Chapter Two – An Unwanted Memory
Hubri looked down at the bound and gagged Senator's daughter tied up on the pristine white carpeting, and ignored the whimpering, animalistic sounds of fear that were mostly muffled by the thick cloth gag. Giant, fat teardrops slid down her porcelain cheeks, making her green eyes, already wide with fear, seem enormous. Her husband, a prominent Coruscanti businessman, was tied up next to her, and seemed to be taking his captivity better than his wife, or at least quieter than her. The businessman was on his knees, back ramrod straight, stoic, rigid and silent.
Next to him, their eldest son, about twelve-years-old, was trussed up, obviously frightened but still defiant, and sporting a black eye which Hubri had given him for refusing to shut up. Hubri hated it when they talked, because it made the mission much more difficult.
While Hubri waited for his companions, he studied the opulent penthouse, curious to see how the elite of Coruscanti society lived. He moved slowly through the cluttered and gauche living room, stopping to finger a cut crystal lamp that sat on a marble-tiled end table, and decided that money couldn't buy good taste. Every conceivable metal surface was gilded with gold, and there seemed to be a disturbing number of fancy mirrors everywhere. He found the effect to be incredibly creepy.
The family's Nikto bodyguards were tan, unconscious heaps on the floor, bound the same way the family members were. Breathing in and out steadily through the holes in their cheeks, their flat faces looked almost peaceful. It had been difficult to subdue them, but in the end they had done it without lethal force, although when this was over, the bodyguards were going to have to spend a lot of time in a bacta tank to heal. Hubri was glad, because he did not want to kill anyone unless it was absolutely necessary.
The smell of fear mingled with the stench of burnt wiring, caused by the smoking serving droid that doubled as another bodyguard. It had been decimated by ion bursts that had fried its circuitry.
After what seemed like forever, Hubri's companions returned, carrying the two youngest boys, ages eight and five, who were shrieking at the top of their lungs. At the sound of her children, the Senator's daughter went wild, straining against her metal binders so hard that her wrists bled. She struggled to stand, but Hubri ruthlessly pushed her back down onto her knees and leaned down to speak into her ear, "If you struggle, you'll only make things worse."
But she refused to see reason, so Hubri was left with no choice other than to backhand her across the face. Bright red blood trickled out of her nose and over the gag in her mouth as she sobbed, but she didn't try to stand again.
"What took you so long?" Hubri demanded, irritated that he'd been left to guard the three of them for what had seemed like forever. They needed to move fast if they were going to make a clean getaway. He was already on edge because there were kids involved in this mission, and kids complicated everything. Hubri watched as Chen and Niall bound and gagged the small wriggling forms and hoped that none of the children carried the taint, especially the twelve-year-old.
"They were hiding under the bed. And this little bastard,"--Chen jerked the eight-year-old boy by his raven hair-- "bit me." Hubri noticed blood was dripping from Chen's left hand onto the immaculate white carpet.
"Forget about that," Niall said, turning to Hubri. "It's time."
Removing the silver circlet from his head, Hubri blocked out the sounds of whimpering and crying in the room. He focused by taking deep, calming breaths, and allowed his mind to open to the taint which was his curse. Power flowed through him, and he was ready.
When he opened his eyes, he could see it. The energy swirled around the Senator's daughter, while her husband showed no trace of it and neither did their two Nikto bodyguards, but that was to be expected. He focused on the kids and his stomach clenched because he saw the energy teeming around all three of them, including the eldest boy.
"Well?" Niall asked in his thick, heavy accent.
"All of them," Hubri confirmed. Niall and Chan nodded and shoved sleep stims into the two youngest boys' necks. The effect was almost immediate; they passed out into small puddles on the floor.
Without another word, Hubri walked behind the twelve-year-old boy, drew his pistol and fired point blank at the back of his head. Before the boy hit the ground, Chen fired at the Senator's daughter, who pitched forward and landed face-first on the floor with a soft thump.
The stink of burned flesh blossomed as a keening sound of anger and grief ripped from the father's throat, muffled by the gag. Unwilling to listen to it, Hubri brought down the butt of his pistol onto the back of the man's head, knocking him unconscious.
His task complete, Hubri focused on blocking out the taint, while Chen and Niall scooped up the unconscious boys. When he was finished, Hubri looked over at the dead boy and reflected that it was a shame really, but the kid was too old to be successfully reeducated, unlike his younger brothers.
As he walked out the door, he stepped over the boy's body, and tossed the carved marker on the floor, confident that he and his companions had just made the galaxy a safer place.
The sound of Yuthura's precise steps clipping against the marble-tiled floor was swallowed by the vast silence of the enormous Jedi Archives. Cavernous and serenely silent, the several story-high stacks of data chips held priceless information gathered over several millennia. The afternoon sun shone through the enormous arched windows as dust motes floated lazily past hovering archive droids that glided in respectful, scholarly quiet.
Every member of the Jedi Order had access to the archives; however, the areas of knowledge that the Order deemed dangerous were limited to Jedi Masters only, and the few Knights whom the Order determined were unlikely to be corrupted by the extensive knowledge within. Yuthura was not one of the Knights granted full access, and, to her knowledge, neither was Minuet, which accounted for why Minuet was working under the watchful supervision of her former Master, Vrook Lamar.
As she approached, Yuthura noted that she didn't need her Jedi senses to see the obvious tension between the two Jedi. Minuet's shoulders were rigid as she spoke softly to Vrook, who dismissed what she had said with a wave of his hand. Minuet's lips thinned and her dark eyes flashed, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, clearly trying to keep her temper in check.
When Minuet opened her eyes and met Yuthura's, the look of frustration on her face gave way to something that looked suspiciously like relief. Wondering what she had just walked into, Yuthura hesitated.
Vrook looked up from the console that he'd been studying and fixed his dour gaze on Yuthura. Although his outward features remained placid, she could sense the irritation caused by her interruption. "Ah, Yuthura. Is there something we can do for you?"
Yuthura inclined her head slightly at the silver circlet that sat on the table next to the data console. "Master Zhar mentioned that you were trying to identify the circlets our attackers were wearing. I would like to help."
"That's very good of you," Vrook said, in the same tone of voice a teacher would use to explain a complex idea to a small child, "but I don't think we need any assistance."
Minuet arched an elegant eyebrow at Vrook. "Don't you think a fresh pair of eyes would be useful?"
Vrook refused to be budged. "I'm sure Yuthura would be of more use elsewhere," he said, and turned back to the data console in an unmistakable dismissal.
