Chapter 38

Goodbyes

Telos, Secret Academy, Polar Regions

"Can we try this again, please?" Lirik asked.

The dark Jedi wasn't at all surprised that his question went ignored—again—by Jaq and Jude. The three of them were in one of the chambers of the Academy near the hangar, arrayed around a commcenter, attempting to create the message that was to be sent to the Exile. Jaq and Jude were the actors while Lirik manned the hologram camera, but the pair spent so much time fooling around and cackling like idiots, Lirik thought they would never be finished.

The initial plan had been to send a live broadcast to the Ebon Hawk, but it soon became apparent that neither Jaq nor Jude could keep a straight face when it came to Jaq having to play at being the helpless victim. He couldn't say the Exile's name without snorting derisive laughter and so it was decided a recorded message was safer. They had been at it for nearly an hour and were no closer to finishing than when they had started.

Lirik leaned back in his chair and waited for the latest bout of laughter to subside. Jaq was lying on his back on the floor, clutching his stomach and with tears streaming out of his eyes, while Jude stood over him, a vibrosword in her hand, her face red with mirth.

"Get on your knees, worm!" Jude ordered, her giggling undoing any power the command may have had.

Jaq sat up and wiped a hand over his eyes. "On my knees, eh?" he said, quieting his own laughter. He got to his feet and pulled Jude to him roughly. "I like it better when you're on your knees, and I'm the one standing…"he murmured, pressing his face against her neck.

"Mmm, perhaps later," Jude returned, "if you behave…"

Lirik rolled his eyes as the two kissed noisily. It was a kiss without affection—all lust and dueling tongues and the dark Jedi looked away, disgusted. If the pair weren't laughing and behaving like fools, they were pawing at one another without the slightest sense of decency. It was enough to make Lirik nauseous. Before the present embrace could progress into something more, he loudly cleared his throat. The pair separated and Jude shot him a nasty glare.

Lirik held up his hands. "Well? Are we going to do this or not?"

"Oh, relax," Jaq drawled, and fished in the pocket of his ribbed jacket for a cigarra. He had changed from his dark Jedi robes back into his old clothes—his 'costume' he called it—for the message. He lit the cigarra and slumped gracelessly into another chair at the console. "What's your hurry, Lirik? You got something better to do?"

"He's just jealous," Jude said and slithered onto Jaq's lap. She took a drag off his cigarra.

"I can see why," Jaq said, raking his eyes over her.

Jude laughed. "Not of you…he's jealous of me," she said, "if you catch my meaning…"

Jaq's eyes widened and he peered around at the dark Jedi. "Is that a fact? I'd better watch my back then, eh?" he laughed.

"Don't flatter yourself," Lirik muttered, as the two continued to giggle and whisper like a pair of children. It had quickly become a common pastime—the two of them talking about him as if he weren't in the room.

Why must I suffer this, brother? he sent without thinking. There was no answer, of course, and the reality of the silence—or, the Void, as he had come to think of it—came crashing back to him. He closed his eyes against the ache that flared up and waited for it to pass. He was careful to keep his pain to himself and not let the others see lest a new bout of derision and mockery come his way, but Jaq and Jude were presently occupied…again.

"I hate to interrupt what is clearly a special moment between you," Lirik told the pair with sarcasm, "but the Exile—"

"Will you be quiet already?" Jude cut him off, wrenching herself from Jaq's kiss. "The Exile will come. I told you, you are to leave all the planning and strategizing and thinking to those more qualified. Your job is to push the button on that recording device… and pine after your brother," she said and then she and Jaq broke down into more gales of laughter.

Lirik pressed his lips together and said nothing.

"You're such a bitch," Jaq told her appreciatively.

"Perhaps, but my plans always work," she said haughtily.

Jaq snorted laughter. "Is that a fact?"

Jude turned her icy glare on him. "Yes, that is a fact. Don't tell me you doubt me as well? If you do, Jaq, you're more than welcome to spend your nights in Lirik's room…Undoubtedly he'd prefer that."

"Well Jude, of any of us, you would be the expert on who wants who in their bed,"Lirik returned but the woman ignored him. He wondered for the hundredth time that day if it would be very detrimental to his future if he shoved a dagger into Jude's ribcage. Or perhaps merely slice out her tongue. The lords wouldn't be so angry with me for that, would they? Perhaps they'd reward me for silencing that infernal schutta

Jude was glaring at Jaq and the assassin laughed.

