Trista leaned forward as the ship dropped out of hyperspace, staring out the viewport. She never tired of dropping out of hyperspace over a new world, the promise of exploration, of new sights and, before getting dragged kicking and screaming back into the Republic at least, another place to stay for a year or so before moving on in a constant, sporadic nomadism. It hadn't struck her until now just how strongly the past decade's wanderlust still hummed, somewhere in the depths of her chest.
Nal Hutta was the first to come into view around the system's yellow star, a world of gold and green cracked with jagged, black scars. Atton slung the Hawk around the planet with a slight grumble.
"Been there?"
"Once. If you think Nar Shaddaa's bad, well, Hutta's worse."
"Great. Let's not take a vacation there."
"You'll get no argument from me."
As Nar Shaddaa came into view, the dark side — the side permanently out to space — glowed with orange light, bursting through like the yolk of a cracked egg. The cityscape that loomed could put Coruscant's to shame, at least from space, a blast of chaotic geometry compared to the careful layout of the capital world. Once they slipped through the planetary shield the true landscape rose around them, a frenetic bustle of growth that bore little structural sense and made Trista regret landing at all.
"That good, huh?" Atton said as he whipped them around another pedestrian walkway and Trista slammed her hand into the side of the cockpit for some semblance of stability.
"There're no railings on that. Or lights! How did you not hit it?"
"I've been here, remember? Those things are everywhere."
Trista shook her head. "I'm having second thoughts. Ugh. Do we have to check with the landing authority?"
"Nah. We're going to put down in the Refugee Sector. Enough free landing pads and traffic that we shouldn't have a problem staying hidden."
"Great."
After a knuckle-whitening, hour-long trip through the cityscape, Atton pointed to a landing pad. "That one looks good."
"Good" was clearly relative as the cracked and warped durasteel, likely cannibalized from some other structure and held together with several layers of glue, didn't give her much hope.
"You're sure we shouldn't check with someone? It doesn't look very sound."
"It'll be fine! Just... don't jump up and down when we land."
Trista clenched the arms of the copilot's chair and grimaced. "You're lucky I trust you."
"That's a mistake," Atton said as he delicately landed the Hawk on the platform. Trista waited for a moment, then undid her harness and stood. When the ship didn't plummet to the depths of the cityscape, she relaxed.
"Okay, shut off and we'll give everyone a rundown."
"You got it."
Trista returned to the main hold, joining Bao-Dur and Mical by the holotable. The last to drift in was Kreia, her face predictably unreadable.
"All right," Atton said as soon as he stepped out of the cockpit hallway. "We just touched down on Nar Shaddaa. Smuggler's moon. The gaping maw of Nal Hutta, swallowing all the cargo and space port thugs the galaxy can offer. Mandalorians, mercenaries, war veterans, and pilots from the last two wars ended up here, from all sides of the conflict. When the last war ended, there was no where else to go." He leaned on the holotable. "It's a rough place and easy to get lost — or for someone to get lost in. Best place to lie low for a while."
"There are a lot of veterans here?"
"Yeah, some came looking for work running freight and cargo. Still, there's only so many ships to go around, and so many workers, so some end up with the Hutts or the Exchange. It's a prime base for raider recruitment across the galaxy, too."
Mical frowned. "How hard will it be to find Master Ell here?"
Atton shook his head. "There's enough traffic that finding anyone will be hard. But that's why I put us down in the Refugee Sector. There's more traffic here, but it's harder for people to spot you coming in or find you. If the guy is smart, he came here."
"Personal experience?" It had been an astute judgment of his — surprising, in that he spent so much time and energy acting like an idiot. He looked at her. "You sound like you've done it."
"Eh, anyone flying the star lanes ends up on Nar Shaddaa at least once. I doubt anyone lives here by choice – I wouldn't."
"You said this is the Refugee Sector?" Mical asked. Trista watched as Atton restrained himself from whatever comeback he wanted. "Then there are more than former soldiers here."
"Yeah, not everyone who came to Nar Shaddaa were. A lot of worlds got destroyed by the Mandalorians and the Jedi. It left a ton of people wandering the galaxy."
