silent, Mission took action. She scooted her way around the booth toward Jolee then wrapped her arms around the elderly man. "What are you -" Jolee's initial reaction to push the teen away quickly evaporated when she nuzzled her face into his chest. "Thank you, Mission," he sighed, slowly returning her warmth. However, in true Jolee-fashion, the tender moment did not last long. "It's late and a cantina like this is no place for a young lady like yourself. I don't want you getting addicted to sansanna or whatever kids these days are smoking these days. Come on," he breathed, lightly tapping her shoulder as a signal to get up. "Let's get back to the compound and get some sleep."

A/N - Thanks for reading! Hopefully you've all enjoyed the KOTOR 2 nod in this chapter. Mira's one of my all-time favs from the series, so I couldn't help myself when the opportunity to include her presented itself. Also, I apologize for the delay of this latest update. I'm trying to get back into writing and, at times, finding motivation can be difficult. But do you know what helps motivate writers? Reviews! Please review, follow and fav! Your feedback and support is extremely helpful and appreciated. Thank you!