"Touchy, touchy," Jaq chuckled. "I don't doubt your scheming will be successful…this time."

"Just what are you inferring, Jaq?" Jude said and slipped off his lap. Lirik was already flinching for Jaq's sake, for the woman's hands were in prime slapping position. But Jaq didn't appear perturbed. He leaned back in his chair and took a drag off his cigarra, looking as though he hadn't a care in the world.

"You want to hear a secret?" he asked both of them.

"What?" Jude said, clearly not in the mood anymore for games.

Lirik, surprised he was included in this conversation, shrugged in response.

"I knew you were going to attack Coruscant," Jaq said, a wicked glimmer in his eye.

Jude's jaw dropped. "What? How did you know?"

"I overheard you two talk about it in the Hawk that night," Jaq said and went on to explain the conversation he had overheard.

Jude's eyes were wide when he had finished. "And you didn't tell the Exile?" Her smile was wide and triumphant. "Oh, Jaq, how delightful." Her expression immediately darkened as she turned to Lirik. "Careless fool!" she screeched. "I swear, he cannot be trusted with even the smallest of tasks," she confided to Jaq, slipping back onto his lap, all forgiven and forgotten.

Lirik didn't bother to remind Jude that Jaq likely hadn't ratted out their plan to the Exile because of his own work in turning Jaq to the dark side. I should have left well enough alone. The look on Jude's face would have been worth it.

Thinking of failed plans and discovered treacheries reminded Lirik that he and Jude were in a fair amount of trouble themselves. Jude had absconded with one hundred and twenty of the count's Sith forces—a staggering number when one considered how depleted the Sith forces were already in their fight against Revan. Of those one hundred and twenty, only one fifth remained. And Lanik is dead, and the Exile still lives, and Lanik…

Lirik shook his head to clear it of thoughts of his brotherand focused. The count wanted the Exile dead by any means. If he and Jude and Jaq could accomplish that, then perhaps their lord would be willing to overlook their other failures. Or perhaps I should begin preparing myself for the Force shock now.

Lirik snorted in disgust at the thought, which drew the attention of the other two.

"What is it now, you great baby?" Jude complained.

"I hate to point out the terribly obvious, but the count has given us our orders. He wants the Exile dead."

Jude raised an eyebrow. "And your point?"

"Well, again, at the risk of seeming obtuse," he said distinctly, "I just would like to remind you that the Exile isn't actually here to kill, because we haven't actually sent out the message, because you two won't stop fooling around. See, until the Exile knows we're on Telos, she won't actually come, and while you two undoubtedly will get a lot of smoking and fornicating accomplished, the small matter of the Exile still being alive will still exist and the count will be very, very, very mad. Do you see what I am trying to tell you?"

Jude and Jaq regarded Lirik blankly for a minute before simultaneously bursting into laughter.

Lirik shook his head. "Why do I even bother?" he muttered. The only response was more laughter that echoed along the metallic walls of the Academy. But this time, the sounds of their mirth did not travel far before being snuffed out, as if all the air had been extracted from the room. The light seemed to dim and a horrible feeling of foreboding came over all three of them.

Damn, Lirik thought, for he knew what had happened before he turned around and saw the three hooded figures standing behind them. Those fools are going to get me killed.

Jude and Jaq's laughter, muted as Darth Tertius approached, was silenced altogether at the Sith Lord's arrival in their midst. Jude instantly dropped to her knees in a bow, Lirik and Jaq following after.

"My lord," Jude said, her head still down and her eyes on the ground. "How can we be of service to you?"

Darth Tertius' response was to raise three arms and send three streams of blue lightning coursing into each of them.

Lirik writhed on the cold, durasteel floor, thinking that his bones were going to melt and his muscles implode. His one consolation was that he could see that Jude and Jaq were suffering similarly and then he couldn't look anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut for he imagined them popping out of his head and he clenched his teeth to keep from biting his own tongue.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was likely no more than a minute, Darth Tertius relented.

"On your feet," said the center figure in hollow tones.

