It was different the first time she came here. She was small then, young—young eyes, young mind, young heart. Everything ahead of her. The future like light beaming from a prism, all colors and all spaces lit in a brilliant starburst, joyful and free and beautiful. She could have been anything then. Become anyone. Now Ahsoka looks down at her robotic left hand and the mechanical legs slipped underneath her pilot's seat to know just how quickly those days ended. What a tiny moment, a quick slip in the timestream, before the period behind her grew exponentially and the ones ahead shrunk as if pulled into a funnel. Cold reality for a cold world. Master Skywalker did not send her to Ilum to find out who she could become. He sent her here to understand who she now is.

Stark white orb of a planet hanging in the starlit space; pale on black. The Force swirls on Ilum like on no other world. She should want to come here, to regroup, gather her thoughts and connect with her feelings in the wake of what Grievous did to her above Ziost. Shed all those days in the Healing Ward and put rehabilitation behind her. But there is a haunting in her gut, a trepidation that only grows as her humble Republic courier approaches the world. What waits below?

Rex notices her feelings, if only for her silence. "Commander?"

"It's quiet," she murmurs, more to herself than to him. She knows now why Anakin told her to bring Rex along. It wasn't for company, nor to keep him busy—he was there when Grievous took her old life away from her with one savage attack. He is both part of that obstacle and part of overcoming it. No one can get over such a brutal transformation alone.

"It's a Jedi world. Imagine it's usually quiet," Rex says. "Not the kind of place you hear much about. Not on any star charts or in any records."

"It's sacred to the Jedi. Masters long ago erased most records of it. I doubt it's forbidden to come here for people outside the Order, but why bother? It's just snow and ice and wind," says Ahsoka. Just how many people know of Ilum's existence outside of the Order she cannot say, but clearly some know, given the information provided by that clone commando, Falco, concerning unusual signals coming from the world.

But she has to put such things aside for now. Let Rex keep his eyes open for strange activity. She is here for her lightsaber and her feelings—finding one, listening to the other. Master Kenobi's words floating through the waves of her thoughts: Don't let worries about what may happen distract you from what's going on all around you.

Breathe. No matter what you'll face, it will only hurt you if you let it.

She pilots through the cloud-strewn atmosphere on instinct, weaving through the wind and whipping snowfall with ease. She knows where to go. There: Sheer ice wall rising like a fortification of yore, the first defense of the wonders within. Glaciers carpeted by snow sprawling forth in great white plains. Ahsoka noses the ship towards a landing spot beneath a natural ice bridge, settling down in a patch of terrain free from the blizzard conditions pelting down. It's not a whiteout thankfully, but the snow is bad enough that she's glad to have a landing zone this close to the ice wall. Walking too far out there in these conditions is a recipe for disaster.

"I'll sync my tracking beacon to the ship. Based on General Skywalker's briefing, I'm going to have a look around. Make sure we're alone," Rex says.

Ahsoka stands—too quickly. Her leg gives out and she braces on her seat, closing her eyes at the spark of frustration lighting in her chest. Patience. You don't have to rush. Feel the Force around you. Take this at your own pace. "Got it."

Rex looks on, but all he says is, "Call me if you need me, Commander."

She looks to him, and for the briefest of moments is transported back to the Invisible Hand. Wreckage of blasted battle droids. Emergency lighting near the engine core. Turbolaser fire rattling the hull with a war drum cadence. Rex leveling his blaster pistols.

Green lightsaber, blue. Cruel cybernetic arms. Vicious yellow eyes. Cough. Laugh. A geyser of flame. Two more for the collection.

Shaking her head, she pushes aside the memory. "I will, Rex," she says as she steadies herself and wraps her winter cloak about her shoulders. "Don't get lost out there in the snow."

The arctic wind batters her face as she steps out of the ship and into the storm. Before her rises the ice wall, monolithic, foreboding. Stone-faced monument within which hides the core of every Jedi's weapon, from the most ancient warriors of the Order's history to the most recent of Padawans. The Crystal Cave. How many kyber crystals lie within those icy tunnels? Millions? Each attuned to the Force, each with their own calling, each finding their own way to one Jedi, one lightsaber. Until a warrior too strong comes along and with one savage assault strips away that birthright and claims it as his own. Two more for the collection.