Yuthura could see Minuet's temper simmering as her irritation played across her face. Minuet opened her mouth to let the Jedi Master have it when Yuthura decided that perhaps it was time to intervene, since Minuet getting into an argument with Vrook would accomplish nothing useful.
"Perhaps that is true," Yuthura said, refusing to be put off, carefully keeping her tone calm and reasonable. She coiled her lekku around her neck as she spoke. "But Thalia May was one of my former students. We fled Korriban together after…"--she looked at Minuet thoughtfully, hot shame shooting through her-- "what happened to Uthar. While we weren't close friends, I would still like to help."
Minuet spoke before Vrook could dismiss Yuthura again, gesturing for the Twi'lek to take a seat; blatantly ignoring Vrook's disapproving frown, she asked, "Were you involved in the archaeological digs on Korriban?"
Yuthura ignored Vrook's disapproval herself, taking a seat across the table from Minuet, determined not to let the Jedi Master dismiss her from a task that she very much wanted to help with. "Somewhat. Dak Vesser was the one who was really in charge of the excavations, but as Uthar's apprentice, he ordered me to keep him informed of what was going on in the valley. It was my job to make certain that the information and artifacts were passed on to you, and later, Malak."
Minuet's eyes widened in shock and Yuthura continued, amazed that she didn't know. "You do know that you are the one who started the excavations in the Valley of the Dark Lords?"
But it was clear that she hadn't known, and Yuthura wondered if she had blundered into a sensitive subject. Apparently the rumors that the former Dark Lord of the Sith remembered very little of her past were true, and Yuthura wondered what it would be like to have gaping holes in her memory. She involuntarily shuddered. Even though most of her memories were painful and shameful, they were still hers, and she couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose them.
"No. I didn't know," Minuet said softly. "I don't remember that, but it makes sense. From what little I remember of Malak, he wouldn't have cared about the Sith ruins."
Yuthura decided that Minuet deserved to know and elaborated further, despite Vrook's now-open scowl. "You moved the Academy from Ziost to Korriban, because you could use the students to do the excavations. You also made Jorak Uln the new headmaster. I think you also wanted to take control of the students yourself, free from the political infighting on Ziost."
"Strange that he didn't recognize me when he tried to kill me. But then again, he wasn't exactly sane at the time."
Yuthura had heard from Mekel about how Minuet, Jolee and Juhani had saved him from the insane Dark Jedi. "When you visited the Academy, you always wore your mask, and your presence, while powerful, was much darker then." The one time Yuthura had seen Revan, the woman had pulsed with a dark, ferocious power. There had been rage and fury, but it was cold and calculating.
"You met me?"
Yuthura saw the mixture of fear and curiosity. "No. I only saw you from a distance. At the time, I was still a student and of little importance."
Minuet opened her mouth as if she wanted to ask more questions, but instead shook her head, dismissing the past momentarily. She picked up the metal circlet that was sitting on the data console that she and Master Vrook were currently sharing, and handed it to Yuthura. Yuthura turned the circlet over in her hand and took her time examining it, her fingers tracing over the intricate pattern of inlayed circles etched into the cool metal. Outwardly, it looked like a mere piece of jewelry, but a push of a tiny button revealed the complex and ancient circuitry inside.
As Yuthura studied the circlet, Minuet spoke. "Circlets like these were found on all of the dead assassins. They're the reason why your Force attacks were so ineffective. They make the wearer invisible to Force users, and Force-based attacks slide around them as if they aren't there."
"That explains how they surprised us."
Minuet picked up a small silver cylindrical device off the table, holding it up for Yuthura to see. "And then there was this." She hit an unseen button, and the Force vanished around them.
Yuthura met Minuet's eyes, shocked. Minuet pressed a button on the side of the cylinder, and the Force came rushing back to them. She handed the cylinder to Yuthura, who took it gingerly and began examining it, amazed that something that could fit in the palm of her hand could affect the Force that way. It was clear that it was of the same design as the circlets.
Minuet continued her explanation. "The circlets only work on the people who are wearing them; they appear to be defensive in nature. Unlike that device,"--she pointed to the metal cylinder in Yuthura's hand--"they can't push back the Force around people who aren't wearing them. We haven't been able to figure out how they work, although the Council has a team of Jedi working on that." Minuet paused, her thoughtful expression turning into a worried frown. "Technology like this isn't supposed to exist. The only other technology that I've ever heard of that are even remotely similar are the energy cages installed in some of the giant Fleet frigates. But those cages require a direct source of enormous power, which is why they are rare. Did you see anything like this on Korriban?"
Yuthura placed the circlet back down on the polished wooden table with a small click, and folded her hands in her lap. "No. Clearly it's not a Sith artifact, since the styles are completely different, and it's older than that, isn't it?" When Min nodded her confirmation, Yuthura continued, "The only non-Sith artifact found on Korriban that I was aware of was the Star Map."
"You're right about it being older; I'm guessing about the peak of the Rakatan Empire. I've seen this pattern before. I know I have… but I just can't remember. It seems so familiar." She sighed. "I wish I had my notes."
"You took them with you when you left the Order," Vrook said, startling both women; they had forgotten that he was there. "Dorak and I searched for them after your fall. He was the only reason that we even knew about the Star Maps, you know. You discussed it with him years ago, but it took us a long time to make the connection and understand the significance of them."
Yuthura knew that speaking to Dorak would be impossible. The former Head Chronicler of the Jedi Archives had been killed in Malak's attack on Dantooine over two years ago.
Vrook stood, steadying himself with his gnarled hands on the desk, and Yuthura noticed for the first time how frail the Jedi Master actually was. "Well, it looks like we aren't going to find anything here." He nodded at the both of them. "I need to consult the Council about what our next step should be. I trust that the two of you will find something productive to do."
Both women watched in silence until Vrook was out of earshot. Minuet shook her head when they were finally alone and muttered, "What an old bastard."
Yuthura's eyes widened slightly and the corners of her full lips twitched, but she said nothing.
Sighing, Minuet rubbed the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger. "Sorry, it's been a long three days. Why the Council insists on forcing two people to work together when they have never gotten along, I'll never understand. I'm probably supposed to be learning a valuable lesson about patience or something, but all we manage to do is argue."
"He was your Master?"
"Mine and Mal's."
Yuthura blinked, disconcerted at hearing one former Dark Lord of the Sith refer to another by a nickname. She had met Malak several times, and couldn't picture him being called "Mal." Then again, the slender woman in front of her didn't seem like Darth Revan either.
