Atton had to admit that Hsskhor was sort of pretty, if you were looking out of it towards the rolling grasslands beyond. The last rows of buildings stood in beautiful contrast to the golden fields of wild grains, their dark gray stone possessing a subtle luster that caught the sun in a twinkling fashion.

Behind him, however, that same tenebrous stone was the only thing to be seen for kilometers. It combined with the Trandoshan's disregard for architecture or city planning, and their ambivalence towards natural or artificial lighting, to create something both depressing and chaotic. Narrow, jagged streets struggled to create a route between stone buildings that were haphazardly placed and shaped and which blocked or absorbed most of the sunlight and cast severe shadows.

It was ugly and depressing, but at least he wouldn't need hours in a sonic shower to remove all the sand, like after Varic.

They had started in that hellhole of a city because it was Dosha's busiest spaceport. They hadn't found any trace of slavers in Varic. Of course, they also hadn't been able to see ten meters in the vicious sandstorm that had descended upon the place mere hours after their arrival. That hadn't prevented a fairly thorough search on foot, however, mainly conducted by him and Mira while Bastila babysat the kids.

After three days the storm had let up and they had flown to the next busiest spaceport, Hsskhor.

Now he sat on the secluded terrace of some random building on the southern edge of the city with a pair of electrobinoculars, watching ships descending from orbit. It was boring work, but it did give him time to relax because his position was unassailable. He had walls on two sides, the nearest adjacent building was twenty meters, and it was over a hundred meters to the streets below. There were no windows. Unless somebody blew their way through the wall on his level or had a jet pack, he would be completely uninterrupted.

He had a scanner to monitor aerial traffic in a fifty-klick radius, but the glint of sunlight on metal caught his eyes before the device beeped. Another ship had just come into range of the binocs. He pulled them to his eyes and studied the vessel as it floated clumsily downward to the city. It was an ore freighter, far too large for a slaver to use.

He set the binocs down and resumed his mental game of pazaak.

He was having a pretty good time. Mira wasn't there to push his buttons, Bastila wasn't there to be a stick in the mud, and Varia wasn't there to ask a million questions. In fact, Atton was certain that he liked Goran the most out of their little entourage. The kid was mostly quiet, watching and absorbing with perceptive eyes and those sensitive horns of his. The boy knew he could learn more by listening than speaking, and it was something he respected.

Of course, when did I ever keep my mouth shut? I must be getting old, if I'm admiring some kid for wisdom I never had.

The sun was just beginning to move downward in the sky when he caught sight of a freighter that was about half the size of a corvette. The binocs revealed more – details that matched the class of vessel the children had described. He pressed a button on the side of the binocs and the ship's transponder tag appeared in the display – one of Bao-dur's many genius innovations. He checked it against the list of fake IDs that they had 'persuaded' out of a local merchant last evening. These were the names that the merchant was always alert for so he could be the first to the landing bay offering his particular wares; he specialized in supplies that were generally useful for bringing and keeping sentient beings under control.

There was a match – The Fang of Akhoshissss. Why in the Force did they need so many s's?

"Heads up, everyone," Atton spoke into his comlink. "Possible target inbound, headed for the southwest quarter."

"Acknowledged," Mira responded immediately.

Atton already had the binocs and scanner packed up and slung over his shoulder before Bastila responded. "Acknowledged. Move in and we'll be there in twenty minutes."

The scoundrel Jedi summoned the Force into his legs to take an inhuman leap from his terrace the roof of a neighboring building fifteen meters below.

"Don't let your concentration falter," Bastila cautioned the two apprentices. "You must learn to trust the Force even more than the ground under your feet. Trust it, and you will be in its flow. If you are in the flow, you will not easily be distracted." Bastila inwardly rolled her eyes, annoyed with herself. She sounded like one of the stodgy masters she had grown up with.

Goran and Varia hovered a meter off the ground, suspended in midair by the other's efforts. It was something of a team-building exercise, but also a means of practicing concentration in the face of unsettling circumstances. She could almost see their discomfort behind those closed eyes; despite that, they had managed to hold the position for nearly a minute now.