She shudders, and not just from the cold. How many has Grievous killed with her lightsabers in the scant few weeks it's been since the battle?

Pushing through the storm, she narrows her eyes and pulls her hood tight to ward off the pelting snow. It takes her a solid fifteen minutes to hike the short distance from the ship to the crack in the ice wall she knows well, this familiar passage from the brutal outside to the serene interior. As she steps forward to slip within, she hears a buzz, like an insect flying too close to her ear, a bee taking notice of her. She looks around. Nothing. She is alone. Alone save for the Force all around her.

If there is one good thing she can say about all the metal and electronics that now stand in for her lower body, it is that her legs do not get cold. Lights and clockwork and sparking wire: Her new limbs do not tire, do not waver. Perhaps she still is getting used to the prosthetics, perhaps they do not work quite how she wants, but they are not without their own uses. A shift in her feelings, a brush in her heart. There. Reframe the situation. See what you have lost and visualize instead what you have gained. What you now have. Obi-Wan's words again: Don't lose sight of what is here and now.

Here, now: Her. She enters a roomy ice cave. Above swings a giant kyber crystal on a metal cord, what Master Yoda would use during the Gathering to focus light and melt a hole in the great wall of ice before her that blocks off the way into the caves where she'll search for her next lightsaber crystal. She does not have the luxury of light in the midst of the blizzard, but she does have herself. She has the Force. No matter what part of her is metal and artificial and what part of the old Ahsoka remains, she is still a Jedi.

She touches the ice wall and closes her eyes. Concentrate. Feel the Force around you. And then, with focus, with determination, she shatters a hole in the wall of ice.

Beyond lies still air and darkness. Subterranean depths, frozen, wild. And when she peers in, she sees more.

Yellow eyes of a cyborg monster glowering in her mind. Rex's shout. Lightsaber stabbing at her outstretched hand. Too late, Skywalker.

She closes her eyes. The past cannot hurt me now. But she knows that as she goes forward it will certainly try.

Then let it try. She will withstand the javelins of her feelings and memories.

Forward. Forward.

Days of emptiness. Days of loneliness. Days only to dwell in her regrets and sink into the mire of her heart.

The worst thing about the past, Sae thinks, is the way it warps and twists as time goes by. She thinks back to what was and the memories lose clarity. Faces blur. Voices echo in horrible choruses. Laughter like grating metal. She tries to think of Master Gallia, of Tamri, and recoils as their eyes blend and their hair mixes. Tamri with Master Gallia's knowing smile. Master Gallia with touches of blonde in her hair. Stop, stop. But she cannot reverse time, cannot make things as they were, and with each passing day, with the void growing larger and larger, the picture blurs ever more.

Sae doesn't even think about igniting her lightsaber and ramming it into her skull to stop the pain. Not anymore, not like she used to as a Jedi. The darkness has seeped so far inside, penetrated her feelings so entirely, that she imagines all that will do is throw her into a hell of the Force like a night without end, where nightmares of Padawan and Master and time will torture her until the last stars wink out. The truth of this world, she thinks, is that there is no escape from the pain. That was what she did not understand before. Only the gleaming-steel harshness of the Dark Side has shown her the truth—that death is not the end. This life is a nightmare, and death is just another terrible dream to come.

There is no escape.

Dooku is right, then. If this eternal tribulation will never let her go, then the only thing left to do is rage at it. The Jedi would tell her to accept life as it is, even embrace it, but nothing this monstrous should ever be accepted, let alone embraced. Kill it, not herself. Crush every last ounce and snuff out every last ember until the pain inside is indistinguishable from the outer darkness.

The funniest thing happens in these lonely days in the Sith base on Ziost, what with Dooku so scarce and Malicos now off to issue the Hutts a reprisal for their attack on Bimmisaari. Sae thinks she is alone. But when she reaches out in the Force, when she feels the Dark Side swirling all around her on this torn, battered planet and makes it a part of herself, she finds what she never expected: A kindred soul.

