Kaevee walked, following Atton as usual, as he, Atris, and Cole headed down a long corridor, boxed in by a dozen Republic soldiers. Relieved though she was that they were finally going to speak to the admiral, she had nothing kind to say about her stay aboard the Valiant. The Republic had saved them from the bounty hunters, only to immediately turn around and throw them in a brig. And even now, when they were surely about to be cleared of any wrongdoing, they were still being kept under guard like criminals. Though Kaevee knew now that it had been part of Atton's act when he'd talked about people forgetting what the Jedi had done for the galaxy, it was clear that what he'd said was true.
Down at the end of the hallway she spied a wide double-door where two men were speaking, a Human and the Devaronian officer who had brought Kaevee from her medbay to the brig days before. She couldn't recall his name, but remembered arguing with him about her laigrek during that brief walk; he'd explained that it was in "confinement," and refused to believe that she would keep it from causing trouble.
At the sound of their footsteps, the Devaronian glanced at them over his shoulder, made a final remark to his companion, and departed, nodding at the soldiers as they passed him.
He left behind a man in a crisp black and red uniform who could only have been the admiral himself. As the soldiers saluted him and lined up against the walls, their rifles against their shoulders, he stepped forward. Taking off his cap to reveal a thin crest of grey hair, he greeted each of the crew in turn with a shake of the hand, except for Atris, to whom he offered a bow from the neck, since her only hand was holding onto her cane. "Mister Rand, Mister Terrick. Miss Kaevee. Master Atris."
He was tall and athletically built, but old, and he looked old in the same way that people like Emon or Master Vandar did. His smile was subtly grand, even venerable, yet it seemed to tax him, drawing out the creases and lines that a lifetime of labors had left etched on his face. And the lingering presence of the guards did something to dampen the effect that his genial disposition may have had.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, but I had no choice. Please come in." As the admiral said this, Kaevee was distracted by a long, jagged scar that went from his left eye back to his cheekbone. The eye in question, she noticed, did not move with the other one; she thought it must be a glass one.
Leaving the guards behind, the admiral led them into a spacious office carpeted in dark green and adorned with various amenities, knickknacks, and decorations. The most eye-catching were a trio of starship paintings that dominated the left wall. The first showed a battleship that had to have been from the Great Sith War. All across its thick-armored hull, clusters of observation decks, communications antennae, and turbolaser towers jutted up—and down—like the spires of a spaceborne cathedral.
The second vessel was the vaguely triangular, beaked figure of an Interdictor cruiser. Though its gunmetal gray hull was trimmed with crimson and its command deck was emblazoned with the eight-spoked wheel of the Republic crest, Kaevee loathed the sight of it. The last ship was the familiar Hammerhead -class.
The crew sat down in four chairs facing an enormous dark wood desk. The admiral asked if anyone wanted something to drink. Kaevee requested water, and he brought her a shimmering glass thick with ice cubes. Halfway around his desk, he paused and looked intently at the pilot. "You're not the type I would've expected to turn up again, Mister Rand."
Atton met his gaze with a polite sort of interest, leaning back slightly with his arms crossed. As usual, it was maddening how relaxed he could be at critical moments, especially given how he'd insisted on doing most of the talking here. "How's that?"
Opelle sat down, took out a datapad, and pulled up a file. Kaevee couldn't read upside-down, but she recognized a picture of Atton's face at the top of the screen. As the admiral talked, he scrolled through the data, albeit too quickly for him to actually be reading it. "Well, I could say something about how most people who leave the army do it so they can live the rest of their lives in peace. But it's really because you seem to have a habit of disappearing. Intelligence gave me a dossier on you which starts with your service record. Exemplary, I must admit. The 92nd Army Division, just as you said in your message…"
He paused and, as though on cue, Atton said in a rote tone, "First in, last out."
A short-lived smile played across Opelle's lips. "First in, last out… Your service file goes right up to the end of the Mandalorian Wars, only to stop there. We have nothing on your whereabouts or activities for five years after the war. There's no record of your being discharged." His eyes were a stony gray, but only one of them focused on the pilot. "There is a… perfunctory note that such records may have been accidentally lost."
"I guess that kind of stuff can happen even today," Atton mused blandly.
"They can and they do, more often than most people realize. As a matter of fact, your apparent disappearance after the battle of Malachor V is anything but an anomaly; it's very much the same with the majority of those who fought there—and survived. Jedi, officers, and soldiers. Not a few of them reappeared in the following years in unexpected places."