Her comlink chimed, and a second later Atton's voice was reporting the approach of a possible target.

"Ouch!" Goran cried as he hit the ground a second before Varia. The girl's concentration had crumbled as a wave of anger washed over her; probably Atton's report had connected quite painfully with her too-fresh memories.

Goran's focus, on the other hand, had been unaffected until he had realized that he was falling. The boy's natural control was impressive… and curious. The level nature with which he met this and every other challenge far surpassed any of the other rescued children; it was a gift and a blessing for his master. Bastila wondered if this was inherent to Gotals, but she hadn't had an opportunity to research it further.

Varia was on her feet and rushing up to her master's face. "I'm ready!" she just about snarled.

"I know this is emotional for you, Varia. Please practice letting those emotions go. Take a deep breath and imagine them being carried away in the wind." It wasn't the first time during this trip that the girl's strong anger had erupted suddenly. "Breath in the Force and let it carry your anger away."

The girl did as told, albeit with reluctance. After a few breaths, however, Bastila felt a measure of calm returned to her apprentice. "Very good," Bastila praised, before responding to Atton's communication.

For the last several days they had been training in a sheltered hollow out on the plains, and now had a few kilometers between them and the city. They grabbed their packs and started jogging through the fields towards the city. Along the way Bastila had them scaring off gnathgrgs, the small lizards that were commonly underfoot. She showed them how to implant the suggestion of fear into their tiny minds. It was practice at understanding the process of a mental attack, something they would have to withstand if ever facing Sith or a telepathic species.

And the combination of mental and physical exertion was exhausting them, which would make it much easier for her to send them back to the ship without protest.

As they entered the city, Atton and Mira both reported themselves to be in position near the target's docking bay. Varia started to move in that direction but Bastila's firm hand stopped her.

"I need you and Goran to return to our ship."

"But-!"

"Please do as I say," Bastila commanded, her voice calm and full of Grandmaster authority. Goran had looked about to protest as well but thought better of it. She stared them both down through a long moment of silence until Varia stomped a boot petulantly, her fists clenched furiously at her sides.

"The odds of this being the ship we've been looking for are tiny," Bastila placated. "But the odds of things getting ugly are considerably better. Jedi are not welcome around here. You've been working hard all day; you're in no shape for such action." The odds of any action were probably just as tiny, but these untrained neophyte apprentices were a liability should anything occur. Of course, she wasn't going to tell them that.

I swore I would never lie to my apprentices, not in the way I was lied to. Bastila sighed and ran a hand through her hair. This wasn't close to the same magnitude of deception she'd experienced, but it still bothered her.

"Okay, actually there is very little chance of any fighting, either." She held up a hand to silence Varia. "And that is because we can remain unseen. But you haven't learned those skills yet. Jedi avoid conflict whenever possible; we have a better chance of succeeding at that if it's only the three of us."

"We won't be a liability," Goran pleaded. "We can stay hidden." Varia nodded vigorously.

"No," Bastila replied firmly. "Return to the ship."

Varia growled in frustration but did as told, turning sullenly in the direction of their docking bay. Goran shot Bastila a disappointed look and followed. The Jedi master watched until they had disappeared from sight, before turning in the opposite direction and quickly blending into the crowded street.

From a shadowed corner just outside the bay's main entrance, Mira watched gravsleds loaded with containers being towed in by utility droids. The ship's boarding ramp lowered and a small collection of thugs emerged. A human, an Aqualish, a Weequay, and two Trandoshans. They began inspecting the containers.

With her electro-goggles she had no problem discerning each item as they checked it. A lot of it was weaponry and ammo, but certain items absolutely tipped them to be members of a sophisticated slaving group. Czerka stun sticks. Neural disruptor collars. Kathol paralysis grenades. Good old-fashioned stun cuffs – a lot of them.