It begins in the dungeon when she deactivates the energy gate blocking off Pella Starseer's cell. Inside the withered girl curls up in a corner, freed from her shackles but watching Sae with prey-animal eyes. Sae stands at the gate and looks on, without talking, without moving. She can feel everything turning and burning within the girl. She was too angry at Pella's ambushing of her the first time they met to hear it, but now, alone and tormented by that torturer of her own making, she silences her bitterness for just a moment and listens.

It's not anger that curdles inside Pella, is it? Not entirely. There is anger, of course—a slow-burning anger like a candle flame struggling to flare at the end of the wick, soft, dim, the fire clinging to life just above pooled wax knowing that it has so little time left. But that anger is not born from nothing. There is so much more inside her, so much deeper. Something so familiar. Pain. Pella is hurting.

Sae walks away, leaving the energy gate open. She will watch and listen. See just who this captive Padawan is.

She does not even make it to the end of the dungeon hallway before she feels someone staring. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees small green eyes peering with suspicion from behind the rock wall of the cell. Sae does not react, does not turn. Instead she moves on and heads to the base's lounge. Empty chairs and barren tables. Deserted rec room. Nothing to do here but stew and smolder, but Sae settles down on a couch, stares at the wall, and waits. The Dark Side is all around, a maelstrom of the Force like the great cyclone spinning overhead in the skies above the Celestial's pyramid. Lose yourself in the Force and wait.

Tiny pitter-patter of feet. Again she feels eyes watching her.

At least she speaks: "There's nowhere to go. Just snow outside. Dooku left for Raxus. Malicos left for who knows where. Just me."

No reply. She did not expect one. Who is she even talking to now? Pella? Ghosts? "They all just let us go, huh?" Sae blurts out into the vacuum. She feels Pella's feelings stir, but she does not turn to look her in the eye. "Maybe they were never there. No one from the beginning, and that's how we end up here. So few people ever cared, and the ones who did just go away in the end."

She stares at her hands. Calluses. Wear and tear from a life in the Jedi Order. "It's not right," she murmurs. "You play by the rules, and you get stabbed in the back all the same. You do what you're told, only to find out that that's how you end up hurting the most. And when you're at your lowest, all they can say is to suck it up and deal. It's so damn unfair. Heartless. Never should've listened to start with. But when you're in this deep, when everything's up and abandoned you, what else is there to do but scream?"

Finally she looks back. Pella is still there. Still cautious, wary. But still watching. Still listening.

Rolling green hills. Soft spring skies about a motherly sun. Farmhouses like islands amid the long grasses of the plains. Padme sums up Dantooine's visage succinctly: "It's like Naboo," she says as Anakin pilots the ship into the spaceport at Garang, the world's modest capital city. Not even a single skyscraper in sight. Rural, pastoral, unblemished. Such a rare beauty. "If the sky was a little bluer, a few more puffy clouds, a waterfall here and there…it'd be just like the Lake Country." She smiles. Hills like shaak herds moseying off to the horizon. "The days off when I'd go there as a child with my mother. It was so peaceful. So serene."

"No unexpected battles taking place in orbit, then?" says Anakin.

She sighs. Great timing. "Not until I was queen, but you know how that went."

Anakin grins. "Good times."

"O-kay, laugh about it in hindsight."

"I will, thank you," he says as he activates the automated landing procedure and the Naboo courier settles down into its docking port. "As for Dantooine, however, I hope you've got a plan. I just volunteered to come along."

"Is that why you put on that chivalrous act before Obi-Wan and the other Jedi back on Coruscant?" says Padme. "If we're talking about things that make us laugh—"

"Yeah, yeah, ha-ha. I was trying to sound natural."

"Great job. And yes, I do have a plan," says Padme. She activates the piloting console's holographic projector as the ship settles down. A blurry blue projection of a round, three-story building whirs to life before them. "Governor Imran Matele runs domestic affairs on Dantooine from this ministerial manor, according to Republic records. He's also the man who nominated Senator Sandral to his position. If anyone's going to know both why Sandral turned corrupt and why there was just a skirmish happening in orbit, it's him."

