Kix set Han up on his couch with a gel pack for his bruised cheek. "No broken ribs," he declared, "Nothing bad enough that I want to stuff you in a bacta tank, but I bet you're gonna feel nasty for a week or two. I've got some basic painkillers here, but none of the really good stuff."

"I'll manage," said Han. "Hey, thanks for getting me outta there."

"Never leave a soldier behind," said Kix. "Figured you were close enough. Can't say what'll happen when you report to muster, though, kid."

"Like I said, I'll manage. Could I, uh, rest here for a few minutes though?"

"The couch is all yours. Take all night if you need." The old trooper came to sit next to Mara in his kitchenette. The kitchen table was the cleanest spot in the dingy one room apartment. The floor and the bed were all strewn with stuff, as had been the couch. Kix of course had not been expecting company, but a doctorly care for hygiene had moved him to maintain the cleanliness of his eating space. This was fortunate, since the kitchen was also the best lit space in the room.

"What about you?" asked Kix, pulling up a chair. "Thought I saw you take some hits."

"Just bruises," said Mara, pulling back her sleeves to show him her forearms. Areas were starting to purple, but not too badly. "I'll be fine. Can't vouch for my circadian rhythms though."

Kix grunted and looked at the clock on his stovetop. It was ten after three in the morning. "Tell me where your head's at," he said softly.

"Is this a psych eval? Will it go in my file, doc?" She tried to put on a playful smile, but her face was too tired.

"C'mon, Commander, level with me: what's up? I need to hear what all you know and think about this and I 'spect you need to say it."

Mara looked at Kix, then canted over to peer at Han on the couch. He was stretched out on its length, the gel bag still pressed to his face and his chest rising and falling evenly. He had not bothered to remove his boots. Well, who would he even tell if he heard anything. Besides—

"What makes you think I know anything?"

"The General said Vos had consulted you on his case. And you've got a look in your eye what reminds me of Fives when he was trying to get into trouble."

Fives. Hadn't that been one of the names of the dead they had remembered tonight? For a brief moment, Mara pictured a face, the clone brothers' face, Kix's face, the same but assigned to some unknown of their number, and she pictured the body too, with a burning wound cored through his heart. Her stomach tightened with repulsion and fear

"You think this killing and Hurc's are connected then?" she asked as evenly as she could.

"Dunno," said Kix, "but there could be one obvious connection."

Mara tried to think back. "Vos was pretty tight-lipped about the details. He didn't mention a murder weapon in his notes. Is that odd?"

"Passing over how you got your eyes on General Vos's case files, no, not if the specifics are uncertain. Did he list cause of death, though?"

"Yes. Plasma burns and… do you know what MOF is?"

"Probably massive organ failure."

"OK. I assumed it was a blaster wound."

"A safe assumption, but it would be technically the same as a lightsaber wound, just, y'know, less severe. But fatal is fatal. Not much space for nuance beyond that on police records."

"Yes, but it would have been clear to the mortician. Vos would have known. Anyone who saw it would probably have known. If Vos knew it was a saber wound, why would he withhold that in his own notes?"

"Because you never write down your secrets, kid. You don't write them down; you don't say them over the radio. You maybe don't even tell your friends, face-to-face."

Mara frowned. "You're starting to sound like one of those conspiracy scuds, Kix. Besides, it's not a secret anymore, is it?"

"We'll get to that. Just tell me: was there anything else? Anything General Vos told you or said in his notes? We need to lay out all the pieces first."

"He thought maybe it could have been a botched burglary. He thought the scene was odd though. There was…" she trailed off. Kix was right. There were more pieces, and some of them were starting to look like they fit together. "Hurc pulled some pouch off of his attacker. The pouch was empty, total garbage, but he got it, so they must have come to grips which means—"

"Close range," Kix finished her thought. "So it could fit."

"Yeah." It was not proof but it was at least what Vos might call an actionable lead. But would Vos really have kept that from her? Would Anakin, if he knew?

Kix could see the gears turning in her mind. "Hey," he said gently, "hey, we're just supposing here."

"It fits, Kix. Something about Hurc's death was driving Vos up the wall. Like, like he felt implicated in it, somehow. It must have been this. The way those people reacted in the bar tonight, he saw it coming. He was scared."

"Maybe so. Just, if he kept it from you, I wouldn't take it personal."

"Vos is my friend," said Mara in barely more than a whisper. "It is personal."