Minuet studied Yuthura with an intense curiosity. "You said you left Korriban with Thalia May. I don't remember her from the Academy."
"At the time you were there, she and two other students were hiding out in the shyrack caves. They had refused to kill someone, I forget who, and Uthar ordered them to be killed." Yuthura hesitated; her time as a Sith instructor wasn't something she was very proud of. "They were the students I suggested that you find and kill when we were plotting for you to gain influence."
"Ah, I remember now." Minuet nodded thoughtfully. "I was going to try to find them and offer them a lift off the planet, but then things got rather complicated with Dustil." Her brows knit together as she asked, "How did you end up with them?"
"I met them at the transport. They were trying to buy passage, but they didn't have enough money. After a lot of convincing that I wasn't trying to kill them, I paid for their fares and we made our way to Dantooine. It was closer than Coruscant, and I heard there was a Jedi enclave there."
Minuet winced. "You were on Dantooine when it was bombed."
Yuthura spoke softly and slowly as memories of that nightmarish day flashed unwillingly through her mind: bright fireballs streaking across the placid golden sky and the sounds of the wounded lucky enough to survive. "We were out in the fields doing meditation exercises with Master Zhar when the bombing started. I've never felt so helpless watching anything. There was nothing left except a couple of smoking craters by the time we got back."
"I'm happy you made it. I wondered what happened to you after we left Korriban. I was afraid an ambitious student would find you and kill you while you were knocked out."
The idea that someone had actually worried about her well being startled Yuthura. She looked at the other woman, reflexively wondering what she hoped to gain, and was astonished, because Minuet seemed completely genuine.
Clearing her throat, Yuthura steeled herself to say the words she felt were long overdue, but no less difficult to say. "When I woke up in Naga Sadow's tomb, I couldn't believe that you let me live. I made my way back to the Academy and everything was in complete confusion. Dustil, Mekel, and Kel were missing, and there were at least seven dead students. I was going to take control of the Academy. Everyone who could have stopped me was gone… but I couldn't stop thinking about what you said." Yuthura smiled ruefully and met Minuet's eyes. "I think I hated you for forcing me to question everything that I had come to believe, but you were right, and I couldn't deny it. So I went to my rooms, packed a bag, and left."
Minuet showed no sign of being offended at her confession. "The truth is a difficult thing to face. This is probably going to sound patronizing, but I think you should be proud."
Proud wasn't exactly what Yuthura was feeling, more like disgusted and ashamed at the person that she had once been. "That is kind of you to say. I admit that I feel foolish that I didn't see what was right in front of me. The Sith cause just as much, if not more, misery and destruction than slavers do. I can't believe I was so blind. I never got the chance to thank you."
Minuet shifted uncomfortably, and Yuthura could see the embarrassed flush under her brown skin. "Yuthura, you don't have anything to thank me for."
Yuthura, unwilling to allow Minuet to minimize what she had done, continued. "Yes, I do. Killing me would have been the prudent thing to do, but you took a chance and risked your own safety by letting me live. And you gave me the wakeup call that I needed. If it hadn't been for you, I would probably still be a Sith."
Lips quirking, Minuet shrugged. "Well, I liked you, so I really had no desire to kill you. Ultimately, it was your choice to make."
"Yes, it was my choice. But as Jolee once pointed out to me, sometimes we need a kick in the trousers to get us going in the right direction."
Minuet conceded with a chuckle and a nod. "You're welcome, then." She rose and paused awkwardly, clearly uncertain of how to continue. After a few seconds, she said, "Speaking of a kick in the pants, Canderous' daily training session starts soon. Would you like to watch? It's rather entertaining."
Touched more than she wanted to admit, Yuthura stood and fell into step with her. Even after two years with the Jedi, or maybe because of it, friendship was something she was uncomfortable with. She was astonished at how much she wanted it from this woman. Determined to make the effort, she smiled and said, "I heard that today is Mekel's turn. It should be rather informative."
She was rewarded by a brilliant smile that actually reached Minuet's dark eyes. "I probably shouldn't find it so entertaining, but I have to take my pleasures where I can get them, as petty as they are."
Yuthura's throaty laugh filled the studious silence as they strolled out of the library.
In the inky darkness of her personal quarters, Revan stirred.
Untangling herself from the blankets and Malak's heavy arms, she silently slipped out of bed. Revan looked down at his large, muscular frame sprawled over the luxurious bed, and frowned. Her apprentice and lover was becoming troublesome, and she was going to have to decide what to do about him soon. Malak was growing increasingly reckless and impatient, demanding more power over her new armada. Worse, he was beginning to disobey her orders, which was something that she simply could not tolerate. She was going to have to get him under control soon, before she was forced to take more… drastic actions.
It was strange, really. When they had foolishly walked the light side path, Malak had been the one with the steady patience, while she was the one with the temper. But the more they embraced the power of the dark side, the colder and more calculating she'd become, while his anger and rage always simmered underneath the surface, ready to boil over at any time.
Still, Malak was an exceptional warrior, and the deadliest swordsman she'd ever known. While he was hardly a fool, he was a tactical disaster. The one time she'd allowed him to take command of a small portion of their fleet had been an unmitigated failure. Even worse, he'd refused to listen to the advice of the tactical specialists that she'd assigned to watch him, and had killed one of her most talented admirals in a blind rage when the woman had pointed out the flaws in his plan. He had gone on to engage the enemy anyway, and it had only been the arrival of the main fleet that prevented a complete disaster. Admiral Kato was going to be difficult to replace, but fortunately Revan had the perfect man in mind.
Revan picked up the crimson silk robe that was lying in a decadent puddle on the floor and pulled it over her naked, lithe form. She crossed the room silently, silk gliding along her skin as she walked. She settled into the plush dark leather seat before her desk and switched on the small desk lamp. The soft glow illuminated the intricate Sith tattoos on her slender hand, tattoos that now covered most of her dark body.
Sighing, Revan looked through the stacks of datapads that covered her desk until she found the one she was searching for. A press of a button switched the datapad on, and Revan was greeted by the sight of one of the Republic's best tactical minds, and a man with whom she had once closely worked with.
