"…and Mandalore gave Mical harsh looks so he would step on it and hurry to the med bay," Mira concluded her account after listening to Aneela's detailed story of her confrontation with Malachor, the Trayus Academy, Darth Traya and her rescue. The two were now sharing stories over a glass of Atton's Juma.

After laughing and having a good time for about two hours, Aneela asked Mira where they were. "We're on Coruscant," Mira said. "Coruscant?" Aneela said. "This is the place of the old Jedi council. What is the Hawk doing empty here? Where is everybody? How long have I been unconscious?"

Mira set her glass of Juma down. "We knew you'd start asking these questions, and too bad the Juma didn't work," she said grinning. She grew grave and sober, a mood Aneela saw little of in Mira. "Well, Mical worked his ass just making sure he didn't accidentally kill you while he was just running simple diagnostics. We relayed messages to Atton that Mical would kill you because of his nerves so he set us into hyperspace immediately. Then the hyperdrive cut out and we had to land on Telos.

"They fixed the hyperdrive after rummaging through your stuff to get enough credits. We had to sell a lot of extra equipment to get enough money for a professional job at this. Bao-Dur's a one man army with that little droid, but the job was too much for the two of them. I remember Atton took Bao-Dur to the cantina in Citadel and they didn't come back for a few days. We didn't even ask.

"Anyways, we then decided that we'd go to Coruscant, or wherever we thought the Republic might have its HQ. We went to Coruscant first because, as you know, it's where the bigwig Jedi Council used to sit and we thought that it would be only logical if the Republic was there."

"Why were you seeking the Republic?" Aneela asked. "I'll get there," Mira said.

"Anyways, we thought the Republic might actually spare us the trouble of selling ourselves into slavery just to repair the damned ship. They also might give us free medics since you kind of killed an intergalactic threat. So, of course, it was convenient that the Republic did, in fact, have an office here. We contacted them and told them of your travels and your exile. At first they were a bunch of skeptics, but we told them that some admiral named Onasi had talked to you on Telos after you killed that freaky guy with the mask."

Aneela nodded. "So he confirmed I was 'the exile'?"

"Yep," Mira continued, "and he also gave us a nice team of repair men plus a strange old doctor. But they all knew what they were doing and they patched this baby up in no time and we've been here the entire time."

"How long was that?" Aneela asked.

"About a few weeks," Mira said. Noticing the surprised look on Aneela's face, she added, "It was because of medications given to you. Even though your wounds weren't life threatening, the meds—drugs, stims, whatever they were—really put you out like ol' doc said they would."

"Where is everybody?" Aneela asked, knowing she was stating the obvious.

"Out, I guess," Mira said. "Weird, huh? I'm just stuck doing Mical's busywork for some spare credits. Sometimes, we've got the entire dormitory filled, but that's only happened once. Mandalore's usually gone, Atton leaves for the day, Mical is never seen except at late night hours, the Miraluka never sleeps, it seems, and Bao-Dur is working for some schutta at a droid shop somewhere."

The cantina at Coruscant always seemed to be packed in the bar area but the rest of the floor by the tables was usually clear enough for a few people to walk in a row. It was a dark green color and resembled the Telos cantina. Neon lights were everywhere, and the waiting staff, droids included, was well in the twenties.

The patrons were garbed in normal street clothes, looked like travelers, semi-important diplomats, or Pazaak players. But one patron was different. He was wearing the customary robes of the Jedi; nobody paid much attention to him, despite his attire. He was tall, thin, and looked as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in a few days because of worry. His dark brown hair was messy and uncombed, and his brown eyes looked at his untouched Juma at the bar.

"Need somethin', kid?" the bartender, a Duros, asked in Basic. "What's yer trouble?"

"It's nothing," he said and stared into the Juma.

"You got a name?" the Duros asked.

"Atton," he said.

"Why are ya wearin' Jedi robes?" the Duros asked him. "Ya one of those Jedi?"

Atton nodded. "My master is unwell. She's been unconscious for a few weeks and everyone who knows her is worried." He looked at the Duros and then at the Juma Juice. He gave himself a subtle shrug and took a shot of it. "Another Juma." The bartender gave Atton a look that was half quizzical, half caring, and poured him the Juma in another glass.