Spoken though they were in a completely innocuous tone, the admiral's words seemed to stop the conversation cold. Holding her glass close to her lips, Kaevee watched Atton and Opelle closely, easing into the Force and trying to pierce the banal, commonplace façade of their interaction. She failed to grasp any of their conscious thoughts, but there was a tension between the men so strong that it could've been mistaken for a prelude to violence. Atton hadn't so much as shifted in his chair, but it was as if the admiral had just pulled a blaster on him, and the pilot was simply waiting to see if he was going to pull the trigger.
Kaevee understood what was going on. Though not well-studied, she wasn't completely ignorant of recent history. She had been told about the beginning of the war—the Jedi Civil War, as supposedly it was—and where Darth Revan's first followers, dark-siders and common soldiers alike, had come from. Which meant Admiral Opelle was implying that Atton was a traitor to the Republic.
Could it be true? It was as plausible as anything else. Once again Kaevee remembered how she had resolved to stop prying, stop trying to find out things about Atton when they would only make him more difficult to trust. Now it looked like she was going to hear more, whether she wanted to or not.
The admiral raised his chin and finally broke the silence. "Of course, you reappeared some years later, after the destruction of Peragus. You were seen traveling with the Exile for a while. Then six more years off the radar, and now here you are, saying that you've gathered this critical intelligence for us. That you're here to warn us."
Kaevee blinked, suddenly confused. If he wasn't going to actually make the accusation, then why would he bring it up in the first place?
Atton straightened a bit. "Do you believe me?"
"To all appearances, the files you sent us are genuine. The images of Malachor's surface and the Sith academy are quite elaborate. The plans of Singularity Base and the Mass Shadow Generator, complete with its codes, are an exact match for what the Special Weapons Division has in their archives—archives which, I am assured, not even the Sith could steal from without us even realizing it. And we know Bao-Dur traveled with you and the Exile for a time, so your claims to have gotten that information from him are plausible. Of course, we cannot verify the map of this Second Sith Empire. But if this is some kind of ruse to infiltrate the Republic…"
Kaevee's brow furrowed at the unfamiliar terms—Singularity Base and so on, and the name Bao-Dur. On a certain level she was annoyed; it was as if most of this conversation had taken place without her already. She wished she had asked Atton more about his message for Opelle. But more than that, she was growing progressively more uncomfortable—not to mention impatient—with the admiral's obscure, roundabout way of talking. "Do you really think that's what this is?" she broke in. "That we're working for the Sith?"
The admiral looked at her, smiling apologetically. She had trouble holding his one-eyed gaze. "I don't think so, Miss Kaevee, but some have suggested that. Your ship is affiliated with the Sith Remnant, and you— Well, you and Master Atris were—"
"Please," the old woman intoned, "it's just Atris."
"You and Madame Atris," he adjusted, nodding at her, "were both assumed to be dead until now. Your only crime, as it were, is being associated with Mister Rand, who at the very least broke into a Republic relay station. All of you could therefore be detained until a full investigation can be conducted by Intelligence and Internal Security… which would take a long time. They will be very thorough."
Atris made no reply, only continuing to listen impassively.
"But this is ridiculous!" Kaevee protested. "The Sith tried to kill us on Dantooine and at Ord Lonesome."
"That in itself does not place you above suspicion, as far as the Republic is concerned. One Sith will kill another, if he thinks he has a reason to." Opelle paused as though waiting for an objection, but Kaevee could only offer him a dumbfounded stare as she set her glass down on the desk.
The admiral went on, looking sympathetic again—or trying to. "I simply want you all to understand the precariousness of your situation. I believe that the data Mister Rand sent us is authentic. At any rate, the Sith presence on Malachor is enough precedent for us to launch an attack there, since the Jedi Civil War never technically ended. Where my colleagues and I differ, however, is how willing we are to trust Mister Rand and his motives, his sudden return to the patriotism of his youth. But as far as I'm concerned…" He made a vague gesture with one hand. "…it's as good a story as any."
"I can see where this is going," Atton said softly, as though to himself.