Not only was Saul Karath an exceptional tactician, he was incredible at finding and utilizing talented people. His ships were headed by some of the most capable people in the Republic Fleet, many of whom were incredibly loyal to the Admiral. Revan knew that if she could get Karath to defect, he would be able to bring some of that talent with him, others in the fleet who had been devalued and underutilized the way he was. She'd worked with him extensively during the Mandalorian wars, and had seen his frustration as he'd gotten passed over for promotion again and again. With that idiot Pol Durvil's promotion to High Admiral, Saul had to be livid. He was ripe, and it was time to make her move.
Saul had already been approached by her agents, and she was certain that it wouldn't be long before he saw reason and joined their cause. When he turned, he would be able to deliver the massive orbital shipyards of Nigel Three, where the Republic Fleet based over twenty percent of its ships, by turning over the bypass codes to the Republic scanners. With a well-timed sneak attack, they would be able to catch the ships while they were docked.
She looked over to where Malak slept and considered her options. Once Saul agreed, she could take out the shipyards herself, or she could send Malak to take care of it. Normally she wouldn't even consider allowing Malak to do it, but taking out the unprepared orbital shipyards should be easy; even Malak should be able to accomplish it without making a mess of it. Malak and Saul had worked well together during the Mandalorian wars, and respected and liked one another. Malak would be perfect for the job of convincing Saul to join, and then the shipyards would be easy pickings.
Allowing Malak to take the lead in this instance would solve several problems in one blow. It would appease her lover, who wanted more direct control of the fleet, by allowing him to take charge of an operation that was idiot proof. In addition, it would confirm Malak's worth to the other Sith leadership. There were too many rumblings in the ranks about how Darth Revan granted too much latitude to her lover and apprentice. Every time he disobeyed one of her orders or failed at an appointed task, he made them both vulnerable to the opposition, who regarded her relationship with Malak as a weakness to exploit.
This perceived weakness was one of the reasons she had allowed the bond that once flowed openly between them to wither. It wouldn't be much longer before it died completely, and while she mourned the loss deeply, she recognized that it was an indulgence that she could no longer tolerate.
Revan set the datapad aside and stood, stretching her long body. As she reached over to turn off the small lamp, the intricate silver circlet that sat on her desk caught her attention. The ancient piece of jewelry had been found on the Rakatan planet, and had some very interesting properties that she was eager to exploit. While she wanted to follow up and learn more about the makers of the Force-suppressing technology, it was something that she would have to take care of in person. The nature of the circlet was something that could make her vulnerable, and it was a task that she didn't dare turn over to just anyone.
She looked at Malak again and decided that sending him for more answers about this technology might be the perfect task for him, once the business with Saul was complete. Not only would it keep him out of her hair, it would be genuinely useful, because she suspected that there was more than this one circlet to be found.
Satisfied with her decisions, she smiled and returned to bed. He stirred in his sleep as she joined him, wrapping his arm around her, pulling her close, and burying his handsome face in her neck. Revan fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that no matter what, she would be able to trust Malak, because he belonged to her.
Shaking and covered with sweat, Min pulled herself from the heavy grip of the Force-induced dream and struggled to get herself under control. She had just managed to pull herself into a sitting position when Bastila's worried voice rang through her mind, cutting through guilt and grief and sorrow.
Min! Are you alright?
She swallowed the lump in her throat and focused on the bond. Concern mixed with a healthy dose of fear flowed from Bastila, and Min knew that Bastila had shared the dream with her. While the younger Jedi was trying to be supportive, Min could tell that Bastila was shaken up by what she had witnessed.
Min grimaced. Normally she was able to shield Bastila from her nightmares and dreams, which weren't as frequent as they once had been, thanks to some mind-focusing techniques she'd learned from Jolee. But this one had come with such intensity that it had broken through the barriers that Min had placed in her mind.
I'm sorry you had to see that.
It is not your fault. There was a slight hesitation before Bastila continued. If you would like to talk about it –
No! Wincing because that came out far harsher than she had intended, Min tried again. No. Thanks, but I don't want to talk about it. I just want to be alone, okay?
But –
Still trembling, Min pushed her hair back from her face and untangled herself from the sheets that rustled softly as she shoved them aside. Bastila, please.
Min ignored Bastila's concern and frustration. She could practically hear the sigh as Bastila caved. As you wish. But if you want to talk –
I'll let you know, Min finished, and ruthlessly cut the bond.
Eyes burning from unshed tears, Min stood on shaky legs, moving from the bedroom to the spacious living area. Dawn was just beginning to break, and the room was bathed in dim grey light. She walked over to the pair of beautiful polished pleakwood chairs that she had bought especially for Malak another lifetime ago. From the fragments and pieces of her past that she remembered, she knew that he had loved them, and she couldn't look at them without thinking of him.
Lost in memories she wished she didn't have, she curled up in the heavy wooden chair and wept.
As Carth waited for the transport to dock, he watched Dustil's expression grow darker and darker by the minute, and Carth wondered, not for the first time today, why the hell Dustil had insisted on coming.
Dustil and Carth were waiting in docking bay M-471, and Carth was thankful that the bay was nearly empty because it was still painfully early in the morning. He had discovered the hard way that his face was now famous when he had taken Dustil and his friends out to dinner. A near riot had been started by people who, for some crazy reason, wanted his autoprint. After being mobbed and having his uniform nearly torn off, he was wary about being seen in public places, and always kept an eye on the exits just in case.
Fame made him deeply uncomfortable, but since most of his time was spent with the Fleet, it normally didn't affect him at all. Still, it made going out in public a pain in the ass. Carth was hoping that the public's fascination with the Star Forge heroes would eventually die down, but unfortunately after two years it showed no signs of abating. His likeness and personal life still graced holonet shows and tabloids, despite the fact that he really just wanted to be left alone.
For a while, it looked like luck was going to be with him. The few people in the bay seemed to be looking at his son, the brown Jedi robes and lightsaber hooked to his belt drawing stares, some respectful and curious, some fearful, and a few with obvious dislike. The bonus was that most people generally gave them a wide berth, whether out of respect or fear. Carth didn't particularly care which, as long as they left them alone.
However, it looked like his luck was close to running out. A pair of middle-aged women sitting on a nearby metal bench kept shooting speculative glances in his direction, and speaking in low tones while they gestured excitedly. Carth tried to ignore them, staring intently at the docking bay door, willing it to open.
Dustil must have noticed his discomfort, because he shot his father a questioning look. Carth cleared his throat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his black leather swoop duster, which he was wearing instead of his favorite orange flight jacket. It annoyed him that he was no longer able to wear it in public, since he was too easily recognizable in it. His admittedly feeble attempt at disguise included the long swoop duster and a red visor that he had dug out of the back of his closet at the last minute. Judging by the growing agitation of the nearby women, it had failed.