Anakin looks skeptical. "Uh-huh. You know, for Dantooine's capital, this place looks oddly unfazed about the fact that Separatist warships were just in orbit. I mean, they have a bunch of defense turrets around the city's perimeter, but…well, that's its own kind of suspicious."

"How much do you know about Dantooine?"

"Just what's in the Jedi Archives, and then only half-so. There was a Jedi academy here thousands of years ago; got wrecked way back in the Jedi Civil War. Ancient history, that stuff. Supposedly there're caves with naturally-producing kyber crystals for lightsabers," says Anakin. Then he stops, looks away, and adds, "huh."

"Huh, what?"

"This whole business about kyber crystals, the Taths, Coruscant, corruption, everything that got started back on Empress Teta…you know, you set up something with the governor. I'm going to have a look around town, so long as we're planetside. Maybe a look outside of town, too."

Padme shakes her head. "Wait, hold on. I might need you for something."

"I'm not going to run off on you, relax. I said it back on Coruscant: Your safety is my highest priority."

She laughs. "Not this stuff again."

"You want me to be more specific?" says Anakin with a grin. He clears his throat and deepens his voice. "Senator Amidala, when a Jedi Knight is on assignment, our only concern is the safety and security of our charges, which, along with our mission—"

"Stop! Stop," Padme laughs. "Fine, fine, go prance about town. I'll set up a meeting with the governor. Just no more imitating Obi-Wan, or whoever that was supposed to be."

Anakin smiles. "Next time it'll be Master Yoda."

"No, no. Just no."

It takes two days, but Padme gets through the red tape—quite a lot for such a small capital city of a backwater farming world—to establish a sit-down with Governor Matele. As Anakin runs off into the countryside with his rented swoop bike—still playing at racing even as a grown man, Padme thinks with a smile—Padme takes R2 and C-3PO and heads for the squat, white-walled, organic-looking ministerial hall at the center of Garang. Not much to look at as far as capitols go, but it isn't as if this is Taris or Alsakan or some other bustling world home to billions. How many people even live in this town? Maybe eighty thousand, at best? Probably far less. It's the little farmsteads out in the oceans of grass and prairie that house Dantooine's rugged pioneers and homesteaders, the thousands and thousands nurturing swaying scarlet fields of taffa wheat and blooming seta barley and warding off roving packs of kath hounds. Simple, peaceful life. Truthfully, a lot like Naboo. None of the royal regalia and pageantry, but all of the peace and nature and warmth. Enough, at least, to make Padme miss home.

But home will have to wait. Dantooine comes not just with longing but with mystery, and she needs questions answered. It's not time to think about being a girl out in the Lake Country. It's time to be a senator.

For a planetary governor, Imran Matele is a simple-looking man. Close-cropped, curly black hair with encroaching hints of gray. Wide black eyes tugged on by crow's feet. Plain, if clean, tan robe lined with scarlet. His office is tidy, with parchment walls curving towards a floor-to-ceiling window behind his official desk that offers a breathtaking view of the grassy expanse washing towards the setting-sun west. A modest, squat blba tree stands sturdy in a pot beside the window, but otherwise the office is short on decoration. No gold, no jewels, no ostentatious artwork or gaudy designs. Humble. Hardy. "It's an honor to have your visit, Senator, even if unexpected," says the governor upon meeting Padme, the late afternoon sun bathing the office in a daffodil glow. "I must apologize if you were troubled by that nasty business that occurred in orbit two days ago. The Separatists have been testing our defenses for months. We throw them back time and again, but still they try."

"I'm aware of Dantooine's difficult position, given that most of the surrounding systems are Separatist territory," says Padme after the two settle down in private. "What actually troubles me is that the Senate is in no way aware of Dantooine's struggles regarding Separatist attacks. We do know of the major assault a year or so ago, but not of anything more frequent. Not of the kind I saw in orbit on approach."

"Yes, it's a frustrating affair. Always the Federation ships, but never enough to make landfall. It's as if they've been testing us ever since their failed invasion."

He's skirting her point, Padme thinks. She'll have to be more direct. "I'm only loosely acquainted with Dantooine's representative in the Senate, Senator Sandral," she says, "but as far as I am aware, he's never mentioned these attacks. He's never even brought up any aid requests in meetings formal or otherwise."