She felt Bastila's presence only moments before the Grandmaster joined her in the shadows. With their hooded robes and the Force to obscure prying senses, they were all but invisible.

"Definitely slavers," Mira muttered with contempt. Though her past life had been morally dubious, she had still been repulsed by slaving; it was a form of moral snobbery common amongst bounty hunters. They liked to think of themselves as adhering to a higher code. They did adhere to a higher code, simply by not being slavers.

"Anything more specific?" Bastila questioned. It was interesting to see the senior woman out of her element here in the underworld. She generally let Mira and Atton take the lead, which had increased their respect for her these last two weeks.

"Really well-equipped slavers," Mira replied. "They're blowing a lot of money on high-grade supplies. And that ship looks like a scow, but it's packing concussion missile launchers and Aramek turrets, and I'm pretty sure the plating is ablative. Plus the engines sounded like SoroSuub dual-phase."

"So these are elite slavers?" Bastila clarified.

"Basically. They're better outfitted than anything I've ever seen, which means they're probably better trained too."

"They're going to be much more dangerous," Bastila mused. "But they're just capturing children. Untrained children. Being Force-sensitive doesn't make them any harder to catch."

Mira shrugged. "These guys look way more professional than average. It goes hand-in-hand with price and capability. Maybe they were picked for reliability and secrecy. Maybe just for speed."

"Well, how can we find out if these are the ones we're looking for?"

You're the Grandmaster, shouldn't you have a plan? was her first reaction. She bit back the words, recognizing the reaction for what it was – an artifact from an earlier time before Bastila had earned her respect. And the snipe was unfair; Bastila knew much more of war than of the illegal trades. This was her and Atton's specialty.

And speak of the nerfherder.

"I think we're about to find out," Mira replied unnecessarily; both their eyes were wide, fixed on Atton as he strolled into the hangar bay. He fit in perfectly, sporting that stupid ribbed jacket he was so fond of and a blaster strapped to each leg, one of which was his disguised lightsaber.

The slavers spotted him almost immediately and drew their weapons. Atton raised two placating hands while the Weequay snarled something at him. They couldn't catch either the threat or Atton's reply, but whatever he said caused them to relax slightly. Except for the two Trandoshans. Their guns stayed on Atton as he stepped closer and began conversing with the Weequay and the human. The Aqualish shrugged and returned to inspecting grenades.

Mira strained her ears but couldn't pick out any individual words. Her electro-goggles didn't have auditory sensors. Bastila was appearing equally frustrated. After a minute, the Weequay shooed Atton as one would an unwanted salesperson. Atton shrugged in a suit-yourself reply and started to walk away, but after a few steps stopped and turned around with one palm extended. He said something that brought the Weequay hesitantly closer.

"What's in his hand?" Bastila asked in an urgent whisper.

"That dark side crystal," Mira answered, completely unsure where he was going with this but enthralled by the gambit. The man had such balls.

Atton lightly tossed the crystal to the Weequay. His leathery fist closed about it for a moment, before his expression turned to surprise and it slipped to the dirt. Atton's face was stone, clearly conveying his determination and demand to be taken seriously. He said something that might have been a command, or might've been a threat.

The Weequay answered with his gun.

Atton was in the air and landing on the upper rim of the docking bay before the human or the Aqualish had their guns drawn again. The Trandoshans, however, had been ready. Stone shattered beneath his boots as their carbines tracked his sprint along the rim of the circular wall.

"Does this mean they're the ones?" Bastila shouted over the din of the firefight. A wave of her hand sent the two Trandoshans flying as the women left cover and raced into the fray.

"Probably Atton just pissed them off!" Mira picked off the human with her blaster, determined not to reveal their identities by drawing her lightsaber.

The Weequay had barely registered their presence before Bastila was driving a boot into his chest; the kick sent him flying into one of their open crates. Mira finished him with a bolt through the chest. Atton was leaping from the rim onto the freighter as the Aqualish tumbled onto the rising boarding ramp. It was sealed tight a second later.