Mical's brow creased. "You mean the Sith."
"Anyway." Atton brushed off the correction. "Tris, what's our plan?"
Trista leaned on the table. "All right. Atton, do you feel like doing some recon for us? That way you can get a read on the place before there's a chance of us being spotted."
"Yeah, but we should be able to breathe easy for once. There's no way anyone will find us here."
"I'd still like a better idea of what we're walking into. After that, we'll keep our head down. Get some ship repairs done, sleep in peace for once, find Zez-Kai and, perhaps most importantly, somehow arrange a meeting with this Goto guy and have a nice, pleasant conversation about removing this bounty." She looked up. "Everyone on the same page?"
"I believe so," Handmaiden said.
Trista nodded and pushed off the table. "Atton, do you want anyone with you?"
"Depends on if Bao-Dur wants off the ship. No offense, the rest of you are pretty conspicuous."
"I'll keep an eye on you." Atton frowned, and Bao-Dur raised one of his brows challengingly. "That is what you were asking for, right?"
"Whatever, you're less likely to get me mugged. They don't like the horns."
Trista rolled her eyes and headed for the ramp, followed by the others. As soon as Visas stepped out behind her, the Miraluka shuddered and moved closer. Trista looked back, momentarily distracted from the threatening exposure of sitting on this platform with speeders and ships whizzing just over their heads.
"You all right?"
"Never have I been to a place so alive with the Force, yet so dead to it. The contrast is like a blade."
Trista frowned and turned back to the walkway and lowered the mental barrier she didn't realize she was keeping. The feeling of life hit her like a club, buzzing around her and yet, still disconnected. So much life, teeming, unaware of the thing that bound it together.
"I have to teach you all blocking techniques," she muttered, bricking the wall back up as the others joined them. Atton stepped past her and turned back to them, opening his arms like he was showing off the galaxy's grandest, yet shittiest, game show prize.
"And here's Nar Shaddaa: buildings kilometers high and canyons so deep you can dogfight in them. Word of warning: watch where you step, or you'll fall for hours."
"I still think we feel exposed out here." Trista looked back at the Hawk as a speeder buzzed perhaps a hundred feet above the ship.
"Maybe a little, but landing here means we didn't have to give anyone our ID signature. You know what trouble that brings."
She could hardly forget. "True."
"We might want to get that changed while we're here, or get a back-up. We wouldn't be such a target entering a new system."
"Not a bad idea. You think you can get the other parts, too?"
"Well, it won't be a gourmet synth, but it'll do."
"Anything will be better than the one we have," Handmaiden muttered as she eyed the sheer walls rising ahead of them. "This is not a defensive position."
"No, it isn't," Trista agreed. "Atton, you're sure there won't be any trouble with the docking authorities?"
"No – well, maybe."
Trista frowned. "Atton—"
"Look, it's not unheard of, they're used to people landing illegally. It's a one credit fine, like jaywalking."
"Just don't land us in a Hutt slave camp."
"The Refugee Sector's a dead zone, no one cares who flies in and out. Well, provided they don't have cargo the Exchange or the Hutts want a piece of."
"Oh, that won't be a problem, then. It isn't like anyone on board our ship has a million-credit bounty on them, courtesy of the Exchange."
"They have to catch you first."
She rolled her eyes. "I swear you're going to get me killed one of these days."
"Aw, don't say that, sweets."
Trista returned her attention to the walkway ahead, chewing on her lip thoughtfully. "All right. Atton, Bao-Dur, just do a little scouting and come back so we know what we're dealing with. Anyone else have any ideas?"
Kreia had stood with her face tilted spaceward, and finally lowered it. "It does not matter where we go. If what we seek is here, we shall come upon it in due time."
Atton gave Trista a long-suffering look, and she shook her head.
That didn't stop him. "Yeah, if you wanna stay on the ship and meditate more, don't let us stop you."
"What are our odds of finding Ell using the Force?" Trista asked. Kreia shook her head.