"The Republic has too many battles to concern itself with one Rim world," Matele says, coughing. "Senator Sandral is a good man. He knows the well-being of the Republic itself is of the utmost concern. How is he, if I might ask?"

Time to drop the bomb and set aside the pleasantries. "He's dead."

Matele is silent for a moment. He clasps his hands, looks down at his lap, and murmurs. "I see. That pains me. If I might ask, what happened?"

"He was involved in a corruption ring, a racket that the Jedi Order had tracked through connections in both Hutt Space and Separatist territory," says Padme. She leans forward as Matele leans back. "The Jedi presented evidence to a select group of senators, myself included. The Senate Bureau of Intelligence also had evidence on his dealings. You appointed him to office. You know the man. I want to know why he would have done some thing like this. Why Senator Sandral would have turned his back on the Republic."

Matele shakes his head. "In truth, Senator Amidala, I knew him, but I don't know him now. On Coruscant, he was half a galaxy away. As a younger man he was honest, steadfast in his defense of his family, his community, and his world. He was committed to protecting Dantooine in the larger Republic. I don't know where corruption would have fit in with that."

Padme could play this sympathetically, act as a compassionate ear and an understand politician—but she can sense that Matele is holding back. Secrets between the words. "Well, specifically, there is more," she says. "The Jedi report that when he was caught by them—right before an assassin, one of his own bodyguards, killed him to silence him—he claimed that, and I quote, 'I'm doing it all for Dantooine.' Almost as if he was acting in concert with planetary sources. Which is funny, when thinking of something else: There was quite a military presence in orbit. Frigates, cruisers. A star destroyer. I don't recall any Republic naval forces being directed out here, especially since we in the Senate don't have any word of Dantooine's troubles regarding Separatist attacks."

"It's Sector Fleet, not Republic Navy. Their forces."

"The Sector Fleets are part of the Republic Navy, Governor."

Matele frowns. "Yet the main fleet and the Sector Fleets answer to different sources, ultimately. I'm sure you're aware of Chancellor Palpatine's disappearance and the circumstances that have occurred in the wake of that."

"Too aware. What of it?"

"Grand Admiral Wilhuff Tarkin has ultimate command of the Sector Fleets now. Jedi commanding jurisdiction extends only to formal naval fleets. As far as I know, Grand Admiral Tarkin is in no way obligated to report on Sector Fleet movements to any authority beyond Vice Chair Amedda, in his role as acting chancellor."

As far as acting goes, this man isn't any good at it. Where, Padme thinks, did he learn that much about how the Republic naval fleets operate? From Dantooine's public information terminals? Idle scrolling through the Holonet? But that little suspicion she will keep to herself—for now. Far more interesting is the idea cropping up in her head that the Senate has no idea just what the Sector Fleets are doing. Tarkin has taken to his new role with ambition, considering his grand attack up the Rimma Trade Route towards Sullust, but just how much authority has the grand admiral gobbled up? And why isn't anyone telling the Senate? "And that ring of defensive turrets positioned around town…is that paid for by the Sector Fleets, as well?"

"Senator, you must understand," Matele says was a sigh. "This isn't the Core. This is the Outer Rim. We are surrounded on all sides by the Separatists, and help is too far away to save us if Count Dooku and his droid armies commit to a real invasion. We take aid where we can get it, when we can get it, how we can get it. We have no choice."

"I'm from Naboo, Governor. Mid Rim. We play by the Republic's rules on Naboo, and that includes cooperating in war efforts."

"Naboo is Chancellor Palpatine's homeworld."

"Are you accusing us of nepotism?"

"I'm saying, Senator, that Naboo has a much higher profile that Dantooine. We—we have been graciously afforded the defenses necessary to ward off all but the most determined Separatist attacks, and that is not something we can pass up. Would you shrug and continue to abide by procedure if Naboo was under attack? Would you simply consent to your world's occupation?" says Matele, his intent clear. "The truth is that the Republic overlooks worlds like Dantooine. The Senate does as well. We cannot rely on Coruscant this far out on the Rim, not even during peacetime, but especially not during a war like this. I have no idea just what Senator Sandral was doing, but as for us here on Dantooine, we do not pass up the Sector Fleets' offer of assistance when it comes. If that means Grand Admiral Tarkin and his fleets will protect us rather than some proclamation by the Senate, so be it."