"Yeah, so can I. I've seen this before," added Cole. Turning to look at Kaevee, he pointed to the admiral and began to explain, "See, he's the good Judicial, and his 'colleagues' are the—"
"Mister Terrick, please," Opelle commanded, some actual force leaking into his tone for the first time. Then he gave a little shake of his head, as though chastising himself for such a show of emotion. Sweeping the four of them with his gaze, he began again. "I suppose further preliminaries would just be a waste of time. So, very well—there are two things that can happen after this conversation. I can follow proper protocol to the letter and turn you over to the investigators and the bureaucrats. Let them have you for a month, six months, a year, or however long they'll take to turn you and your stories inside-out." He looked at Kaevee, then at Atris. "The two of you should get off easy. But I think Mister Rand can expect prison time, if only for that business with the relay."
He raised an eyebrow at Cole. "And as for you, Mister Terrick, the Judiciary has a file on you going back seven years. Numerous counts of smuggling, attempting to bribe customs officials. Falsifying credentials, theft, assault, resisting arrest. You're lucky you've never killed anyone—at least as far as we know. But depending on the details and the way the courts go, I'd guess you're looking at around ten years' imprisonment. Maybe more."
"And here I thought I was in some real trouble," the spacer said darkly, letting out a breath he'd been holding. But Kaevee could see one corner of his mouth twitching upward, as though he was suppressing a smile. She was right; Cole was crazy. Yet no less crazy, it seemed, than Atton and Atris, who appeared resigned to having their fates dictated by some ignorant governmental authority.
"I think I know what the second option is," the pilot remarked.
Admiral Opelle nodded gravely. "You probably do. And I think all of us would prefer it over the first. I am in a position to spare you of this unpleasantness. If I were to have some words with a few certain officials and acquaintances, I can bring them over to my line of thinking. There are only four of you; I can persuade them to overlook your… As the case may be, your peccadillos or murky pasts. If you're willing to put your talents at the service of the Republic."
"You're offering us a job?" Cole asked carefully.
"If you wish to call it that, yes. Technically you'll belong to the Strategic Information Service, but for all practical purposes you'll be an independent team of specialists, and report directly to me. The Republic hasn't had enough time to rebuild what was lost in the last war. The military certainly hasn't. If we're going to win this war, we'll need people who can accomplish things that fleets and armies cannot."
Again the admiral swept them all with his gaze, and his good eye almost seemed to glimmer. "What we need is something like what Mister Rand began by bringing you all together: a small team of peculiar individuals coming from outside the formal command structure, possessing a diverse set of talents and skills, able to work together and think creatively…"
Kaevee thought of the many arguments, spats, blunders, and brushes with death that she had been a part of since first meeting Atton on Dantooine, and found herself doubting that the admiral was really as good a judge of character as he thought himself to be. However, she felt that this was not the time to share that opinion.
"Our situation will be desperate enough as it is," Opelle was saying, "with only three Jedi on our side, when in the past we had the entire Order to counter the Sith."
Sure enough, Atton was quick to point out, "We're not Jedi, we're—"
"—just people with lightsabers," Kaevee finished, her voice tight. Ignoring the pilot's irritated look, she couldn't help but add, "But I'm a Jedi."
The admiral didn't so much as blink. "Your personal philosophies are your own business. Whatever you are, you have the power of the Force, and the Republic needs your help." He folded his hands on the desk. "Do you accept my terms?"
Kaevee stared at her glass of ice water, feeling relief and discomfort at the same time. Obviously they would accept; this had been the whole point of their mission, to help the Republic against the Sith. But she was uneasy about how the admiral thought it necessary to blackmail them into doing what they had planned on doing anyway.
The pilot uncrossed his arms. "Yeah, I do. Thanks for believing me."
Cole spoke up then, sounding just a little nervous—probably unable to believe his good fortune. "Hey, just so we're clear, you're talking to me too, right? We work for you, I get pardoned?"
"I'll see to it that all possible charges against you are dropped or suspended," Opelle replied.
"Then I'm in."
Kaevee leaned forward a little. "So am I."
"And I," added Atris.
"Then we're finished here—for now." The admiral stood up, and the crew did the same. "Some quarters have already been prepared for you. I'll have you shown there and given a proper dinner. Mister Rand, I want to meet with you tomorrow morning. Since you're the one who brought us this intel, I want you to help with planning our attack on Malachor."
"Sure thing."
The two men shook hands. As they all started back toward the door, Atton gave Kaevee a gentle nudge with his elbow. "Why the long face? You should be thrilled—get to serve the Republic like you always wanted."
"In the meantime," the admiral broke in, "if there's anything any of you need at any point…"
Atton stopped short of the door. "Actually, I've got a favor to ask for. You've got those bounty hunters on board, right?"