"Finding a Jedi — or anyone else touched by the Force — will be difficult. The mass of people, the rush of their emotions, it makes detection difficult. It is likely why this world was chosen."
Trista looked at Visas, who nodded. "The moon is a swarming cloak, a shadow of emotion. It is an effective shield — but if we pass near the Jedi, I may see him."
"You will not come near the Jedi. I will not allow it." The Handmaiden spoke with such venom that it nearly took Trista aback. Visas responded before she could interrupt.
"You mistake my intentions. I care nothing for him. But if finding him will speed our journey, then I can aid the search."
"And we do not need your help, dark Jedi."
"Handmaiden—"
"Enough." Kreia interjected before she could finish her admonishment. "This moon does not get smaller as we debate. This sector is as good a place as any to begin our search, so let us begin."
Movement caught her eye at the far end of the walkway, and Trista turned. Atton frowned next to her. "Well, if we're searching a moon of a few billion for one Jedi that even our own can't sense, we may as well get started on this recon."
"So yeah, like I said." Trista counted off her fingers without looking back, watching a small figure approach them. "Bounty hunters, Jedi, ship repairs. That order."
"The bounty is a waste of our efforts," Kreia replied. "All that matters is the Jedi. The intentions of the thugs on this moon are of no consequence."
"Forgive me," Mical said. The figure was about halfway down the dock, fluttering angrily toward them, and she kicked Atton's foot with hers. He turned back to follow her eyes. "But these bounty hunters pose a threat to her. Their persistence is unusual and, if they are not stopped, one may prove lucky."
Visas nodded. "I agree. Even a distraction may prove fatal at a critical moment."
"Sh." Trista said. When Kreia started to speak again, she waved her hand. "I said hold on."
"Hey!" By now it was close enough to both hear and see: a Toydarian, her first suspicions confirmed. "You there!"
"Abandoned, huh?" Trista muttered. Atton kicked her foot.
"What's with you letting that piece of junk set its struts on my landing pad?"
"Well," Trista said, "it's a landing pad. Ships land on it."
"No? Really? Thanks, I wasn't aware. Here I was, thinking you weren't a dumb human."
Trista smiled, hopefully disarmingly. "Oh? I was worried, for a moment I thought you were just a dumb Toydarian. My apologies." He scowled. "Do you have a license or something for this pad? Or did you just wander in and think you'd charge a landing fee for it?"
"That's none of your business!" He pointed threateningly at her. "I got another ship coming in and unless you want that piece of junk's hull crushed flat, you'd better move it. Got it?"
"What other ship? Perhaps they can land elsewhere? If you're as well-off as you're behaving, you should have plenty of landing pads to go around."
"That's still none of your business. All you need to know is they're gonna be firing up their quad lasers if they find your ship squatting when they get here."
"I mean, until you can prove you've got ownership over this pad, I don't think it's gonna hurt them to park somewhere else." She shrugged. "Besides, if you're just here to charge a fee for landing, I'm sure my credits are as good as theirs."
He narrowed his eyes. "Yeah? All I'm hearing is talk right now. How much you offering?"
Trista echoed his narrowed eyes. Atton turned his back to the alien and muttered, "don't get cute with any mind stuff, and don't give him too much."
"I know," she grumbled. "Fifty credits for the week. Twenty-five now, and twenty-five if we stay unaccosted for five days or when we leave, whichever comes first. And if we stay on longer, same deal."
"Hm. Well, I got your ship, and that's worth way more if you try to cheat me."
"Is it? I thought it was a piece of junk."
He grumbled. "Not unaccosted, can't control for that. Not like I got security out here."
"You know what? Prove to me you tried and I won't cut into your fee. But I'm taking a credit off the second payment for every bruise my crew gets. If there's blood, I'm taking two off."
"All right, deal. Like I said, got some visitors booked, but I'm sure you can work it out when they get here."
Trista smiled and handed him the first payment. "I'm sure. But double-cross me at all and that's all you're getting."
"Pleasure doing business with you." He grabbed it out of her hand and fluttered back down the walkway. Trista looked at Atton, who shrugged.
"Okay, what? All real estate gets squatters."