The three scrambled to standing as fast as their aching bodies would allow. Lirik spared a glance at Jude. Her expression was humble as she regarded the Dark Lord but Lirik could see a smoldering anger in her eyes. She prided herself on her efficiency and her control—to have been lax on both and been caught for it galled her terribly. Lirik's lips twitched in a small approximation of a smile, and then the Dark Lord was speaking.

"Make your report," commanded the center.

"We are completing a message to send to the Exile, my lord," Jude said and Lirik was impressed with the relative smoothness of her voice. His own throat felt like it had been twisted into a knot by the shock. "As per the plan."

"Are you certain that is what you are doing?" mused the left.

Jude frowned. "Yes, lord. It is. We—"

"Because it would appear as though you are wasting valuable time!" thundered the right and the Force shock came again, knocking them all to the ground.

I told them this! Lirik thought angrily, before the shock drove all rational thought from his mind. When the lightning relented, Lirik got to his feet quickly. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell the Sith Lord that he had been urging them to hurry but that they had ignored him…but Lirik did not. Looking at the three hooded figures, he suddenly realized it didn't matter what he said; the shock would come as would the anger, the retribution…the pain. There was always punishment in the life of the Sith, and a reward was merely a staying of that punishment. Lirik snapped his mouth shut and wished mightily he were somewhere else.

"Forgive us, lord," Jude said. "We—"

"Have forgotten what it is you have come to do," finished the center.

"The attack on Coruscant was a failure. The count knows this."

"You have stolen from him!"

"And he knows this as well, for I have informed him of the goings on here."

Jude went very pale and Lirik would have been jubilant at her defeat had his fate not been so tightly bound with hers. The woman made to open her mouth but Darth Tertius raised three hands.

"You are all three in terrible jeopardy," said the center placidly.

"Only by killing the Exile have you hope of survival."

"You will kill her or you will die."

They are translating for one another, Lirik thought and suppressed a crazy urge to laugh.

"Yes, lord. The Exile will come for Jaq," Jude said with a nod toward their newest compatriot.

Although none of Darth Tertius' three heads moved, it was instantly apparent that his attentions had turned to the assassin.

"And when she comes here, you will end her," stated the right.

"Yes, uh…yes, lord," Jaq muttered.

"There must be no mistakes," said the center.

"No hesitation…"

"You will cut off her head and bring it to me," the right stated and even Lirik flinched at the finality of the command.

"If I have to do it myself, it will not be only the Exile's head that I present to the count," said the center.

"And to ensure that my message is clear…"

All three, Jaq, Jude and Lirik automatically looked to the right figure for his proclamation, but he said nothing. Instead, the three felt unseen hands close around their throats and begin to squeeze.

Lirik clawed at his neck as the cold energy choked the breath from him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jaq, his hands on his own throat, be lifted off the ground and fly backwards as if a strong wind had taken hold of him. He sailed through the air and crashed heavily into the rear wall of the chamber.

Yellow and green stars danced before Lirik's eyes and then it was his turn to be lifted through the air. He flew backwards and landed hard amidst a conference table ringed with chairs. One of the backs of the chair caught him in the ribs, and as he crashed down, the breath he had started to recapture was forced out of his body. He lay still on the floor, silently sucking in air, and watching Jude's fate.

Darth Tertius lifted the woman off the floor so that her feet dangled in midair.

"No more wasted time, yes?" the center asked in a quiet voice.

Jude, clutching fruitlessly at her neck, managed a nod and a gurgled response.

Darth Tertius nodded once, in a body, and then Jude was set down—rather gently, Lirik thought—on the ground. The look of relief on her face was quickly replaced by fear as the robed figure to the right drew his lightsaber and ignited the crimson blade.

"No more wasted time," mused the left.

"No more," said the right and for the first time Lirik could remember since being in Darth Tertius' presence, the three did not act in perfect concert. The figure on the right stepped forward to stand before Jude who was quaking visibly. He raised the lightsaber and quickly, like a striking snake, touched it to Jude's neck.

The woman screamed an inhuman scream and fell away, clutching one side of her throat with her black-gloved hand.

"Next time, it will be your eyes," remarked the center, calmly, as his brethren resumed his position beside them.

"And then your tongue," added the left.

"And then your head," stated the right.