Loud whirring announced a new threat as two auto-cannons popped from the ship's underside and swiveled to face them. Mira dove behind the crates just as a hail of blaster fire peppered around her. Bastila, unfortunately, reacted on Jedi instinct. Both blades of her lightsaber snapped to life and her hands spun them furiously to bat aside the blaster fire.

The rate of fire from the auto-cannons was furious, however, and she would not be able to hold for long. Mira poked her head up to open fire on the guns, but her heavy pistol had no effect other than to draw attention. She ducked back down as one of them swiveled to unload on her again. She looked around for other ideas because her crate protection was quickly being turned to slag.

With only one gun turned on her, Bastila was now easily standing her ground. Objects near her started lifting themselves from the ground and hurtling through the air to smash against the turret.

A gritty hurricane suddenly erupted in the docking bay as the ship's repulsor engines kicked in and it began to rise. Bastila's improvised missiles pummeled the one cannon out of operation, but as the other gained altitude it had a clear shot over Mira's smoking shelter. At the same time, the pair of Trandoshans had recovered and were advancing on her with vibroswords.

Bastila leaped in between Mira's crate and the ship, deflecting the turret's fire and trusting the other woman to handle two lizard men. She lit her purple blade and easily parried and evaded their powerful but slow attacks. The petite Jedi danced between the two much larger foes, bringing them further from the Grandmaster and closer to an unmoving binary load lifter. She let them drive her back against it, while she only landed glancing blows that barely pierced their thick Trandoshan skin.

The moment Mira was backed up against the hulking droid she ducked beneath its legs and sent it toppling over on the two slavers. She jumped back over the droid towards Bastila and hoped that famous Trandoshan durability would keep them alive for questioning.

Mira was just launching her first crate towards the remaining auto-cannon when the ship banked for the sky suddenly. Her missile went wide but the shooting stopped.

"Where's Atton?" Bastila asked as she lowered her blades.

Their answer was the figure of a man sliding down the side of the ship, hanging from a lightsaber that was buried up to the hilt in the hull, slicing a glowing trail downward with the pull of gravity. As the pitch of the ship increased, the blade slid out entirely and Atton was in freefall from thirty meters up.

Mira reached out with the Force and slowed his fall just enough for him to land with a velocity that properly expressed her irritation.

She ignored the exasperated look from Bastila.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded of him as the ship disappeared from view over the walls of the docking bay. Atton could only glare at her from the ground while he tried to return air to his lungs.

"I improvised-" he started to wheeze out, but was cut off by the roar of engines overhead. The ship had returned as suddenly as it left. It paused like a giant metal predator surveying the prey below, then banked into a tight orbit overhead. The slavers were bringing their underside cannons into a firing arc. They all readied their sabers for another onslaught of blaster fire, but when it came it sailed clear over their heads. Then the ship was gone, leaving two horribly annihilated Trandoshan bodies beneath the smoking wreckage of the binary load lifter.

"Dammit," Mira grumbled. Now they had no one to interrogate.

Bastila surveyed the mess of a docking bay, the smoking Trandoshan bodies, the wrecked hulk of a binary load lifter, and was completely at a loss for what to do next.

"Atton, do you think we can track that ship?"

"Not likely." He got back to his feet and was rubbing his hip. "They've probably already changed their ident codes. If we can break into the port authority computers we can find out what it was changed to, though."

Bastila nodded, but was reluctant to embrace an illegal act for that information. She turned to the bodies and summoned a wind to quell the fires. She had recovered a single data chit when there was a sudden roar overhead, followed seconds later by the distant sound of blaster fire.

"I think that was them!" Mira reported.

Bastila's comlink suddenly exploded in noise. "Master Shan! Atton! –"

"We need help –"

"– being attacked!"

"Mira! Master Sh– "

It was Goran and Varia, both shouting simultaneously into the comm.

"Where are you?" Bastila asked.

"We're in the ship!" Varia responded angrily as if it were the most obvious thing in the galaxy that they of course had perfectly obeyed her instructions.