"Vos is a Jedi," Kix reminded her. "So are you. And we're—well, we were soldiers. Sometimes, your friends aren't trying to hide things from you, pull the wool over your eyes; they're just trying to help keep you looking straight ahead."

But Mara had never been good at looking straight ahead. Rather, it was her nature to always be looking behind her. Before the Jedi, she had always been looking over her shoulder, watching out for anyone, refugees, gangsters, and even friends who might try to take her food or her kit. Among the Jedi, she was still the seer, one of those who beheld the threads of the past that bound up the present. She and Vos had always had that in common. That had been the instinct which he had tried to share with her, she realized, that whatever was coming was not approaching from ahead but from behind, out of the past. Yet he had still failed to tell her everything, which felt to Mara uncomfortably like a lack of faith in her.

He had said one thing, though, which she had not marked at the time but now began to resonate: We don't even have to register our lightsabers. Sorta crazy, really. She rubbed her temple. She was starting to develop a headache. "Could a Jedi have done this, Kix?"

"Maybe," Kix admitted. "Maybe someone else got a hold of one of your weapons. We're not there yet." She looked up at him. There was a calculating look in his eyes.

"Oh? Where are we, then?"

"Can't finger who til you know why."

"Why kill clones, you mean?"

"Clones, hmm. What if it wasn't just clones, though?"

Mara frowned. "You think there are other deaths than these two?"

"I mean, maybe but no. I mean what if it's not about the clones. What if it was about Hurc?"

"If you have a notion, please share with the class."

"He…" Kix looked suddenly choked with emotion as Mara had never seen him before. It was disquieting, even considering that she had seen the identical expression on the identical face of Bly only earlier that night. "He wasn't well," Kix finally managed. "Ever since he came back, came over from the turncoat side, I mean. I couldn't cure him and… I don't know. I don't know who he might have gone to for help."

Mara thought again as she had avoided doing all night on the death of Appo, the riot in front of the Senate Dome, and pointless CTSG meetings in the dingy lower-city gym where the best help that the Republic could offer its old soldiers was lukewarm caf and a place to moan for a couple hours capped off with a couple of Jedi, one of whom was her own ineffectual self. And now there was Hurc, who may very well have died in pursuit of the interventions that none of his people could give him, not his brothers, the Republic, or the Jedi. She reached out and clutched Kix's elbow.

"We'll find out who," she said. "I'll find them."

The five towers of the Jedi Temple loomed high over all else in the vicinity. There must have been some edict, Qi'ra supposed, to prevent the thick packed towers of Coruscant from smothering the grandeur of the Jedi home. Nothing nearby even peaked above the building's base. The effect was that, standing on the landing pad, looking up at the structure framed in an expanse of clean sky and bright sunlight, Qi'ra felt very small. It was just the sort of architectural politics that someone like Lady Proxima could only dream to achieve.

She had to wait there in the open for what felt like a rather long time. Senator Amidala had arranged an escort for her, as promised, but whoever it was was not very punctual, or else Qi'ra was early. Despite herself, she had been anxious about this outing. She had eaten only very little that morning and found herself unable to partake in anything either productive or any distracting leisure activity before she was scheduled to depart.

"Nervous darling?" Camilla had asked her, when she had spotted Qi'ra vigorously twiddling her thumbs. "Don't be. The Jedi devout pluralists. There is literally nothing you could do wrong, short of declaring your allegiance to the dark side. In fact, even then they would probably still be polite to you."

"I'm sure they would arrest me so politely," Qi'ra had joked, but Milla's reassurance had only slightly eased her mind. The fact of the matter was, however she comported herself today, the Senator would certainly hear about it and that mattered dearly even if the Jedi's opinions did not.

Her intimidated patience was finally rewarded when the lumpy brown figure of a Jedi finally appeared at the entry door to the landing platform. He was a human man and Qi'ra considered waiting for him to reach her beside the speeder, feeling too cautious to make any uninvited move, but swiftly changed her mind when she noticed that he moved with a limp. The walkway between the entry door and the platform was rather long, so she started off and met him three quarters of the way down the walk.

The Jedi was a tall fellow with pale skin and long brown hair that was swiftly going silver. He smiled as she drew near, and his mien was friendly but somehow perpetually sad. He said, "Good morning. You are our guest from the office of Senator Amidala, I take it."

Qi'ra smiled back and answered, "Yes," and then after a half-second's consideration added, "my name is Qi'ra." She wondered with agitation whether she should have included her fake last name as well but swiftly moved past it. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Jedi."