My master, he thought. Oh Atton Rand, what was that!

Then a beeping came from a pack he had slung on his side for as long as could remember. He opened it up and brought out a comlink. His eyes widened at the message and grinned. He drank the Juma in one gulp and laid a few credits on the bar. He thanked the bartender and left.

The library where Mical found himself most of his days on Coruscant was old and full of volumes just waiting to be opened and read. He had finished the first row on the first shelf in about two days with constant study and reading. He made sense of old words and what the old accounts and narrations meant. He took notes and studied vigilantly, trying to make sense of whatever was happening in the present and what was to happen in the future.

Mical, leafing through pages, was huddled with a lantern and a pillow to sit on in a small corner that seemed to be the perfect reading place. He had a pitcher of water and a few pieces of bread with him, and that usually tied him over until he supped with the Republic soldiers stationed on Coruscant in their mess hall.

He recalled going places with Aneela. He recalled his feelings when he thought he had killed her by running tests as the Hawk wasn't going into hyperspace. Although her systems weren't failing, she was just exhausted. He believed that Kreia had mentally injured Aneela in some way, but there were limited resources in the Ebon Hawk's medlab.

He remembered landing on Coruscant—it was right after Telos. He was assigned to stay onboard with Mandalore, Visas, and the droids. The group decided that the Republic might hold a grudge against a Mandalorian and a Sith. He was shut in the med bay with Aneela as she lay sweating. This was when he believed she had been mentally harmed. Mandalore and Visas were asleep or watching the droids while awaiting the groups return.

Atton, Mira, and Bao-Dur didn't return until a day later, when they were just relaying a message that the entire crew's presence was requested. Mical reluctantly turned off the diagnostics and monitors. He led the medical team to the med bay and watched them carry off the one he vowed to save himself.

Their presence was in an Admiral Carth Onasi. He stated that he met with the Exile before she went to Malachor V. The admiral had described his meeting with Aneela briefly—he explained they both had known Revan. Throughout the entire conversation, Mandalore looked a bit strange, although his face was hidden behind his helmet that made him sound metallic, T3-M4 chirrped happily, and HK-47 said mocking statements which made the admiral only laugh.

The admiral also described they would be aided by the Republic and that they would be honored, especially Aneela, for her contribution in these recent events. It was then that Mical noticed the Cross of Glory on the admiral's uniform.

After the brief but informative meeting, Mical was going to ask Carth about his Cross of Glory; he was interrupted by the admiral calling forth Mandalore to stay after the rest were dismissed.

Mical didn't watch them for he grew tired of observing and tensions between the crewmates. He walked onwards until he found himself in a library. He might've followed signs; he had no idea for his mind seemed to be in a somewhat numb state. He was just amazed at his accomplishments. Many things here, he told himself, are for the better. He knew that he was going to be forced to make a sacrifice in the future—whether it be very small, almost microscopic, or very large, almost as large as the galaxy itself. He knew that his sacrifice was part of many events that would take place to make everything better, to fight for a greater good. This is why he named himself the Disciple.

His meditations were interrupted by a faint buzzing that was amplified by the silence of the old library. He rummaged through his bag of items until he fumbled his comlink. He saw the message, and like Atton did, grinned. Satisfaction of a job well done and a promise kept filled Mical as he carefully closed his book and replaced it, also packing up his supplies and picking up his lantern. He moved through the dimly lit library to the door and out into the warm sunshine.

"Beep booop dweep," a small utility droid chimed to the Iridonian mechanic. "You need an upgrade," he consoled the small droid. It was an ordinary utility droid, but an old model.

"You almost finished?" a Rodian shouted from the store front. Bao-Dur was repairing droids so fast, it seemed, that the grease on his fingers couldn't even dry; he was going from one droid to the next. These Coruscant people have a lot of broken droids, he thought. "You done?" the Rodian yelled again.