In a flash, the three Jedi were exiting the docking bay and sprinting through the cramped streets of Hsskhor. The Force sped them along as they leaped over vendors' carts and dove across landspeeders, completely uncaring anymore for discretion. Overhead the slavers' ship was coming around for another pass. They heard the thud-crack of laser cannons impacting against stone; as they got closer, there was also the din of screaming crowds running for shelter.

They rounded a corner to enter their docking area, which happened to be near the center of the merchant district. Trandoshans and other species were running in every direction as the slaver's ship made another pass. Rock was sent flying into the street and crumbling back into the hangar, where they could hear resounding clangs as it hit their own ship's hull.

Atton skidded to a sudden halt as he recognized a face in the crowd outside their hangar bay. In a second he had the man by the collar and the muzzle of his blaster against the man's throat.

"Did you tip them off?!" he snarled. Fear filled the man's eyes.

"Atton, what is going on?" Bastila demanded behind him. Mira continued her sprint into the hangar, pulling out a remote as she went. The ramp was down moments before her boots pounded up it and towards the cockpit. She blasted past Varia and Goran, ignoring their shouted and frightened questions, and crashed into the copilot's seat to begin cycling the engines.

Outside, Atton answered Bastila without taking his deadly gaze away from the man. "This is Mercil, the friendly chap that gave us the ident for that ship. What a coincidence to find him here."

"Please, no! I didn't tell them anything!"

Bastila's eyes narrowed. "He's lying."

"Damn right he is," Atton agreed. He threw Mercil to the ground but kept his blaster trained on him while tossing a small pouch back to the Grandmaster. "But he's agreed to a full refund for our trouble." They spun and raced into the hanger, leaving the bewildered and terrified merchant lying in the street.

Atton sprinted into the ship, slammed himself into the pilot's seat, told the kids to shut up, powered on the shields, and diverted non-essentials into the engine drive cores – Bao-dur had specifically designed them to convert additional power into a faster warm-up cycle.

Bastila was still at the top of the boarding ramp, vigilant for any ground assault. Who knew what allies the slavers had in the city? Mercil couldn't be the only one. A descending cloud of vaporized stone momentarily obscured her view as laser blasts continued to pound the docking bay walls. Thankfully the bay was too deep for the slavers to get a clear shot without climbing much higher, probably into range of whatever ground cannons the local government possessed. The cloud was just clearing as the deck shifted beneath her and the ramp started to ascend automatically.

"Master, are there slavers attacking us?"

Bastila started, unaware that Varia had come up behind her.

"Yes, Varia. Now buckle in!" She grabbed the girl's hand and dragged her toward the cockpit. Goran was already there, clipped into the integrated harness of one of the four passenger seats. Through the viewport, Bastila saw only sky. Atton was taking them towards space as quickly as possible. The Jedi Academy's shuttles were long-range, lightly armed but heavily shielded and fast. Very fast. Their best chance of evasion was in orbit.

"Do a microjump as soon as you can," Bastila told the two pilots. "Keep them within our sensor range." That was the other thing their shuttle had going for it – Bao-dur's remarkable sensor defeating technologies. They would be able to follow the slavers without being seen themselves.

"No can do," Atton shot back through gritted teeth. He threw the ship into a roll as laser fire flashed past. Blue sky was rapidly fading to inky blackness. "Hyperdrive regulator took a hit; if we start the motivator we're toast."

"Stones did that?"

"Did you see the size of the dents?" Mira replied while Atton banked into another tight maneuver. Bastila and the two apprentices were thrown against their harnesses.

"Counter-measures!" Atton shouted all of a sudden, a second before lights starting to strobe on one of the consoles and a piercing beep filled the air. Mira triggered chaff release while Atton cut the engines momentarily and fired reverse thrusters, allowing the shuttle to execute a turn that would've been impossible at straight-line velocities.

Bastila felt rather than saw the spikes of danger in her senses as they sailed past, arced around to track the shuttle on its new heading, and were shredded in the cloud of deflective shrapnel.