"The pleasure is ours," said the Jedi. "We get too few visitors these days. This Temple was never meant to be a stronghold." His voice was gentle and fatherly, or at least what Qi'ra fantasized a father would sound like. She could not remember her own. Shifting his walking stick from one hand to another, the Jedi held out a palm to her. "My name is Qui-Gon Jinn."

Qi'ra took the proffered palm and worried for a moment that her hand might be about to be kissed. Some Senate bureaucrats and aides and even a few senators seemed to think this was the correct way to greet a handmaiden, but Qui-Gon Jinn made no such gesture of overwrought gallantry.

"Oh, I've heard of you," Qi'ra blurted, unable to restrain her sudden realization. Qui-Gon Jinn was the Jedi Master who had extracted the young Queen Amidala during the Naboo crisis over twenty years ago. He had even returned with her for the liberation of Theed, though he had been very badly hurt during the battle. The limp was no longer strange to her.

"I should hope so," said Qui-Gon. "I have known the Senator for a long time, since she was very young and I was slightly less old."

"You may rest assured, sir, you are a legend beneath her roof."

Qui-Gon chuckled and gestured for them to proceed within. "I am told that you are here to peruse our library," he said as they went side by side. "If you would like, I could also give you a tour of the more interesting parts of the Temple." Qi'ra hesitated. She did not want to linger here any longer than was necessary. Qui-Gon must have read her discomfort, because he said, "at least let me show you the Room of a Thousand Fountains. It's on the way. Everyone should see it if they have the chance."

The Jedi Temple somehow seemed even larger on the inside. Qi'ra and Qui-Gon processed down a colonnade that supported a roof hundreds of feet overhead. The columns were built of a creamy colored marble that were reflected in a polished floor of red and white tile laid in soothing geometric patterns. Their steps echoed through the hall along with those of about a hundred other Jedi going about their business at an easy but important pace, Qui-Gon's stick making a uniquely sounding tac every three seconds. Qi'ra was, as she had feared, the only lay person in sight and she must have looked very out of place in her blue dress amid the earthy tones of red, brown, and white of which the Temple and its Jedi were made.

As they went, Qui-Gon recited the history of the Temple, how it was as old as the Republic itself, built by the Jedi Order when they relocated their home from the world Ossus to the new seat of the young Republic and that it's had been constructed atop the site of an old Sith shrine that was a remnant of some ancient human empire.

"Why on top of it?" asked Qi'ra, who was by now reluctantly familiar enough with Jedi teaching to understand that they thought of the Sith and the dark side they way one might a vent of sulfurous air.

"If you will permit the use of poetic logic," replied Qui-Gon, "it was because the light serves best when it is shone into the darkness." There was a glint in his eye that was only half humorous as he said it and Qi'ra felt herself smile in response.

"I suppose for poetry that makes a reasonable amount of sense." She decided that she like Qui-Gon Jinn, even if he was a Jedi.

He led them into a small hallway, down a flight of stairs, and through a door that opened upon into the large chamber of what Qi'ra immediately and without instruction understood to be the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Despite herself, she uttered a little gasp. It was as if they had, in stepping through the vestibule, come into an entirely different planet, as if a vast section of whole forest had through magic more perfect than science been transplanted here, into the heart of the temple. The eponymous fountain was more a series of streams and falls than what usually passed for a fountain on Coruscant. There were no perfectly round marble basins or golden statues spewing jets of water here. Nothing within the room gave a hint of having been constructed or even gardened. There were dense trees bearing wide fronds and tall grasses and about a dozen levels of uneven cliff and crag over which the streams of water cascaded in loud burbles. Several yards from the entrance, she could see a small group of Jedi seated together, on higher up on a lumpy boulder.

It was beautiful in a way that nothing else she had seen on either Coruscant or Corellia was beautiful, wildly and unselfconsciously. Even the air was lovelier, fresher than any filter could render and pleasantly humid. At the same time, it was a little queer to discover such a place tucked away on the Republic capital, like opening up a droid and discovering a flesh and blood heart inside. She would never have suspected it and it felt as though she had trespassed on something secret and intimate.

Qui-Gon made no word of explanation for the heart nor even looked at Qi'ra expectantly. He led her a few paces deeper into the room and they both gazed upon its nature for several minutes. Apart from the lack of sky, it gave a very good impression of being boundless.