"Almost," Bao-Dur replied in a voice that matched the Rodian's volume. "Hurry it up!" the Rodian commanded. Bao-Dur frowned. Of all the droid repair places, he got stuck here. It was the most reliable droid merchandiser within walking distance of the Hawk.

Bao-Dur and his Remote were immediately cast off the Hawk, for it was still being repaired on Coruscant, despite its repairs on Telos where the hyperdrive was fixed. Bao-Dur even lost his Remote because the only droids allowed in Hakan's Droid Shop were fixable droids, not functional droids unless they were for sale. Bao-Dur was only "allowed to use his Remote" for emergency repair jobs, which meant never. This policy more or less annoyed Bao-Dur, probably more than Hakan himself.

Bao-Dur couldn't even figure out why he was working in the droid shop. It was by choice, for he was planning to travel back to Iridonia. He was going back to his home world.

Then a spark from the droid and a sudden shock on his right arm caused Bao-Dur to get more grease on his clothes, face, and the table where the small astromech droid he'd been repairing was placed. During his meditations and thoughts, he'd made a slight mistake that wasn't fatal to the droid, just put him back a few minutes with his expertise. He'd heard people call him almost a machine himself, and was asked how he injured his arm. He always lied about the answer, or just brushed the question off. The only thing he wanted was to end his shift so he could sulk over some Juma in the cantina.

He remembered being saddled down with the crazy droids HK-47, the assassin unit, and G0-T0, the strange droid claiming to be of Goto. He enjoyed working with the T3, for he knew it had been through a great deal and was still going. It was an old model, but fully functional with even the most advanced equipment. Bao-Dur recalled Hakan saying very flatly about the HK unit and G0-T0: "They look crazed. Lock 'em in the cells." Bao-Dur was relieved to get them off his back, but when the astromech droid was sentenced to confinement, he fought to keep it. The T3 helped him with repairs and was also a nice little companion—nobody could understand what droids who talk in "beeps" say and he had quite a memory on him, probably also due to his history.

He told Bao-Dur, in short statements, that he'd traveled many places. Of course, astromech droids weren't known for giving biographies, so Bao-Dur did most of the talking. The T3 usually talked about traveling with familiar people, and seemed the chirp cheerfully upon meeting Admiral Onasi. Bao-Dur sensed they had good history.

He tweaked the droid's functions and labeled it officially functional again. Upon handing the droid over to Hakan and back to its Ithorian owner, Bao-Dur was distracted by a beeping coming from somewhere on his tool belt. He searched the many pockets of his new "repair guy" pants (which Mira had forced onto him. "Look the part" she had told him; Bao-Dur thought they had too many pockets but Mira told him it was for keeping the tools and parts, or whatever he used) and finally found the source of the sound: a comlink given to him a few weeks ago.

After putting the comlink away with a happier feeling to him, a weightless feeling of a worry just being confirmed it will never happen, he set his tool belt down on another repairing table.

"Where are you going?" Hakan asked, his tone in the usual barking-orders manner. "To see an old friend," Bao-Dur said, smiling like Atton and Mical were. He walked into the small storage room and got the droids of the confinement, saying only, "She's woken up. Let's go."

"Ecstatic Statement: Now that master has woken up, we might travel more and terminate even more meatbags!" HK-47 said in an excited tone. How typical…, Bao-Dur thought as he got the T3-M4 and G0-T0. T3 was beeping and G0-T0 was silent; his Remote beeped excitedly when it saw its creator.

"You can't just leave!" Hakan screamed at his lone mechanic. "Maybe I just might," he said in a somewhat rebellious way as he shepherded the droids outside the shop. They made an odd company: an Iridonian, a strange assassin droid, an astromech that was rusted it was so old, and two large floating spheres—one very large and the other very small. All seemed to be like long-lost family going to a reunion with the one who built them all. And, the strangest thing of all, is that the Iridonian seemed to be a machine himself.

Visas was always the adventurous type in her mind. She enjoyed exploring places by herself, but enjoyed company also. But now that she was on her own, she rented an air speeder and immediately began to explore the city. Some people would stare at her as she walked down a busy street because of her headpiece. They would like to see my eyes and know I have no sight? she thought. She knew nobody would believe her if she told them she was a Miraluka; but what else could she be? She disregarded conversing with any Coruscant resident. She planned to walk all the streets to find someplace quiet.