"Kashyyyk then!" she ordered as their larger predicament caught up to her again. Even with laser blasts flashing past and alarms wailing, she noticed Mira's disposition immediately turn darker. Curious.

"Dump everything to engines," Atton ordered the redhead next to him. "We can outrun 'em."

"And what about missiles?" she replied darkly. "We only have one more canister of chaff."

Atton just shrugged. "I haven't won at any pazaak lately, so I figure the Force owes me one." He looked over at Bastila. "Who do we get landing clearance from?"

"Once we're close enough for a narrowband transmission, I'll make a call," she answered vaguely.

"Alright, that'll be a few minutes."

The cockpit descended into an extremely tense silence, even the children remaining quiet. Goran was still as a terrified stone while Varia was nervously twisting her restraint straps. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the cockpit were electronics and the strong thrum of the engines.

"Um, Atton?" Mira queried, her words dully tearing the silence like a butter knife through wet flimsiplast.

"I see it, I see it," he replied.

"See what?" Bastila asked, hating that she wasn't in the copilot's seat.

"That freighter is gaining," Mira reported. "They were falling behind, but they just started picking up more speed." She studied her instruments. "Weapons range again in less than five minutes."

"Do your friends on Kashyyyk have fighters?"

"Let us hope so." Bastila unstrapped herself and strode over to the communications panel, punching in a frequency and routing code that she had carefully memorized before leaving Naboo. She prayed it worked, because she had never tried using it before, and right now their lives depended on it.

"This is shuttle Phi-7749, transmitting in the clear! We are under attack, five persons on board, request immediate assistance! Coordinates are five-eight mark four-four mark oh-three. This is Kinrath Pup, Zaalbarr do you read?"

Aeryn had never been to Kashyyyk. She hadn't even known it existed until recently. Five years ago she had met her first Wookiee. He had been a psychopath, bent on murdering the woman he had pledged a life debt to, a young woman that had quickly become her friend. And though she had known Hanharr to be a rare, unfortunate exception to Wookiee nature, and though they were generally known for intelligence and integrity (and terrifying strength), she had still been somewhat apprehensive about coming here.

But this place was so alive.

Despite the savagery present, life moved in such a constant, reliable, persistent cycle that the world practically pulsed happily in her senses. It saturated her cells with awareness and energy; not a calm energy, but certainly a rejuvenating one.

And then there were the trees. They had no role in the bestial predator-prey loop, but instead upheld all life, both predators and prey as if stewarding them through their time in the world. And the Wookiees lived in them! Their entire cities were built into the trees and it was such an obvious, conscious, literal and spiritual metaphor for their symbiosis with the planet that it made her giddy.

Rwookrrorro fascinated her; every home, every walkway, even the basket systems that passed for lifts and the massive branch stumps that functioned as landing pads were built into or out of the trees. Yet behind every rough-hewn wooden door, all the technologies of a sophisticated space-faring civilization were present. They even had a new starship manufacturing facility.

And yet they used oils from the wroshyr trees to light beautifully glowing, gently flickering incandescent lamps.

Aeryn loved this place. So it was with reluctance that she was pulled from her aimless meanderings through the villages to join Revan and Zaalbar in their planning meetings with the planet's other chieftains. She didn't understand Shyriiwook hardly at all, though she was learning quickly, so HK joined her as translator, a duty for which he was less than excited.

"No, I do not want to use your warriors against Sith." Revan was justifying his strategies to the skeptical clan leaders. Though he had been pivotal in driving Czerka from Kashyyyk and had fought alongside the warriors of Rwookrrorro, to most he was just a name that they struggled to reconcile with the generic face of one of the hated outsiders. "The raw strength of your people, their ingenuity and quickness of learning will make them dangerous foes against the other invaders. No Republic units will be able to match that. But the Republic units have fought Sith before."

You would have Wookiees fight and die against the more dangerous enemy, to save outsider lives! a silver-furred chieftain barked.