Dustil's brown eyes, a mirror of his father's, swept across the unassuming docking bay, taking in the utilitarian metal benches where an Aqualish was sitting, watching the news. It finally landed on the pair of twittering women, who were now openly staring.
Dustil smirked. "Looks like you've got yourself a pair of fans. Maybe you should give them an autoprint. They'd probably faint."
"I think I'll pass, Dee."
"Are you sure you want to let them down? They might be members of your fan club."
Dustil broke into an all-out grin, and Carth wondered why his son seemed to enjoy his company only when he was being harassed or embarrassed. Carth didn't bother rising to the obvious taunt, instead gracing his son with a wry look, telling himself that he should feel grateful, since they had so far avoided the bitter arguments and heated antagonism that often plagued their time together.
The transport landed and passengers started to disembark, sparing Carth from further mocking comments from his amused son.
A steady stream of passengers emerged from the transport, most bustling on by while a few were greeted by their family and friends. Carth was granted a reprieve from the stares of the nearby women when they greeted a young woman and two children by enthusiastically screeching and squealing in delight.
Finally, Mission appeared, followed by Zaalbar, who was carrying their bags, and T3, who was rolling placidly along behind them. Mission caught sight of him almost immediately, confirming the ineffectiveness of his disguise, and shouted "Carth!" while waving furiously. The two ogling women's attention snapped to him, and they smiled goofily. Carth knew that it was only a matter of time before they approached him and drew even more attention now.
But it was hard to be upset with Mission looking so happily at him. She bounded up to him with an enthusiasm that was infectious.
"Hey, kid," he said, grinning as he gave her a bear hug. Pulling back, he held her by the shoulders and inspected her. She was at least three inches taller than the last time he'd seen her, far less girlish and more and more womanly. Carth suspected that the pretty Twi'lek was already turning heads; it was a thought that made him rather uncomfortable, bringing out the protective fatherly instincts that he had to choke back.
Dustil apparently hadn't noticed her comeliness yet, or he just didn't care, because he was openly scowling at the girl. When Mission returned the scowl with a smirk, Carth knew that it was going to be a long day.
After a hearty roar and a friendly pat on the back from Zaalbar that nearly dislocated his shoulder, Carth managed to get everyone moving towards the exits.
Hubri watched as the four companions and the droid exited the docking bay into the main terminal. Following at a discreet distance, he waited for his chance to make his move. The tainted Admiral's son and the one he knew from the holovids as Mission Vao flanked Admiral Onasi, bickering with each other. The enormous Wookiee and the astromech droid brought up the rear.
His chance came when two middle-aged women approached Admiral Onasi. The Admiral turned crimson and held his hands up in front of him while the pair fawned over him and the blue Twi'lek girl. The Admiral's son stood slightly to the side, snickering, his attention focused on the commotion around his father.
Hubri slipped the circlet over his head and moved in, weaving deftly in and out of the small stream of people heading towards their final destinations. The women were causing quite a commotion now, apparently unaware or uncaring of the discomfort they were causing the Admiral; the loud gushing was now drawing the attention of nearby passengers coming and going from the docking bays.
As he walked, he spun the heavy ring around on his right hand with his thumb so that the heavy insignia was facing towards his palm, and pressed a miniscule button on the side. Three tiny needles sprang out, and Hubri was careful to keep his fingers stiff. He didn't want to accidentally poke himself, since the poison was fast acting and there wasn't a cure.
Hubri tried to appear relaxed and nonchalant, but he really needn't have bothered. The throng of people was increasing at an alarming rate around the Wookiee, the Twi'lek girl and the Admiral as people asked for their autoprints and jostled with one another to get closer to the saviors of the Republic. The boy, however, remained free of the growing crowd's attention and was jostled further away from his companions. It was a good thing, since he was under strict orders not to harm the Admiral.
Perfect.
Careful to stay out of the Force user's line of sight, Hubri closed the gap as even more people surrounded the others, clogging the hallway. Approaching from behind the boy, he lifted his hand, ready to clasp the young Jedi's shoulder in an outwardly innocent gesture, when the Admiral shouted over the loud din, "Zaalbar, grab him, so we can get out of here!"
The enormous Wookiee let out a fearsome bellow, and the crowd collectively took a step backwards. A large furry hand reached out and clasped the kid on the shoulder, jerking him forward. The excited, jostling crowd closed behind the Jedi, who was now out of Hubri's reach.
Hubri watched as the Jedi, now guarded from the crowd by the irritated Wookiee, cut through the mob quickly and load into their nearby speeder. Within a minute, they were gone. As they sped away, Hubri consoled himself with the knowledge that there would certainly be another chance.
Baring her teeth, Mission snarled as an angry red flush stained her cheeks, "You got a problem, Sithboy?"
"Yeah. You." Dustil fired back behind a false smile, finely crafted for the maximum irritation of a certain blue Twi'lek teenager.
Carth's jaw locked in a hard line as he walked brusquely down the long white corridor connecting the Jedi Knights' apartments to the sound of vicious and persistent bickering that hadn't stopped since they had left the spaceport. Carth had given up trying to mediate between them, having learned from hard-earned experience that while his interference might bring about a temporary reprieve, in the long run it usually made things worse.
"Too bad," Mission coolly informed him with a haughty sniff that she couldn't quite pull off. "Why don't you get lost? Nobody wants you here, anyway. Don't you have something else to do?"
Carth was silently hoping that Dustil did have something else to do, and was trying to think of a subtle way to nudge his son into leaving, especially given the fact that they were on their way to Min's quarters. Dustil's feelings regarding the former Dark Lord of the Sith were no secret to his father.
But that hope was dashed when Dustil said with irritating cheerfulness, "Nope. Training doesn't begin until mid-morning, so you're stuck with me…" Dustil paused, and Carth could tell that his son was trying to come up with the most annoying word possible, finally settling on the one word that was guaranteed to send Mission over the edge, "kid."
At that, Mission predictably exploded, hurling insults and protesting loudly that she was not a kid, until Zaalbar, who sounded as frustrated as Carth felt, roared grouchily and stepped in between the teenagers. Although neither Carth nor Dustil could speak Shyriiwook, the Wookiee's meaning was perfectly clear to everyone. Temporarily chastised, they remained silent as they traveled down the rest of the hall, finally reaching Min's apartment.