The airspeeder made everything go fast by her. She enjoyed the blur and the wind on her face. Beneath her helmet and body armor on the airspeeder, she looked like a savage bounty hunter, which reminded her of Mira.

The only thing she sought on Coruscant was something she wanted everywhere: a place to meditate, somewhere where nobody could stare upon her and she could feel it. She disliked the Hawk for, almost too frequently, she could sense people looking upon her. She disregarded this because she knew it was just the security camera in her room. She knew the Exile would never watch her or that any of the male crew would. There was nothing to see—just a blinded one meditating.

She stopped the airspeeder and parked it on the side of a street that was crowded, like everything on Coruscant. She wanted to appear like a defiant individual who nobody could stare upon, but with her airspeeder armor and helmet on she appeared so out of place. Why must I hide? she thought. I am a Miraluka, the last of them.

Visas took shelter in a small alley behind some large boxes and put on her red robes and armor that she always more. She carried nothing but a comlink and a few credits. The helmet was the hardest to take off without taking off the headpiece with it. Eventually she wrestled it off and threw the armor in the helmet and strode to the airspeeder and discarded it on the seat.

Staring at gloved hands and feeling the cloth covering her eyes, she realized she was like nobody in the entire universe. This gave her a sense of warmth, for she was special and unique, and a sense of fear, for she could never have a family without them being a strange crossbreed. She didn't want to settle, and now that her travels with Aneela were over, she could keep on moving. Where would she go? What would she do? Settling after such trials and travels will be difficult, yes, but she must. She must try to settle. She would go to Katarr and meditate, or on what was left of it. If there was just a piece left of home, she would find it and sit by it and meditate, hoping for closure.

Visas didn't realize she was sitting on a stone bench until a beeping came from her robes. She dug out the comlink and got up immediately and started on the airspeeder at full speed.

It was there on the blaster—"Ordo". Mandalore ran his fingers over the engraving again, just to make sure the word was there. He ran his hand over the dent where he had banged his gun on a rakgoul and it sunk its teeth into his gun. He then held it in his hands, as if he was going to take down about six enemies in less than thirty seconds. He then looked at his helmet on the table where the gun had been. Were those times past and was Mandalore his future?

I will always be Canderous of the Mandalorian clan Ordo, he told himself to be reassured that he would never forget who he once was and who he always would be.

Mandalore had nothing to do until the Exile awoke. He planned on spending a day after she woke up and then would call for transport back to Dxun to command the Mandalorians once again. He would gain new recruits and dream of conquering. He would be known as the invincible Mandalore…

But then he remembered what his commanding officer told him when he was a trainee: "Dreaming of the future with you as some big hero? Well, expect disappointment." He also remembered, with a slight chuckle, what the commanding officer also had added: "Besides, dreaming of that kind of stuff if for a wuss. Now, a wuss is a soldier without honor. You will be a warrior with honor! You do not dream you future; you shape your current problem so you may gain ranks, as your teachers and commanding officers have…" Then he explained honor and the ideas of it.

Recalling the past made Mandalore break inside his armor. Sometimes it seemed he was just an empty soul in the shell of a man protected by grey armor. Whenever he remembered being a trainee, he remembered the wars—which always lead to Revan. He felt broken by her will to leave. She was his hero, despite she was so young. She knew battle like an old veteran of one hundred and fought like a skilled weapon master. She even promised lessons to Mandalore, or Canderous back then. But he thought he held her up so high because she was the only on the trust him. And that is why he also respected Revan so much—she trusted but was always on the look out for betrayal. Then she left, and Canderous never saw Revan again. But Mandalore would.

He recalled his recent past—meeting old friends. Not really friends, but companions, bonded by Revan. They were bound to Revan by her abrupt leave. He remembered meeting Admiral Onasi.

He requested Mandalore stay after the entire crew left, which didn't surprise Mandalore at all. Even though somewhat metallic-sounding, one could recognize a familiar voice.