"Thank you for requiring that we see this place," Qi'ra said eventually.

Qui-Gon nodded without any self-congratulation. "I have often felt as though we are hoarding by keeping it, well, not quite secret, but I think the High Council would resent having too many tourists visit our halls. We're not as ready with the offer to share as we perhaps ought to be." That was the second criticism of the Jedi she had noted him make, but she was too wise to take it as an invitation to participate. He was, after all, a Jedi himself and in good standing to offer opinions on the Order. It was only her place to offer gratitude.

"I will never forget it," she said with more sincerity than she was usually comfortable.

With a twinge of sorrow, they abandoned the fountain room and Qui-Gon brought them to the Jedi library, the look of which was in accordance with Qi'ra's expectations. It housed many rows of servers that retreated back and stretched up to the high ceilings of a second level balcony on either side of a central area set with desks and tables and computer terminals. Most of these spaces were replete with young looking Jedi and Qi'ra coud recognize the screwed up look of concentration on the humanoids among their number. Qui-Gon showed her to an empty table with a free terminal that was tucked in a secluded corner without much traffic, which was perfect.

"I have taken the liberty of organizing the files Senator Amidala requested for you here," he said. "If you will give me your personal datapad, I can have the proper permissions installed and you can take the files with you. You will not be able to transfer them, but you can at least reference them at your leisure. And you are of course welcome to take as much time here as you wish. If there is any additional data you would like, you need only let me know."

She handed over her pad, thanked him, and settled in at the table. Master Jinn had collated documents the majority of which were, as the Senator had anticipated, authored by one Master Gnost-Dural. With some relief, she also noted that there were no entries from Master Sifo Dyas. The subject headings were various: The Voyages of the Exile, the Last of the Handmaidens, The Telosian Crisis, The Dark Master: Sith or Apostate, and on. The entry that immediately identified itself as the most intriguing was titled "The Personal Record of Atris, Jedi Archivist."

While she understood that this was not the appropriate basic starting point, the promise of a primary source was too tempting to set aside for later.

After a foreword that warned that the authenticity of the documents could not be averred, she read the entry titled, "On the Exile's Return":

After nine years, one month, and seventeen days, she has returned, not for duty but for fear. She flees the darkness and has come limping to my doorstep and leads the enemy here also with the trail of her blood. She had not changed. She does not repent her crimes. As an ally, she is fit only to serve as messenger or, barring this, a lure. She says she shall hunt for what others of the Order may yet remain and perhaps we may discern the material of our enemy's blade when it strikes at her.

I have ordered the last of my handmaidens to accompany her on this voyage, ordered her to report to me on her travails and the comportment of the exile. In truth, I look to one further test, for the exile has always ensnared the hearts of those who are near her. Kavar called it leadership but such curious potency suggests more of sorcery. The last is strong but pliable and, stars save her, naive even for a young woman, and upon her clay the exile's mark may show and then I shall know. I shall know for once and all what character of woman she is.

She was just starting to think that Jedi were really very emotional for all the patience they espoused when a carried whisper hissed its way to Qi'ra's ear, interrupting her reading, and she lifted her eyes to catch its source. There were two figures lingering in the stacks near her table. One was a dark human woman and the lovely blue lights of the servers illuminated her face well enough to make visible her puckish grin. Her companion was unmistakable. Qi'ra's stomach clenched to recognize the red hair and scowl of Mara Jade. She could not escape her anywhere it seemed. True, she had, so to speak, come to Mara's turf this time, but the Jedi temple was so vast compared even to Senator Amidala's lavish lodgings that it still felt like and encroachment to discover her so suddenly and unexpectedly. At catching Qi'ra's eye, the new woman began to swagger towards her and Mara, looking reluctant, followed at a perfect half-step behind.

"I hope we're not interrupting," said Mara's friend when she was near in the perfect clear but low library-voice. "Only, Master Qui-Gon's attention was needed by some initiate and he asked if I could bring this to you." She leaned across the table, holding out Qi'ra's datapad. Qi'ra thanked her and took it, knowing that this could not be all. "So, you're Qi'ra," she said. "You look normal."

"Rev, please," Mara hissed under her breath, but "Rev" looked unabashed.

"You have me at a disadvantage," Qi'ra said.

"Right. I am Reva Sevander, Jedi Knight." She made a small bow. "Be welcome in our home, Qi'ra."