Carth pressed the call button and waited in painful anticipation; Min finally opened the door, wrapped in a long ivory silk robe, gaping at him. It took her a second to recover as astonishment and then anger crossed her face as she stared at him, dumbfounded by his presence.
Mission launched herself at Min with a lopsided grin and the Jedi's ire vanished into a surprised laugh as she caught the girl in a hug. A brilliant, heartfelt smile lit up Min's face, the first one he'd seen in two years, and Carth's chest tightened painfully.
"Mission! I thought you were coming next week," Min said as she untangled herself from the enthusiastic teenager. T3 chirped an enthusiastic greeting and promptly rolled into the apartment, plugging into the nearest wall jack.
"I was going to, but when Big Z found out you came back from the fleet, he made us leave early."
Zaalbar roared his confirmation of that from behind Carth, and his ears began to ache from the loud, angry rumble.
Min momentarily ignored Zaalbar as she glared at Carth from over Mission's shoulder. Carth noticed that her eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles under them.
She's been crying.
Feeling like an idiot for still caring, Carth bit back his concern. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, offer her some comfort, something, but he knew that any overture by him would be unwelcome, and that cut deeper than he thought it would, even after everything that had happened.
Still glaring at Carth, she spoke. "You should have told me you were coming. I would have arranged for Jolee or Juhani to pick you up."
Right, Min. Anyone other than me.
Carth shoved his hands in his pockets and made his stand in the doorway, refusing to let her blow him off. Mission glanced between the two of them, and it looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for a fight to begin.
Instead, Carth smiled, and it was a mirror of the one his son had given to Mission moments earlier, also designed for maximum irritation as he said, "That's alright. I didn't mind."
When Mission had asked him to pick her and Zaalbar up from the terminal, he'd jumped at the chance to meet Min again, figuring that they still had some unresolved business to discuss. Min's glare spoke volumes, and he could see the wheels turning in her head as she tried to come up with an excuse to get rid of him. But she didn't get the chance because Zaalbar's patience came to an end. The Wookiee lumbered through the doorway, growling at Min, and launched into a full-blown Wookiee tirade at the Jedi Knight.
Rubbing her forehead, Min sighed and followed Zaalbar. Carth stepped into the spacious and elegant apartment while Min was too distracted to protest, followed by his openly curious son.
Zaalbar was livid, roaring in sharp, deafening barks while holding a piece of Mission's pink luggage over his head, shaking it, apparently for emphasis.
Min held her hands out in front of her, trying to placate the irate Wookiee. "Yes, I know you have a life debt, but -"
Zaalbar cut her off with another series of growls and moans. He tossed the luggage aside, and it hit the polished hardwood floor with a crash. Mission protested the mishandling of her luggage, but Zaalbar ignored her, glowering down and dwarfing Min while the lecture continued.
"No, I never meant to dishonor you. I was a prisoner with the fleet, remember? They wouldn't let you come."
But Carth knew that there was more to it than that. Zaalbar had returned to Kashyyyk when it became obvious that he would not be allowed to see her. Carth suspected that Min had used her prisoner status as an excuse to keep the Wookiee at bay, the same way she had with him. She had never been comfortable with the life debt, and during their mission for the Star Forge, she had desperately tried to find a way out of it.
Zaalbar wasn't buying her excuses, and Carth watched with great satisfaction as the normally stoic and silent Wookiee roared at her some more. Carth glanced at his son; Dustil's eyes were round as he watched a Wookiee's fury in full force.
"I know I promised to tell you when I'd returned to the Order. And I was going to…"--Min hesitated--"eventually."
Zaalbar exploded, pacing and howling as Min continued, "You belong with your people. They need you."
Another series of growls and fearsome roars reverberated throughout the room, and Carth was very glad that the Wookiee wasn't angry with him. It culminated in Zaalbar stomping over to one of the large pleakwood chairs by the window and sitting, arms crossed in defiance.
Min raked her hand through her chin-length curls and sighed, turning her attention back to Mission. Picking up Mission's pink bags, she walked through the apartment to the bedroom and set the bags down on the large rumpled bed. Carth and Mission followed while Dustil made himself at home, shamelessly inspecting the apartment.
"Sorry, Min," Mission said as she began inspecting her mangled luggage, grimacing. "I wanted to warn you that Big Z was coming and was really, really angry, but he wouldn't let me. You should have seen him when he found out you returned from the fleet without telling him. He ripped the table we were sitting at apart." She opened her bag and began taking out clothes that were now in a crumpled ball. "I guess this isn't so bad, considering."
Min shook her head, completely ignoring Carth's presence, apparently deciding that if she couldn't come up with an excuse to get rid of him, treating him like a piece of furniture was the next best option. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I'll have to figure something out." She went over to a dresser that was built into the wall, and began making room for Mission's clothes. "Are you sure you want to stay with me? The Masters would give you your own suite if you wanted it."
Mission looked stricken. "Yeah. I mean, unless you don't want me to stay with you."
Carth wondered if Min was trying to push Mission away the same way she had almost everyone else, and momentarily felt a spike of anger that she'd do that to a kid who practically worshiped her.
But the anger evaporated when Min said, "Of course I do! I just thought you'd be more comfortable in your own quarters, with your own bed and everything. I want you to stay. Really."
Mission still looked unconvinced. "Are you sure you're not mad at me?"
Min's brows rose, and she stopped moving clothing from drawer to drawer. "Why would I be mad at you?"
"I thought you might be angry, about me leaving school and all," Mission said as she sheepishly avoided Min's eyes, studying the rumpled shirt in her hands with more attention than was probably necessary.
Min walked over to Mission, took the shirt out of the girl's hands and tossed it on the bed. Resting her hands on the girl's slender shoulders, Min ducked down and looked Mission in the eye. "Mission, look. I just wanted you to try it. It's okay that you decided it wasn't for you. I wanted you to be happy, and you were miserable there."
Mission met Min's eyes. "But you spent so much money-" Carth knew that Min had sent Mission to one of the most exclusive private schools on Coruscant; the tuition had been astronomical and non-refundable.
Min dismissed Mission's concerns as completely inconsequential. "It's okay. I can afford it."
Carth thought that might actually be the understatement of the century. As a trust fund baby with a yearly stipend worth than some planetary budgets, Min wasn't rich--she was obscenely wealthy, with an old money Coruscanti bloodline to boot. Mission's tuition was simply insignificant to her.