Mandalore was the first to speak: "Did you hear of Revan?" The admiral looked at Mandalore. "No." He looked like his heart was dead and his soul was empty; his mind was filled with thoughts, memories, and worries. "It's been a number of years," Mandalore said. "Where has she gone?" "To save us," Carth said.

Mandalore knew what was going on. He still loved her and she had left him with no notice whatsoever. "If she never returns," Mandalore said, but stopped. Something happened inside of him—he felt suddenly a bit sad for Carth. He'd already lost a lot, and now it was twice.

Many people don't lose someone twice, Mandalore said, Hell, many don't even find anybody. He chidingly thought to himself that he was being a bit too dramatic and sympathetic, but maybe being around humans with emotions was rubbing off on him? Anyways, it was too sympathetic for the leader of the Mandalorians—a brutal veteran of so many wars, he's forgotten the names and how many.

Carth changed the subject; he obviously didn't want to talk or think of his emotions. "I've got something for you," he said. He went over to a box. "So, do they call you Canderous or Mandalore?" He opened the box and threw out wrappings. "Mandalore." Carth nodded and brought out an old blaster. It was big and Mandalore had seen some Sith Commandoes carrying some blasters of its size on Dxun at the tomb. This is significant? he thought. This ordinary blaster? But as soon as Carth handed it to him, he immediately knew what it was. It was if he had been reunited with his father. It was his Ordo Repeating Blaster.

Recalling this, he remembered saving that young Twi'lek girl, Mission Vao, from kinrath on Kashyyyk after she insisted she wanted to do some exploring. After her Wookiee friend, Zaalbar, was taken to his village, she had nobody to go with her. Revan, he remembered, instructed him to accompany her into the depths of the Kashyyyk forest. Why does everything lead to Revan? he questioned to himself.

He wondered then what happened to the rest of the crew—Juhani, the Cathar, Jolee Bindo, the cynical old hermit, Mission Vao, the Twi'lek, Bastila Shan, the know-it-all, holier-than-you Jedi figure, or Zaalbar, the taciturn Wookiee. He already knew Carth and what happened to him, but then his mind returned to Revan.

The memories and thoughts stopped at the sound of beeping. It actually startled him, and this startled him. I should work on this… he mused as he reached into a discarded bag on a chair at the table where he set his Ordo blaster. It was the comlink.

Great, another "update" on Aneela's health—and it's probably that whacjob of a doctor, Mandalore thought as he brought it out. Receiving the message, he felt relieved that he wouldn't lose another respectable and honorable crew master. He picked up the blaster and the bag. He walked out the door of the small empty office, stared at it for a minute, shut off the lights, and closed the door.

After telling Mira her story and listening to Mira's, Aneela went into the dormitory to rest. She didn't know why she was tired, she just knew she needed to process the information and that Mical had saved her life. She believed that she would've survived with the wounds from her confrontation with Kreia. She pondered over the recent events, shed Mical's robes she had taken and put back on the robes from the med bay and shut off the lights in the dormitory and shut the door; she fell asleep fast.

Mira saw the work she was doing for Mical laying on the desk in the communications room. Out of boredom, she wandered to Mical one day and asked if she could help him with his studies. She had no idea he'd have her proofread his notes-to-text manuscripts of complex subjects from a human liver's anatomy to complex theories that started the Mandalorian Wars. This guy needs to make a holovid series and get someone else to do this, Mira thought as she finished proofreading a manuscript entitled "Birth Rates of Tatooine and How they Affect Crops". She was only doing the job for Mical because he promised to pay her a few hundred credits per manuscript—credits in which Mira needed to be able to live on her own. She had no plans but to leave Aneela, her bounty, behind. She remembered saying, "Never mix work and pleasure." She loathed herself for befriending Aneela, although she didn't actually intend to. But, as she knew all too well, things never go ask you planned.

She noticed the communications console beeping away and thought she better contact the crew members with the exact same message:

"Hey, it's Mira. At about ten in the morning Aneela woke up from her unconscious state or whatever it was. Come as soon as you can—she seems a bit anxious to see everyone again. Probably by the way she ran about the ship in panic. See ya later."