Then, the perfect unison of their movements restored, Darth Tertius left the chamber and returned to his own at the rear of the Academy.

The recording of the message went much faster after that.

It had been decided that, because of the bond with Dane, the less Jaq said the better. He merely knelt at Jude's feet, a vibrosword at his neck, looking properly defeated while the woman exhorted the Exile to come to Telos if she wished to save him, and to come alone.

"Do you think she'll comply?" Lirik mused, as the three lounged again, discussing the second phase of their plan and resting their aching bodies. He puffed on his own cigarra. He noticed, with interest, that Jaq hung back, lounging against the wall, keeping his distance from Jude as though being near her would bring down more pain from Darth Tertius. Welcome back to the dark side, Jaq, Lirik thought dryly. Aloud he said, "Will she come alone, do you think?"

Jude shrugged. "She won't bring the Republic fleet, if that's what you mean."

"She'll bring that old coot Jolee," Jaq put in. "And maybe the kid."

"You mean Onasi's boy? He is blind," Lirik told him.

This seemed to perk Jaq up. "What a tragedy," the assassin laughed.

"It does not matter if the Exile decides to disobey me and bring an interloper or two," Jude said after a minute. "We still have more than twenty Sith to greet her. Upon arrival she is to be taken unarmed, straight to Jaq." Jude looked to him. "And you will waste no time in severing…the bond between you. Yes?"

Lirik saw Jaq's eyes darken. "That is hardly fun…over too quickly," he protested. "I have many tricks, long unused, I would like to put to practice." He smiled a crooked smile, warming to her ever so slightly. "Can't I play with her for a little bit first?"

Jude narrowed her eyes. "I suppose," she said slowly, "but Jaq," she said before he could speak, "the Exile must die. You saw what Darth Tertius…" her words trailed and she gingerly touched the shiny black burn on her neck. "I want nothing less than to be able to present to the count her head on a pike…and the count will accept nothing less than the same."

Jaq rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Leave the Exile to me, and the two of you can handle whoever is dumb enough to come with her."

Jude smiled wickedly. "Fair enough, but let me be there when you bring down the killing stroke. I want to see the look on her face when she sees that it will be you who ends her life."

Jaq's eyes glittered like a snake's and Lirik could practically feel his anticipation of the events to come radiating off him. Lirik looked away and took a long, slow drag off his cigarra as Jaq and Jude were drawn back together over the prospects of the terrible tortures and indignities they would level at the Exile upon her arrival. Lirik nearly opened his mouth to warn them that the Exile might not fall so willingly or easily into their trap, but he did not. Instead he stood up and went unnoticed back to his room.

The Void was there, following him about like a cold shadow. It was usually much more noticeable when alone, but now, as Lirik tossed himself on his little cot and laced his hands behind his head, a thousand thoughts lay between him and the Void…perplexing thoughts, the worst of which was an unpleasant feeling of pity for the Exile.

Those two are monsters, he thought, and the Exile is going to walk right into their trap. Lirik had felt the Exile's power and knew she was much stronger than either Jude or Jaq could comprehend, but Jude was right. Dane Koren would come for Atton and find only Jaq… and she would likely die for it.

Lirik stared up at the ceiling, listening to Jaq and Jude's laughter resume its ringing down the metallic hallways of the Academy and idly mused over what it would take to silence it. He wondered too, what Lanik would do if he were here.

He could imagine his brother laughing in his cool, collected manner along with Jude and Jaq—no doubt at Lirik's own expense. Lirik doubted his twin would have minded, even, that Jude took Jaq to her bed. Likely she would invite Lanik to join them rather than choose one man over the other. And Lanik would never have allowed the fooling around that brought Darth Tertius and his Force shock to them.

No, Lanik would have shocked us himself, he thought. Even me, though he would feel it.

Lirik opened himself to the Void, testing its depth and weight. It was deep and so very heavy, and Lirik doubted he would ever get used to the interminable silence of it.

Perhaps I should just let it go, Lirik thought. Jude certainly wasn't burdened by mourning for Lanik and Jaq wouldn't, had he known him. Darth Tertius was sitting in the back of the Academy with nothing close to human emotion touching any of his three faces or residing in any of his three hearts. He would not conceive of mourning the fallen dark Jedi.