"Whatever, we're only out twenty-five credits." Trista sighed. "You two get your recon done. The rest of us, back on the ship. It'll be safer with the ship's guns between us and everyone else."
#
Now that they were plugged into an actual Holonet connection, Trista began searching.
Any public information, if she went to the right source, would carry more detail and less bias than her companions — of that, she was sure. This only depended on finding the right sources, and she knew just where to go.
The most boring open-source directory in the galaxy.
It was just a collection of historical documents — leaked, hacked, or posted — that dated back, albeit sparsely, to the Republic's founding. That was how they'd stayed up to date with the war, inspecting military movements, press briefings, and the few intel reports that made it. The University of Coruscant's history department ostensibly curated it, but uploads came from anywhere, usually anonymous "donations" from people who cared about such things being public.
She started at the Jedi Civil War.
The first few documents were now-leaked intelligence, describing suspected sightings of Revan and Malak — mostly Malak, as he was harder to miss — on several planets. Tatooine, Manaan. Why they were on either, none of the reports said.
She opened the next file. This one was simple enough: a declaration of war, written in Revan's precise yet magniloquent oration. That wasn't the surprising part. That was the attached holorecord, several panels from a cruiser's external cam system, that auto-played when she reached it. Auto-played the ship opening fire on a Republic shipyard.
Trista closed out of it with a gasp.
She spent another hour going through various documents, from a report on Sernpidal (where Revan had been captured), to the report Mical had cited from Manaan, to one on the Star Forge. Then, to a news article from the planet below and the impromptu ceremony afterward.
Revan stood front and center, maskless and triumphant, her left arm in a sling across her chest and her right raised skyward in her trademark vesh. She looked exhausted, and Trista checked the date. Same day as the battle. When this was taken, Alek had only been dead a few hours.
The thought hurt more than it should have.
On her left stood a man with dark hair, a flak jacket hanging unzipped. He was turned toward her, one hand resting almost invisibly on her sister's back as he beamed at the camera. That prompted a frown. That wasn't who the warrant mentioned, was it? He didn't look like a Mandalorian. Perhaps familiarity should have struck her, but it didn't.
On her right was a Twi'lek with her own arm around Revan's shoulders and a wide grin across her face. A massive, furry hand on her shoulder led to a Wookiee, his other resting on a woman's arm. The woman's face, marred by rather extensive bruising, was twisted into a brave, if emotionless, smile. She took a moment to place. Bastila Shan. Looming over her shoulder, the last person on this side, was a tall (though not quite Wookiee-height) man, hand on a massive blaster rifle resting point-first on the ground.
No, that was a Mandalorian. So who was the other guy?
It took a moment to think back to the recording on the Harbinger. The Admiral that had taken an interest in her, and that Mical was reporting to. She raised a brow.
To her left there were only four others, including another admiral and the very recognizable Master Vandar on his hoverdisk, and an older man and a young woman, both in Jedi robes. A closer look identified the latter as a Cathar. Both had the same general resignation in their expressions that most Jedi developed for such events, undercut by a similar tiredness to that on Revan's face.
The last figure was half obscured behind the Wookiee, but her jaw almost hit the console as she leaned in. A metal head, one visible optic, standing almost the Mandalorian's height. She looked behind her, then back. If it wasn't the same droid, it was the same line. She'd have to ask.
She skimmed it again, looking for more answers, before she found a last figure obscured in the railing that lined the surrounding structure. The top of a T3-line Astromech droid, barely taller than the rail, with telescope extended to see over it. Her frown deepened as she scrolled back to the caption.
The crew of the Ebon Hawk presented with Crosses of Glory after the battle. Pictured (left to right): Admiral Forn Dodonna, Master Vandar Tokare, Jedi Jolee Bindo, Jedi Juhani, Commander Carth Onasi, Jedi Anna Kyjjl, Mission Vao, Zaalbar, Jedi Bastila Shan, and Canderous Ordo, accompanied by droids T3-M4 and HK-47.
Trista was so irritated by one caption that she exited out of the database entirely without being able to put her finger on just what was so infuriating.