"Their troops are more dangerous, yes, but there are far fewer of them. The Sith army numbers in tens of millions; the aliens in less than a million. And you will have Jedi with you."

You do not speak for the Jedi another chieftain countered calmly, this one with cinnamon fur and a necklace of some animal's teeth hanging about him. Even we know that.

"They will join. When the invasion begins, they will see that they have no choice. This is not the war that shadows the coming of the greater war, like the Mandalorian and Civil Wars. This is the greater war."

I believe we will be left standing alone, the silver one said contemptuously.

"I will join you," Revan said sternly. "If you will not trust in the Jedi or the Republic, then trust me, who drove Czerka from this place alongside you. We are brother-warriors."

Something about the moment reminded Aeryn of her brother's pledge to protect Duro, a promise he had made to the planet's senator and leaders shortly before the Mandalorian's coreward advance had been halted above their world. He had indeed stood with them, but their planet and its orbital colonies had been utterly devastated during the Mandalorian retreat. Millions had died.

It had been the final death of their naiveté and innocence. None of them had been the same after that. Not her, not Malak, certainly not Revan. His tactics had gotten much bloodier after that, his restraint gone.

I stand with you, Revan, Zaalbar pledged again. The warriors of Rwookrrorro stand with you. Bacca's Blade will join you in battle. Aeryn recognized the reference to the enormous weapon strapped across Zaalbar's back, and the young chieftain's characteristically indirect, modest way of reminding his older peers that he alone wielded the mystical blade.

One by the one the skeptics nodded their assent.

"Thank you," Revan said. "Now we must discuss how to position your forces." The group moved to circle a large wooden table, the top of which was inlaid with a beautiful carved map of the galaxy. Different colors and grains of wood noted trade routes, hyperlanes and sector boundaries. It was far more comprehensive than the Wookiee's own very short history of exploration could have allowed. And it amazed her that it had been crafted by such giant hands.

They hadn't been debating strategy for long when Aeryn realized that her brother had been conspicuously quiet for several minutes. She turned to look at him discreetly while Zaalbar was speaking. His eyes were only slits.

She saw rather than heard him breathe the name quietly, carefully.

"Bastila."

There was a long moment while too many emotions to count flitted across her brother's face. Then he jolted back to reality, his eyes open, alert, deadly. "Aeryn!" he said loudly, forgetting that she had been standing right next to him. "Bastila is close, and in danger."

"Are you sure? How close?"

Zaalbar was staring at them now, waiting for more information. "Dunno, in this system somewhere at least." He shrugged, but the gesture failed to hide his anxiety.

The hut's wooden door was violently thrown open as a young-looking Wookiee stormed in. Chieftain! We are receiving an offworlder's distress call from someone who claims to know you. They call themselves Kinrath Pup.

Aeryn's doubts were whisked away in the blur of Revan and Zaalbarr tearing out the door and down the walkway towards the communications hut.

"Chaff!" Atton barked as he twisted their shuttle into another gut-wrenching roll.

"All gone!" Mira reported.

Well damn.

Laser fire streaked just past the viewport, rocking the ship violently. They were almost out of thruster fuel, owing to his milking the small jets for every gram of maneuverability. He grabbed a quick glance over his shoulder at their fearless leader. Only luck would save them from the trio of concussion missiles streaking towards them at this instant.

Luck, or maybe the Force.

Bastila's eyes were closed, her shoulders relaxed. She was the eye of the hurricane, a center of calm amidst the warning klaxons, straining engines, roiling near-miss explosions, and panicking children.

"Atton put us on a direct vector to the planet and hold it," she commanded, her voice like quiet, smooth steel.

The command was stupid enough for their circumstances that she had to have a plan. "Yes ma'am," he acknowledged. Mira dumped everything – sensors, life support, even shields – into the engines. Shields weren't going to save them from three missiles anyway, and the extra speed quickly took them outside the reach of the slavers' guns.

And it bought Bastila more time.