But Lirik, who had loved his brother despite every indoctrination to the contrary, wept for him. He could, he knew, let the Void go and be rid of the burden of his grief. He could turn as cold and numb as everything else in these snowy regions in which the Sith stronghold lay. He could laugh with Jude and Jaq and bow before the glory of Darth Tertius. But Lirik—the memory of the painful shock still coursing over his skin, and the cutting laughter of Jaq and Jude—decided that he would hold on to the Void.

He suspected it was, despite the pain—or perhaps because of it—something valuable.

Coruscant

The funeral for Bastila Shan was held in the early morning, with a drizzle of rain misting the attendees, as though to remind them that the storm wasn't yet over. Three hundred people, most of them Republic soldiers stood silent in the mist, watching as the procession marched the Jedi Master's body down the street of Coruscant.

The Temple, what was left of it, had been chosen as the site of the funeral for it seemed appropriate. One half of the edifice was destroyed, the other half still stood. The dichotomy suited the situation, Dane Koren thought, for though the battle was over and the Sith driven away, the destruction had been done. The Temple was half-alive, just as the Jedi Order was half-alive. Dane, seated with the rest of the attendees in a chamber that had once been closed but was now rubble-strewn and open to the air, glanced about at her companions.

Jolee sat beside her, and the woman could feel the old man's heartache and loss. She also felt him begin to pull away from them, in spirit, if not in body. Bastila had been his only tie to the Order; the only real reason he had intended to come for the Council meeting was because of her.

"I suppose I'll go back to my hermit ways when this is all over," he had told Dane on the morose, near-silent journey from Dantooine to Coruscant. Dane had said nothing, but felt another crack appear among the Jedi; another gap pulling them apart.

Mical sat beside Juhani, his eyes straying to his master should she need him. His gaze was for her… but his thoughts were for Dane. Dane could feel his attention, like an old, familiar warmth that was as comforting as it was stifling. His feelings for her had not changed, that was clear, and where she had felt sympathy for him before, she now felt only irritation. Mical caught her looking at him and a hopeless, sweet smile touched his features. Dane quickly looked away, to Juhani.

The Exile had healed the Cathar until she was out of mortal danger and then Juhani had angrily pushed her away. Juhani was far from healthy—she had suffered a terrible concussion from the explosions at the Temple and the lightsaber scarring on her neck and arm would never go away. She was weak and prone to dizzy spells but found renewed strength whenever Dane tried to heal her further. Dane did not know what she had done to deserve Juhani's wrath, but the fiery woman refused to speak to her and cast dark, angry glances at Dane whenever their eyes met. She blames me for Bastila's death, Dane thought and as if she had said it aloud, the Cathar turned to her with a cold glance. Dane returned the blank stare with one of her own. I have nothing to offer you, she told the woman silently and Juhani, with an almost audible growl, looked away.

A ways behind her, Dustil Onasi sat with Mission under an arch that was blackened with scorch marks and fire licks. He could not see the procession, nor the bier upon which the pallbearers would set Bastila's body upon, but held Mission's hand tightly, as though he would come adrift in the darkness without her flesh and bone to hold him down. He was a blind Jedi relying on a non-Force sensitive to be his eyes, his connection to the waking world. On his other side sat Visas Marr. Mission didn't look at all pleased at that arrangement and as Dane watched, the Twi'lek scowled as Visas leaned in to Dustil to murmur something in his ear.

What a mess, Dane thought and wondered what kind of Order was going to arise from this, their tangled collection of broken Jedi. Juhani wounded and angry, Dustil blind, Jolee drifting away, Mical unfocused, and me…I'm the worst of them all.

But Dane's eyes went to Visas again and she felt hope. Visas, who had surprised and pleased her with her appearance on Coruscant. Visas who no longer greeted Dane with the subservient, "My life for yours," but was quietly self-assured and radiated a serenity Dane could only hope to possess one day.

Perhaps she will make something of this Council. We can only hope…

Dane turned her attentions away from her companions as the funeral procession entered the chamber. All of her ire and anxiety fled, and Dane was filled shock all over again at the sight of Bastila Shan lying dead upon the bier. It was the same shock that Dane had felt on the Ebon Hawk when the Jedi Master's body was discovered lying atop the headless corpse of Lanik Thrakill—shock that the powerful woman could be suddenly taken from them.