She could always start with the obvious fact that this had been Revan's ship, which she'd been studiously refusing to admit.
Or that T3 had lied to her, which was Revan's doing. She could just... feel that.
That the admiral who'd been hunting her before Telos was pictured like that with her sister, who was also Revan, in case she'd forgotten.
She'd spent so long distancing herself from Revan only to end up dealing with her mess, in her ship, with two of her droids, and she'd get no thanks for any of it.
With a frustrated huff she left the comm room and hurried through the main hold toward the engine room, barely stopping when Visas asked if she had a moment.
"No, I don't have anything, apparently," she said without stopping. "Just let me know when they're back."
Trista closed the door and put the hyperdrive between herself and it, resting her back against it as she spent a few minutes glaring at the back wall. The first tear slipped down her cheek and she scrubbed it away with all the anger of a thirty-five-year-old adult who knew how childish her reaction was.
::This—::
::Oh, you knew the entire time, don't start with me,:: Trista snapped, her hand balling into a fist. ::That's why you wanted us to find this ship! Because it was hers.::
::It was a factor.::
::Did you know about the droids?::
::They were with the ship when I found it.::
::Oh, of course they were.:: She punched the floor, wincing as it did nothing more than hurt her hand. ::Of course they were. I'm not interested in talking.::
::I—::
::Can I have a little privacy, Kreia? For once in this damn relationship?::
For the first time, Kreia's presence removed itself almost entirely from her mind. Trista leaned her head back against the hyperdrive and fought to wrest the rampant, unfamiliar tide of emotion churning inside her back under control.
#
By the time Bao-Dur and Atton returned, about a half-hour after she'd returned to her self-imposed exile in the engine room, Trista emerged looking none the worse for wear and joined them in the main hold.
"Are you feeling well?" Visas asked as she entered, and Trista nodded.
"Fine. What did you find?"
"I think we'll be fine, but there's a slight kink in our plans now." Atton motioned back toward the buildings outside the Hawk. "The plaza is all-but deserted. Or, well, it's not as active as I suspected."
"Could you find any reason for it?" Handmaiden asked. He shook his head.
"Not really. We didn't talk to anyone, though. That said, I didn't see any bounty hunters either."
"They'd be shitty bounty hunters if they hung around in the open," Trista said.
"My concern was that they knew we landed and were waiting to swarm us, but whatever," Atton retorted. "Didn't see any. As for ship parts, Bao-Dur's already making friends."
Trista looked over, and Bao-Dur nodded. "There is a repair shop just off the platform. The owner is a Sullustan, Tienn Tubb. I served with him on the Solemn Oath during the war. He's already given us a quote on a new synthesizer for the Hawk, as well as stabilizer parts."
"He can also change our transponder, if we get him the right equipment."
"He can't install the parts, but Atton and I should be able to handle it."
"Great. So what do we need for the transponder?"
"Just a blank card. I'll keep an eye out while we're here."
"And you're sure no one seems to care?"
Atton shrugged. "They may eventually, but we can always jump to another platform if we haven't found our guy yet."
"Great. We'll give it a couple hours, and then I want to figure out the lay of the land." Trista turned back toward the engine room. "I'll let you know when, Atton."
"Yeah, sure."
#
Atton watched as she returned to the engine room and shut the door, and had just turned back to the cockpit when the hairs on his neck raised. His gun was half-drawn before a female voice murmured to his right.
"Do you have a moment?"
He slammed his blaster back into its holster as he turned. "What, for you to pick us off one by one?"
Visas' expression didn't change, keeping its usual blankness under the covering over her eyes. "I wish to step off the ship for a moment. Will you join me?"
"Why?"
"For something I believe will be in your interest." Visas's head turned, and he followed her (nonexistent) eyes toward the engine room. "And I do not believe this vessel is safe."
Atton studied her for a moment. It wasn't a threat, that was for sure. As for the ship not being safe — ah. Right. Kreia. "All right. But if you make one move for your lightsaber, I'll shoot you."
"You need not fear me." Visas drifted toward the ramp, and Atton frowned deeper and followed.