The missiles were completing the arcs that would put them directly onto the shuttle's six o'clock. Once that happened, they would catch up quickly. And those arcs were complete… now.

"Eight seconds," Mira notified Atton under her breath, not wanting to disrupt Bastila or frighten the kids further. He just nodded and wondered at what point he should resume his own maneuvers.

Six seconds. Five seconds. Four.

There was a sudden flash on the aft scanners. The missiles had somehow collided with each other.

"Going evasive," Atton announced, not waiting for another command from Bastila. They couldn't risk even seconds more of diverting so much power into the engines, lest they find themselves adrift. Unfortunately, that meant that the slavers were going to close again quickly.

And it was only a few breathes before laser fire was showering around them again. "Any word from the planet?" Mira asked.

"Not yet," Bastila replied; the slightest tinge of concern edged her calm tone. "Keep working toward those coordinates I gave you."

Suddenly the comms panel chimed and Bastila slapped it on. "This is Kinrath Pup!" The urgency in her tone only barely concealed the embarrassment she felt about that stupid call sign, and Atton wondered what the hell that was about.

Something roared over the speakers, then abruptly cut off. He guessed it had to be Wookiee. "What was that?"

"I think he said standby," Mira answered. "Bastila, do you know…" she trailed off as she twisted in her seat to face the Grandmaster. The woman was back in her own seat, harness hanging loosely, a look of utter shock on her face. It scared Mira. Varia and Goran were also closely watching her, and looking freaked out.

"Bastila, what did they say?" The master looked up, still dazed. "You know some Wookiee, right?"

She nodded. "Standby," Bastila confirmed. "All they said was standby."

"Everything okay?"

"Yes. I just felt… it's nothing."

She saw Mira, her apprentice and the young boy all giving her worried looks. She quickly buckled herself back in.

"Standby for what?" Atton asked, completely missing the nonverbal confusion behind him.

Mira spun back to face out the viewport. "Maybe that?" She pointed to a corvette-sized ship that had just appeared in the upper left corner of their view. It was headed right for them and closing at a rapid pace.

"Ignore them," Bastila ordered from behind, her voice once again steady and confident. "Stay on course."

Atton wasn't nearly as confident in ignoring this new ship. It vomited a heavy barrage of red laser fire right towards them –

– and soared past to shatter the shields of their pursuer. The corvette banked around as their shuttle sailed past, screening them with a wall of hurtling bolts that forced the slavers to break off pursuit. Volleys were still impacting against the freighter's armor as their protectors swung around to follow them down into Kashyyyk's atmosphere.

Atton relaxed as they entered the cloud layer, and turned his focus to landing them safely on damaged wings. Mira, on the other hand, was getting tenser as their altitude ticked away.

"Varia, Goran, you should get up and see the view," Bastila encouraged as she unstrapped herself and moved forward to admire the archipelagic vista. Even at several kilometers up it was obvious that the size of the vegetation was remarkable. As the children stood and shuffled forward, she stepped aside to give them the better view, then quietly left the cockpit altogether.

Bastila had keyed the boarding ramp even before their shuttle was down on all landing struts. Her mind was humming frantically and she had to see; she had to see for herself. Anticipation, dread, anxiousness all pounded through her veins. She felt herself crumble and recompose a dozen times while the ramp descended.

She placed one boot on the ramp, then another, then strode down the ramp with all the control she could muster. On this landing platform that had been formed from the massive branch of a tree, one lone figure stood, different than she remembered him, and exactly the same.

"Revan."

He smiled widely.

"Bastila."

Author notes:

Ahhhhh! It's happening!

Adjust your expectations downward. Revan and Bastila have been separated with no communication for a decade. They have so much shit to work through. Fortunately, I am a kind and benevolent author and will in no way use plot! to interfere with their opportunity to do that work.
FALSE. There's a war coming, people!
They do get their happily ever after. It's not coming anytime soon.

Atton and Aeryn, on the other hand... well, we're gonna earn that rating next chapter.