Although Carth knew, from the Republic intelligence reports that he'd managed to see, that she had given away much of her money anonymously, she couldn't touch her trust fund principal. It was protected under Coruscanti law, and even the Republic government couldn't get at it. Even after all of her anonymous donations, carefully monitored by Republic intelligence, there was still an amazing amount of it left over.
By all rights, her trust fund should have passed through the Coruscanti inheritance laws to her designated beneficiary at the time of her supposed death. But since her only named beneficiary was the then Darth Malak, it created a kind of legal conundrum. The Republic government tried to seize her assets, claiming her traitorous status gave them the legal standing to claim the money for the government. Her own bloodsucking relatives, including both of her parents, who had publicly disowned her by that time, filed counterclaims. Even the Jedi Order got in on the legal wrangling, claiming that the money should be theirs.
The resulting legal battle lasted for several years, until Revan's return from supposed death stopped the lawsuit, rendering it moot, to the disappointment of all involved. Carth thought the whole thing was disgusting, especially considering that her family, who was so very concerned about her money, still refused to acknowledge her existence. The sole exception was her maternal grandfather, who had been the one who'd set up the trust in the first place. As far as Carth knew, he'd been the only family member who'd contacted Min.
"Anyway, once you get settled in, we'll go to breakfast and see the others, okay?"
"Great," Mission said. The girl then shot sly glances at the two of them. In a completely transparent attempt to leave the two of them alone, Mission bolted to the bedroom door and said, "I'm gonna…um…get something to drink. I'll be right back…" She was gone before Min could protest, closing the door behind her.
Carth saw the exasperation flashing in Min's dark eyes as she turned back to the dressers and began putting Mission's clothes away, making a valiant attempt to continue ignoring his presence completely.
"I didn't put her up to this, you know," he said.
Min was distinctly nonplussed as she continued to put the clothing in the drawer, folding Mission's unkempt and rumpled clothing as she went. "I know. You're not sneaky enough to do it," she snapped.
Insulted that she didn't think him devious enough to come up with such a plan, he frowned at her, even though in truth he hadn't come up with it, and had just followed along, knowing what Mission's intentions were. "Hey, I was tricky enough at the banquet."
Min surprised him by smiling slightly, as though she couldn't quite stop herself. She still didn't look at him, though, or stop her obvious busy work. As she untangled a ball of clothing that was wrapped around one of Mission's datapads, she said, "I guess you were."
"We need to talk."
She looked up at him then, crossing her arms under her breasts, datapad still in hand. Not for the first time, Carth noticed how the material clung to her lithe body. Even worse, she was standing in front of a large rumpled bed. Much to his annoyance, his thoughts turned to the rather unwholesome variety as her eyes blazed in anger. "Do you think that this is the best time to do that, with your son in the other room, stewing in anger?"
Damn it. Dustil!
Clenching his fists in bitter frustration, Carth realized that she had a point. "Sooner or later, we're going to have this conversation, Min."
"Not if I can help it," she muttered as he turned and headed to the door. Before he could walk out of the room, however, she cursed profusely. Something about her tone of voice told her that it wasn't aimed him.
"Carth, wait," she said, shocking the hell out of him. He turned and saw her studying the datapad that had been wrapped up in Mission's shirt. She looked up at him and said, "Take a look at this."
He walked over to her and peered over her shoulder, feeling guilty that he was looking at Mission's private belongings. Any reservations he had disappeared when he saw what was on it.
He bit the word out, "Griff." He looked at Min, who was clearly worried. "I can't believe that core-slime's contacted her again."
"I thought that after what you and Zaalbar did to him last time, he would leave her alone," she said, scrolling quickly through the rest of the message so he could see it.
Two years ago, Mission's long-lost brother, who had abandoned her on Taris, had caught up with his newly famous sister on Coruscant. In a weird quirk of fate, Griff had been on Tatooine the same time they had during their Star Forge mission, and had been captured by the Sand People during one of their raids on the Czerka sand crawlers. When the Jedi had raided the Sand People enclave, they hadn't realized that he was there. They'd found out later that he'd used their distraction to escape from the camp, catching the first transport off the planet before they even knew that he was there.
Over the last two years, Griff periodically surfaced every time he ran out of money, and every time, Mission gave it to him. The last time Griff had contacted Mission, he'd convinced her to fund his latest get-rich-quick scheme. The kid had a big heart when it came to her no-good brother, even when he had finally admitted what everyone had already guessed: that it was his idea and not his girlfriend's to leave a ten-year-old sister alone on Taris. Mission had pawned her Krayt Dragon pearl and had given the twenty thousand credits to Griff. Zaalbar and Carth had cornered Griff, telling him that if he intended to screw over his sister again, he'd have to deal with them. The bastard had taken Mission's money anyway, and from what Carth knew, hadn't contacted her since.
"He must be out of money again. I'd pay him off to leave her alone, except that it would probably just encourage him to ask for more. I'm afraid that it wouldn't solve anything in the long run." As Carth nodded in agreement, she sighed, "What do you think we should do?"
Carth knew the answer, even though it went against every parental instinct that he had. "Nothing."
Min's brows rose and her jaw nearly hit the floor. "Nothing? You're suggesting that we do nothing?"
"Yeah." He took the datapad out of Min's hands, turned it off, and put it back in Mission's pink bag. "As much as I hate to say it, it's none of our business, Min."
When she nearly sputtered in indignation, he had to suppress a smile. While he didn't find this business with Griff amusing, it was satisfying to know that he could still surprise her. "But he's a bastard! He's just using her," Min protested.
"What do you think we should do?" He gestured to the closed door. "Go out there and confront her about this? Demand that she not see her brother?"
"No, but-"
"But what? She's sixteen and she's been living on her own for most of her life. If we go out there and lecture her, it's going to accomplish nothing except piss her off. And how would we explain that we were snooping around, looking at her datapad?"
"Hey! It was on! Besides, this is Mission, who happens to be the queen of snooping. It's not like she has any room to talk." Carth decided that pointing out that, just because it was on, she still didn't have to read it would accomplish nothing, except sidetracking them from the important issue.
But Min did have a point about Mission being the queen of snooping, coloring as he remembered a certain unfortunate laundry mix-up that had resulted in Min's unmentionables getting jumbled in with his laundry before they were lovers. Carth hadn't been able to figure out a way to return them without drawing attention, and he'd felt horribly sleazy keeping them. He'd solved the problem by stuffing them into the bottom of his drawer, hoping to slip them into her laundry the next time she washed her clothes. When he had sent Mission to his bunk to grab an extra power cell for her blaster, she'd found them, much to his mortification. Eventually, Min had found out, and the teasing had been merciless.