Once outside, Visas turned to him and moved her weapon to her sleeve, the thin tube fitting into a band at her wrist. "This is only to hide our presence further. I am showing you so you know of its location."
"Yeah, thanks."
She drifted several more paces down the walkway toward the plaza, stopping a safe distance away from the Hawk. Atton turned to face her, and she moved him so he was looking toward the plaza — with their backs to the ship.
"I apologize for the deception," she began, her voice almost lost in the sound of ships and speeders above them. "But deception is the way of the new Sith, and their reach is great. I do not wish to be overheard."
When he answered, Atton was quiet too. "This about Kreia?"
"It is." Visas accompanied it with a single, slight nod. "I have only traveled with you for a few days, but I have been studying the crew. I bring this concern to you, because I believe your vision remains unclouded — and that you see her for what she is."
"If you're saying I don't trust her, yeah, I don't. I don't trust any of you."
"I am not speaking about your discomfort with users of the Force. That is separate. You trust the Exile well enough and, if my understanding is correct, you met the blind one at the same time — yet your distrust for her is great."
"You got a point?"
"I do not know if I am correct," Visas said. "But I believe you know that she is not what she seems."
"She isn't a Jedi, I know that much. She's sanctimonious enough to be, but—"
"But she is too manipulative."
"I wouldn't put it that way."
Visas' head turned slightly toward him, still not enough to reveal their faces to the ship's viewport. "I will explain this simply, then. I believe Kreia is Sith, and a powerful one."
Atton stared into the plaza. "Yeah, I was already on that shuttle."
"I suspected as much, which is why I wished to voice my concerns to you. I believe she is the third of what calls itself the Sith Triumvirate — a being I have known by name only until now. Darth Traya. She is the master of my master, and of Darth Sion. I believe you have encountered him already."
He watched her from the corner of his eyes. She was tense, but had been since her first night on the Hawk. Without eyes, judging if she was lying was harder. But she didn't seem to be and... she wasn't elusive at all.
But he knew Sith. He knew how they operated. Visas was Sith, Kreia was Sith — so they'd wind up killing each other? They'd get the rest of them caught up in some side-picking bullshit, turn them all against each other, and then whoever came up on top was in charge. Right?
"What do you get out of this?"
Visas was quiet for a moment. Her expression was guarded, but again, not deceitful.
"Eventually we will face my Master," she said. "As I said when the Exile questioned me, he seeks the death of all life. While he convinced me of his cause, a part of me has been... uncertain. When meeting the Exile, I saw in her the same wound, the same damage. And yet, she is not him. She could walk his path, but she has chosen otherwise. She has given me the hope that long eluded me."
Atton sighed, running several rounds of pazaak in his head. Just in case. "Yeah, I know that feeling."
"So perhaps what he wishes is not inevitable. And if it is not inevitable, it is only because she stands against him. You may think of me what you will, and I will endure your distrust. But know that I did not become Sith of my volition, and that I do not wish to see her harmed. Not if she bears the galaxy's hope of a future.
"And that is why I bring my concerns to you. I believe the others, save perhaps the Iridonian, see only what Kreia wishes them to see — the Exile especially."
"And what do you want to do with this? Go after her?"
"No. I do not believe we will best her." Practicality. Unexpected, but he'd take it. "But you have the Exile's ear. Perhaps you can mitigate the damage Kreia seeks to do. And perhaps, when she strikes, we may turn the blade aside."
Atton studied the plaza entrance again before nodding. "All right. But if you double-cross me, I will shoot you."
"If I double-cross you, I suspect the Exile will have my head before you do." Visas turned more toward him, and held forward one small, deceptively delicate gloved hand. Atton hesitated before taking it. "And I pledge that I will not, unless the circumstances require it."
"How so?"
"If the choice is your life, or hers—"
Atton gave the hand a solid, firm shake. "If you rescued me over her anyway, I woulda shot you on the spot."
For the first time, the corners of Visas' mouth rose, just a minuscule inch. "Then we are agreed, and we watch."
"And wait."