Lanik Thrakill, Dane thought. She waited for the anger or shame to come but there was nothing. She felt numb. Lanik and of course, his brother Lirik. Under my nose the whole time and me too blind… A tally of all the death and pain wrought by the Thrakills' treachery began to form in her mind but she swiftly buried it and looked at Bastila, lying as though asleep.

I hardly knew her, but I feel her absence keenly. Perhaps it is through the Force… Dane pressed her lips together and turned to watch as the funeral began.

Carth Onasi was one of six men who carried the bier upon which Bastila lay. They set the Jedi Master down in the center of the room and stepped aside, but for Carth, who was to preside over the ceremony. It would be the first of two the Admiral would oversee. The second would be that of the Republic soldiers who had given their lives in the battle against the Sith. The first would be for his friend.

"There may be raised in your minds," Carth began to those assembled, "a question as to the kind of legacy Bastila Shan is leaving behind. We stand in the ruins of a Jedi Temple, her Temple, and we see the remnants of the battle that eventually took her life. But don't think for one second, that this—" Carth gestured around, "—is the culmination of her efforts. Bastila's legacy is not in this collection of broken stone and steel. Nor is it even her triumphs during the Jedi Civil War, or her heroism in the destruction of the Star Forge. She is not the sum-total of history's dramatic events, and I will not remember her as such—as only a notable name in the game we played for our future.

"But perhaps that is all we will have of her. Bastila was not one for idle chatter or talk. She didn't speak often of herself or her talents or graces, but revealed them in the quality of her life. Her distinction and integrity were not the medals bestowed on her for all to see, but evident in the dignity and honor she sought to infuse in even the smallest of tasks.

"I'm not going to regale you with my memories of her, and what kind of friend she was, of what she meant to me. Those memories are mine to keep, just as you have your own, but to say she was the kind of friend whose loyalty…" Carth bowed his head for a moment and then began again, "…whose loyalty and love is so total and complete, you almost forget that she is there until one day she isn't. Honor your friends as they honor you and remember them always. Of all the legacies Bastila could have wanted to leave, I know that one—one of friendship and love and honor—would be the legacy she would have been proudest to leave behind."

Carth turned to look at the bier and the body lying upon it. "You succeeded, my friend. May the Force be with you always."

Dane bowed her head but no tears came to her eyes. She mourned Bastila but could not weep for her. What is wrong with me? I can't feel anything anymore, she thought. She glanced at Juhani and saw the Cathar sobbing into her hand while Mical patted her on the shoulder. Dane looked away quickly, for she knew Juhani would not take kindly to her witnessing her grief.

Others spoke of Bastila but Dane did not hear them. Carth had been succinct enough and her thoughts went to Atton. He wasn't dead—she could feel his life pulse through their bond, however weak that bond was. She hadn't realistically hoped to see him waiting for her on Coruscant when they returned either, but she had thought there might be some evidence as to his whereabouts. Dane thought it likely the Sith had captured him; his descent into darkness might have made him valuable in their eyes. Dane shivered at the thought of Atton in the custody of that Sith Lord…and then the funeral was over, jarring her from her thoughts.

The Force will lead me to him, she thought. I must have faith in the Force.

The attendees started to file out and Dane rose to do the same.

"That was well-spoken," she told Carth. "I think she would have been touched."

Carth nodded and Dane saw he regarded her with a peculiar glance. She knew she seemed cool and hard, and it surprised him, but he was also looking at her with something akin to pity. Mission, with Dustil on her arm, appeared beside Carth and regarded Dane with almost the exact same expression.

"What is it?" Dane asked. Gods, now what? No more…

"We are about to load the fallen Republic soldiers onto the ship for their service in space," Carth said slowly.

Dane nodded. "Yes, as custom," she said. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Mission's eyes began to fill with tears and she took Dane's hand.

"Follow me," Carth said quietly and they began to walk.

They had exchanged his battle-worn clothes with a crisp, white Republic dress uniform. His thin beard had been neatly trimmed, his hair combed, and the dirt and soot washed from his face. His blue eyes were closed and his gloved hands were clasped neatly together at his midsection.