"Master Qui-Gon has seen to that ably." She dared a brief glance at Mara Jade then. At this distance, Qi'ra could see dark circles beneath her eyes. Indeed, even her usual suspicious frown looked slackened by fatigue and she seemed to only partly register the words Reva and Qi'ra were speaking. Her eyes were fixed languidly at some spot on the floor.

"May I ask what you are reading?" said Reva. Qi'ra reflected briefly that in her old life she might have reserved the right to say no to such a question. Not so in polite society.

"Senator Amidala asked me to compile some research on the period of reconstruction after the second Sith War." She was pleased that she knew enough to give an answer other than "I was reading about the Handmaiden," as Mara would have surely seen this for an investigation into her vulnerabilities, which initially it had been.

"Ah," said Reva, seating herself on the edge of the table, "apropos, I guess. the post war legends. I've always thought those stories more plausible than all the Revan business, y'know."

"I'm not so familiar with the Revan business," Qi'ra confessed.

"Oh, well don't bother," said Reva. She waved an airy hand. "Good becomes bad becomes good again and hurray. Then they blow up a big space station. I mean, it's a satisfying story for kids, but it almost certainly didn't happen. Not that way, at least."

"And Surik?" Qi'ra found that she was amused by Reva's glibness and wanted her to keep talking.

"Well, she probably actually existed, for one. And, I don't know, just even in the legends she seems more like a real person. She wasn't all good or all bad—or both but at separate times. Her life sounds like it was a slog. It just seems more real, whether or not it's really true. But like I said, there was almost certainly a person named Meetra Surik, if nothing else. I doubt there was ever a person named Revan."

"There could have been," said Mara, offering her first real contribution to conversation.

Reva snorted. "The Jedi Revan the revanchist? No, I don't think so. It's too cute. There might have been a Darth Revan. The Sith would do something like that. The dark lords are cute about their little names. I'll tell you what, though—"

"Here we go."

"-Darth Revan and the Jedi ascendant who defeated Malak were almost certainly not the same person. The Masters give Revan a mindwipe and he turns all good again? No. What was he, a droid? I would suspect that the Jedi who follows the trail of visions to the Starforge was someone like our Mara here."

Qi'ra was not following most of what Reva Sevander was saying at this point, which was fine, but the sudden reference to Mara's power gave her pause. "Like Mara how?"

"A visionary," said Reva. "A scryer."

"It's called psychometry," said Mara, rubbing over her sinuses. "I need to… I have to go. Good morning." After that not discourteous farewell, she slumped off.

"She sees visions of the past," Reva explained as her friend retreated into the stacks. "It's a pretty uncommon ability. I can only think of about five Jedi who can do it. They can see the echoes of the Force we leave on the world around us through just a touch."

"She never mentioned." Qi'ra tried not to project the sudden fear she was feeling. She had been aware of the Jedi power of insight but this was a new and troubling level of potential surveillance. Does it work on people, she wanted ask, thinking of how many times Mara had touched her in their sparring lessons and the disgusted look on her face therewhile.

"How modest of her." Reva grinned. "Maybe she's just being sensitive, though. She got stumped recently."

"May I ask what happened?" said Qi'ra. Two could play at that game, after all.

"Master Vos asked her to consult on a case he was working with CorSec," Reva shrugged. Then her face turned serious. "Actually, it was related to the murders of the clone troopers. You've heard about them, I assume."

Qi'ra nodded. The handmaidens always listened to the holonet morning news broadcast over breakfast. She had heard about the murders even if she had not taken special note of them, including the detail that the killer seemed to have gotten their hands on a stray lightsaber.

"Well, Mara's let it go to her head, I think," continued Reva. "She's close with some of the brothers, her and her Master, Skywalker. Could you do me a favor, handmaiden Qi'ra?"

"I would like to. I suppose it depends on what it is."

Reva leaned in and spoke in a lowered voice. "I'm sure you've noticed that Mara thinks you—well, she finds you diverting. Let's not say why, but I'd be obliged if you would divert her."

From anyone other than a Jedi, this request would have sounded like something untoward, but Qi'ra understood Reva's meaning.

"Is she trying to get involved in the investigation?"

"She can't, not officially. Doesn't mean she won't fry a chip trying to pick apart what's going on." This tallied with what Qi'ra knew of their mutual friend. And, though Reva could not know she had been waiting for some such lead, it could be just the thing.

"I'll see what I can do," she told Reva Sevander. It was not technically a lie.