Padme frowns. It's a low blow connecting Dantooine's situation with the Trade Federation attack on Naboo all those years ago, but not an irrelevant one. Still, despite his logic, she has the sense that he's holding back. He is remarkably quick to shove aside talk about Senator Sandral and to pin blame on the Republic for Dantooine's situation. Almost as if, by going on the attack and forcing her to defend the Republic's position, he needn't justify his own situation.

No, this isn't over that quickly. He's still holding back, and she's going to find out just what he's hiding—and soon. After all, time is short—not just regarding the state of the war, but also with the state of the Senate. It won't be long before the crisis regarding Palpatine's absence comes to a head, and Padme in no way wants to leave the Senate's fate to Mas Amedda. Otherwise, it might not just be the Sector Fleets answering to men like Tarkin before long. She needs to know just what is going on in the halls of power, and her instincts tell her that Senator Sandral—and Dantooine—are involved.

She will not miss this world—not after those harrowing days in Tath captivity—but Tamri can still admire the beautiful parts of Telos.

Snow-covered plains sprawling forth from a lively town. Frozen rivers coursing through the frosty landscape. Rugged winter trees resilient against the boreal conditions, needles and leaves speckling the black-and-white landscape with red and green and yellow. It's calm here, even so far north in the polar region; it's as of the native Telosians know little of the war and its frantically-shifting front lines, instead going about their lives in slow, meandering curves, time drifting like a lazy brook. Even here in the cargo train terminal sending supply convoys to the Tath research installation, among other destinations, the workers seem relaxed, cool. And for this being a Separatist world, it's nice not to see battle droids swarming about like on Belderone.

Not that there isn't any security.

"Halt. Security checkpoint," a red-robed, tired-eyed guard garbles as Tamri, Kesh, and Avea enter the cargo train terminal in the Telosian industrial town of Aes Abad. Small-town feel with a population of a modest city. The maglev train line running right through the middle of the downtown is the most notable landmark about the place, other than the natural polar beauty. Most importantly, according to Kesh, the quiet nature of the city makes it easy for the Taths to ship in all manner of specimens and goods—without anyone talking, and without all but the most clued-in workers even knowing where some of these supplies are going. "Need to check your ID."

That sleepy town atmosphere also makes it easy to infiltrate the train terminal. "Oh. It's right here. All three of us," Kesh tells the man, handing over an identity card.

Tamri doubts the sluggish guard has the slightest clue about the Taths, the war, or who she is. Even if he did, she doubts he'd care. This is backwater Separatist territory in the flesh—people going about their lives, day after day without a concern of Jedi and Sith and battle droids and clones and warfare. Just life being lived, no matter which line one finds themselves behind. "Yup. Checks out," the guard grunts as he runs Kesh's ID under a scanner. "Go on through. Have a good one."

"Remarkably stupid, most security people. Didn't even pick up our guns," Avea snorts after all three of them have passed into the quiet cargo terminal. Traffic is light: Outside of a few retail outlets, a collection of maintenance personnel, and a few cargo handlers whose chest badges identify them as Czerka Corporation employees, no one else is in the hub this early in the morning, just after sunrise. "Just let anyone in."

"It's a small town. The Taths keep things quiet for a reason, based on the stuff they ship in to the facility," says Kesh. "The last thing they want is to have to abide by a bunch of Separatist official codes and things."

If only these two didn't talk about that kind of thing in the open, Tamri thinks—although she supposes that Kesh is in as much danger, if not more, than she is. Probably more. At least the Taths would like to take her in alive; what is one more researcher, besides a loose mouth spilling secrets? No doubt Yurica Tath knows by now that the assassins she sent to the inn haven't reported back. She'll have her security ready for them.