"I don't know why," Dane said softly, "but I think he would have chuckled over the gloves." She glanced at Mission, Dustil and Carth standing beside her. "But the rest he would have truly been proud of." She smiled wanly.

He was lying in the same type of coffin as used by the Republic—plain with a glass covering. At the head of the casket was engraved his name. Dane knelt beside it and ran her hand over the lettering.

"Macen Zachariah Vorn," she murmured. "Zachariah…I never knew…"

"He was a good man," Dustil said, his handsome face turned to Dane and his liquid brown eyes sought hers but failed to connect. "I liked him instantly," he said with a warm smile.

"Me too," Dane said with a rueful smile. "He made it so easy."

"I didn't know he was a soldier," Mission said in a small voice to fill an awkward silence.

"He fought bravely and deserves to be honored for it," Carth said.

Dane's vision was suddenly blurred and she felt the strength go out of her knees. The numbness that had encased her protectively fell away and she wept for her friend. She felt Carth's arms go around her but she pulled away and laid her hands over the glass of the coffin.

"Why? Why did he come here? I told him to stay away… I told him it was dangerous," Dane said. "I told him… Macen..." she cried and covered her eyes with one hand. And then a thought occurred to her, filtering in past her grief. She looked around at Carth. "How did you know his middle name? Did you speak to him?"

Carth nodded slowly.

Dane wiped her eyes and stepped towards him. "Why did he come here, Carth?" she asked, her voice low and tremulous. Carth appeared reluctant to speak but Dane pressed closer. "Why was he here? Did he come for me? Did he?"

Carth hesitated a moment longer and then nodded his head. "Yeah, he came for you," he said quietly.

Dane held Carth's eyes a moment more and then turned away. She looked down at the coffin and traced her finger over the glass, along the line of Macen's jaw. "Leave me alone for a minute," she said.

Carth paused and then sighed. "Sure thing. Come on," he said to Mission and Dustil, and the three moved away, down the street.

Dane waited until they were gone and then sat down beside the coffin. Republic soldiers were activating the small repulsor-lift devices on the other caskets and loading them onto a ship. Dane knew she had very little time before they would take him away. She turned so that her back was against the casket, and pulled her knees up to her chest. She closed her eyes and could almost imagine the hum of the energy field beside her and the hum of the barge's engines below her. But there was no gentle voice, no "Hey," to greet her. Instead she felt another presence.

"Bao-Dur?"

"Yes, General?"

"Will you…take care of him? Him and Bastila both…"

"There's no need, General. They're fine. They're both just fine."

Dane nodded and tears slid down her cheeks from under her closed eyes.

"Can you see him, Bao-Dur?"

"Sometimes. He's watching you too."

Dane smiled tremulously. "How does he look, Bao-Dur?"

"Happy, General. He looks happy."

Dane covered her face in her hands and sat for a long time beside Macen while the soldiers worked around her. After a time, there were none left but Macen so the soldiers took him away.

Dane watched as the ship was loaded and lifted off into clear, late-morning sky. She smiled and raised her hand to it as it streaked across that sky, the sun turning the silver ship into a ribbon of shining golden light against the brilliant blue. Dane watched it grow smaller and smaller, until it became a pinpoint of light, like a star, before winking out so very quickly.

Author's note: Woo, short, huh? (Comparatively speaking).Well, actually, I did--as is my want--write nearly thirty dang pages but this chapter has given me no end of trouble so I have, on some good advice, chopped it in half so that I might repair the second portion.This shouldn't take too long and you shouldn't expect such a long delay between updates. Perhaps Saturday at the latest.

I must thank my beta-reader, Miss Becky, for her insight and more importantly, for her friendship and support. You make the process of writing a joy, my dear. And to Bald as Malak who is largely responsible for saving me from making a big mistake, and for his incredible thoughtfulness and intelligence. Thanks to you both.

And because I am very tired and have an important interview at work tomorrow, I am not going to do replies to reviewers now, I'll do them when I post the second half of this chap. But I am overwhelmed by the responses I have received from this fic from all of you. I can't tell you how much it means to me. And since I can't do it anywhere else, I must thank you all too, for your generous and kind words about The Night She Left. I really am speechless. You all make me strive to be a better writer, so thank you.

Up next: A rather bumpy Council meeting and Dane gets some good news..finally!

Love ya!

--Trillian