That being said, Kesh's plan for breaking back into the Tath facility isn't half as stupid as it first sounded—at least once Tamri got her to explain it properly, rather than blabbering on as if it was the plot of a holonovel. Kesh and Tamri are known quantities for the Tath personnel, but Avea may as well be just another Echani. And given that the bulk of the Tath installation is staffed by Echani personnel, who better to run the distractions than the woman who will fit right in? A few faked security credentials—already set aside based on the two's earlier plan that Kesh had ruined by freeing Tamri—and bribes passed around the cargo terminal's loading bay personnel, and the steps towards actually getting in to the base are few. Once inside—that's when the real tricky part will come.

But Tamri knows from her Jedi outings in the galactic underworld with Sae that any plan can be foiled by even the slightest, humblest moving part. She is not letting her guard down. The attack at the inn has only made her warier. "Do you have your staff uniform?" she asks Avea. Convenient disguise. Easily-attainable, easy to blend in.

"Yes. Gods. Stop asking about everything," Avea grumbles. "It's going fine. Just relax."

"I am relaxed."

"You don't sound relaxed. Is this how your people always are? No wonder Jedi are always on the news."

"Can we talk about that kind of thing later?" says Kesh. "Train is supposed to arrive from the spaceport in five minutes. We have to be ready to get on then."

Avea nods. "Yeah, time to split up. I'll go to the restroom and get changed. You two get ready to make your move. See you on board."

"You sure this is going to be fine?" says Tamri as Avea leaves them. "Can you go over the plan again?"

"It's simple enough. Avea's scouted the station out. We can slip into the cargo passage that links from the terminal to the loading dock that leads directly to the train," says Kesh. "Based on the last cargo manifest that I copied before I broke you out, the third train car should have live cargo crates. We get into that—already prepared for that—and we'll get past the lifeform scanners at the base. That's it."

"You make it sound easy."

"It's not that bad, given that I worked there and know the ins and outs. It'll be the part inside the base that's a problem," says Kesh. "But we can work out any unforeseen obstacles once we get there, right?"

Yeah, thinks Tamri, right. Tremendous. She hopes this AI that Avea wants so badly is worth all this trouble. Once more she is tempted to ditch these two and run off to the nearest spaceport, buy passage back to Republic space—but she gave them her word. They're people in need, and that's exactly the kind of people Jedi are supposed to help. Doubly so given that Kesh saved her from captivity. She's in this, whether she's happy about it or not. One mission. Nothing too crazy. She's done dumber things with Sae. Heck, everything from Belderone to Mirial counts as a far, far dumber operation than this, given how they were running from planet to planet with no idea what would come next. In hindsight, it's stunning they ever even made it to Korriban and Ziost.

Ah, well. She'll laugh about it with Sae when she gets back to Coruscant. Sae'll be in a good mood for that sort of thing after reuniting. No grumpy air. No frustrated looks. Just the joy of coming together again, Master and Padawan. Not too long now.

It's lucky, Tamri thinks, that Kesh and Avea were planning out the AI heist for some time before she even entered the picture. Much of the operation's infrastructure is already in place: As soon as they reach the cargo passage, Kesh activates a handheld scanner masker that records the two of them as biological cargo, allowing them to ride the automated cargo mover all the way down the pitch-black tunnel to the train platform in peace. So far so good. When they reach the open-air platform, they drop down off of the mover and dip behind several stacked crates. Alongside the platform fumes the maglev train, a dirty, rust-spotted engine with a dozen cars hitched behind it in a long caravan. No more than twenty local personnel wave cargo onboard, not one looking their way. Light snowfall drifts down as the early-morning sun begins to burn away the topmost layers of fog, but there's more than enough cover to move about incognito. Tamri faced taller odds trying to sneak food out of the Jedi Temple cafeteria as a Youngling. "There's Avea," she whispers when they're behind cover.

"Seems to be doing her part," says Kesh. "Let's listen in before moving up."

Two terminal staff members speak with Avea, each looking only half-interested in the conversation. "We weren't informed ahead of time that any destination personnel would be riding with the train," says one of the staff. "Can I see your credentials again?"

"Look over in in triplicate for all I like," Avea snaps, acting in her role. "If you hold this damn train up, however, you can explain to my employer, because I'm blaming you. Clear?"

"Oh, great," Tamri sighs as she looks on. "Does she…y'know…play nice? Ever?"

"Not really," says Kesh. "You get used to it."

"I'll take your word for it."

The lead staff member shakes his head as he talks to Avea. "Look, I just don't like last-minute changes. I want to run the manifest by our listing again."

"Do it. Take as long as you want. Long as you don't hold me up," says Avea. "You want me to quote bylaws? I have your entire manual on that drive. Look it up. Go ahead. I'll get our legal department to sue you into poverty if you violate a single line."

"Miss, the attitude is not necessary—"

"Excuse me? You're going to tell me what's not necessary? I paid the terminal fees on my employer's behalf. I'm the one subsidizing your lazy ass while you fart around holding this shipment up. Is this what passes for local government on Telos? Gods, I hope someone bombs you into oblivion."

"You know, she's doing fine. Let's just get on," says Tamri.

Checking to make sure the terminal staff are occupied with loading cargo—and with arguing with Avea—Tamri slips from crate to crate as she inches her way up to the train. Old, ugly thing, but sturdy. It beats her speeder bike escape from the Tath base; at least this time she won't have snow falling on her the entire trip. She leaps onto the third train car without a sound, without notice. Kesh slips aboard behind her, calm despite her earlier enthusiasm about the plan. Not a born infiltrator, the Selkath researcher, but still she makes it work.

Kesh runs her scanner over the foremost cargo crate on the third rail car. She nods: "Marked for live cargo. This is our ticket."

"Open it up. Let's get in."

Once Kesh deactivates the lock and swings open the crate, however, Tamri's stomach drops. It's live cargo, all right—but not at all anything she wanted to see.

Inside is not a container of specimens nor a cage nor any other secure holding for anything alive. The live cargo is right there, snarling, snapping—and hungry for her. It's a black-furred, lanky, fanged canine with a whip-like tail that growls and huffs at Tamri the second she steps inside. Not just any dog: One from distant Myrkr, an uncivilized, wild, forested world strong in the Force. This beast itself is attuned to the Force, using the mystical energy field as a hunting aid to stalk prey. A vornskr. Fanged. Fast. A deadly predator. Especially to Jedi.

"Oh, blazes," Tamri says as the vornskr takes a step towards her.

"What is—whoa," Kesh says.

Tamri has no time to think up a strategy. The crate isn't large; the vornskr is almost on top of her, and its Force-sensitive instincts mark a Jedi like her as prime prey. She needs to use the Force against it. Focus. Concentrate. You have to do this. "Shh," she says, reaching out her hand and closing her eyes. Focus. Think of calm. Think of peace. Let your mind unspool and reach out your calm, touch this wild, angry animal. Bring it into your peace. "Shh, it's okay," she murmurs as she focuses. "It's okay."

"Tamri?" asks Kesh, a hint of panic in her voice.

No time to answer her now. Tamri focuses solely on the vornskr and on her feelings. Focus. Calm yourself and calm the animal. "Shh," she whispers again. "It's fine."

The vornskr takes another step towards her, growling. So close now. But then it steps. It cocks its canine head, saliva drooling from its fangs—and then steps back. It lies down, head on its paws, eyes watching Tamri, but no longer growling, the anger fleeing its half-closed eyes.

"Wow," breathes Kesh. "That's—that's—"

The Force, thinks Tamri. Maybe she isn't the strongest of Jedi, but she does not walk alone. The Force will be with you—always. How many times has she heard that? How much it comes it handy. "Don't pet it. Just let it be," says Tamri, still focusing, her hand out towards the vornskr as it snuffles and settles down. "It'll be fine."

"I'll take your word for it," says Kesh, shuttering the crate behind them.

In minutes the train rumbles to life and they are off, the first phase of their infiltration back into the Tath facility complete with only the now-slumbering vornskr as a hitch. Tamri breathes a sigh of relief. One step down. But the hardest yet to come: She has no idea what they are looking for, and security was tight enough before. What's waiting for them this time?

Nothing to do but wait and see. She relaxes, loosens her shoulders. Let your fears go. You've gotten this far. You've clashed with Count Dooku, set foot on Sith worlds. You can handle a crazy Arkanian woman and her security.

Or so she hopes. But it is too late to back down now. Sae—I'll be home soon. Wait for me.