He shook his head, focusing on the problem at hand. "This is a decision that she has to make herself."
She looked at him like she couldn't believe what he was saying. In truth, he could barely believe it himself. "We could at least talk to her about it. Try to convince her to ignore him."
"If she wants us to know, she'll tell us. Until then, we should let it be."
"You know he's going to break her heart again!"
"Maybe. Although maybe we're not giving her enough credit." Min opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off. "Look, I know how you feel. My first instinct is to go out there and lecture her, or better yet, go find Griff and kick his ass. But that's not going to solve anything. She has to figure this out on her own."
When Min scowled at him, he knew that he'd won. "When did you get so patient?" she asked, clearly not happy with this decision, but apparently unable to come up with anything better.
He smiled ruefully. "When I had to figure out how to deal with my angry teenage son. I learned pretty quickly that forcing the issue is about the worst thing that you can do." Raking his hand though his hair, he sighed. "He's still so angry with me. But he's a man, and I can't make him do what I want or see things my way. I didn't think that after two years he would still be so angry with me, but… he is."
Min's eyes softened, and a lump welled up in his throat as he realized how much he missed just talking to her. "You're his father. Isn't it an unwritten law of the universe that fathers and teenage sons can't get along?"
Carth chuckled, but his heart wasn't really in it, and he could see by her worried look that she wasn't buying it either. It warmed him more than he wanted to admit that she would still care enough to be worried for him. "Yeah, you're probably right. Dee and I have always butted heads. Ana was the one who could deal with him the best; she always seemed to know what to say."
The minute he said it, he knew that he'd made a mistake. He watched helplessly as guilt overwhelmed her. Min took a step backwards. He stumbled over his words, cursing himself as he spoke, "Min, I didn't… ah, I mean… I don't blame you."
"I know you don't, but you should," she said in a small voice. "She'd be here if it weren't for me."
"You don't know that-"
"Yes, I do." She turned away, picking up a set of brown Jedi robes out of the open drawer. "I need to get dressed. Please go."
As he stood there, trying to figure out what to say, she disappeared into the refresher, leaving him alone, again.
Dustil paced as his anger grew.
Mission, looking mighty pleased with herself, emerged from the small kitchen area with two mugs of caf. Dustil glared at her, turning his attention to the closed bedroom door, and suppressed the urge to throttle Mission. As he was deciding whether or not to charge into the bedroom, Mission's voice cut across his indecision.
"What the heck are you doing?"
It took Dustil a second to realize that she wasn't talking to him but to Zaalbar. The Wookiee had retreated to a corner and had begun unpacking his enormous olive duffel bag. He pulled out a worn bedroll, and it looked like he was setting up camp in the corner of the apartment.
Zaalbar answered Mission with what sounded like a couple of long whines and a soft howl, while gesturing to his blanket and kit.
Mission rolled her eyes. "Min's not going to be very happy about that."
Zaalbar shrugged and continued to make himself comfortable, while Mission handed him a mug of hot caf. Dustil noticed with a twinge of annoyance that she hadn't offered him any.
Mission settled into one of the large wooden chairs next to the floor-to-ceiling windows, sipping her caf and grinning.
"Aren't you going to go back in there?" Dustil demanded.
"Pfft. No," Mission said, flipping her lekku over her shoulder and still looking rather smug. "Why would I do that?"
"You set this up, didn't you? You didn't tell her you were coming on purpose, and you asked my father to pick you up knowing this would happen!"
Mission just looked at him and tried to look innocent. After a few seconds of trying, she gave up and just smirked instead.
Dustil's anger, which was already boiling, went white hot. Realizing that he was about to lose his temper completely, he closed his eyes and focused on the calming exercises that Master Zhar had taught him. After a minute or so of focusing, he felt better, but he didn't trust himself to talk to Mission now without going crazy, so instead he returned to inspecting the apartment, and ignored Mission as best he could.
It was unlike any other apartment that he had seen in the Jedi Temple. Master Zhar's rooms were sparse, with few personal effects, and very little in creature comforts. Most of the padawans tried to emulate their masters, which made for rather boring living quarters.
This apartment was more like an actual apartment. The furnishings were classy and understated, but clearly expensive. Dustil's artistic sensibilities couldn't help but be impressed by Revan's taste. Sleek and clean lines predominated the comfortable furniture, which were in soft earth tones. There were smatterings of color throughout the room, from the vase of crimson starblooms on the low table between the gleaming pleakwood chairs, to the sky-blue afghan tossed over the back of a cream loveseat in a small seating area, near a pair of full bookcases. Colorful woven rugs were scattered on the floor, their beautiful knotted patterns an interesting contrast to the shining wooden floor. But what caught his eye was the painting on the opposite wall.
Before he could inspect it more closely, his father emerged from the bedroom looking like someone had just punched him in the gut. His father met his eyes and sighed. Mission looked at his father with the obvious question on her lips, and sharp jealousy shot through him. He normally wouldn't voluntarily spend his precious free time with his father, who usually had to pester and cajole him into seeing him, but he was going to be damned if he let a bratty cantina rat take his place.
"Well?" Mission asked.
"She's getting dressed. She'll be out in a few minutes." The tired look on his father's face didn't invite any more questions on the subject. Mission sighed and settled back into the chair, chattering with Zaalbar as he continued to unpack in the corner. Carth joined Dustil over by the painting.
"I was going to take Mission and Zaalbar out to dinner tonight. Want to come?"
"Can't. Master Zhar is having dinner with the Rodian Trade Commission." Dustil pulled a face at the thought of spending several hours at another boring dinner.
"Sounds damn boring." His father's words echoed his thoughts and sympathy shone in his eyes. It occurred to Dustil that his father must have attended hundreds of these kinds of events.
"I know. He says that it will be a valuable lesson in diplomacy and economics." Dustil sighed. "I was hoping he'd let us skip it. But maybe it's a good thing, since Kel is still pretty upset. It might take his mind off of Thalia May."
"Isn't she the padawan who died?"
"Yeah. They were… uh… He liked her, a lot."
Carth didn't look that surprised, but he asked, "I thought that was against the rules."
"Not technically. They just discourage it by preaching about the dangers of that kind of thing. Well, most Jedi Masters do. Although since Jolee's been here, I guess some have changed their minds. The Masters seem to argue about it a lot, actually."
His father smiled. "Jolee's causing trouble, huh? Who would've thought?"
"Yeah."
Father and son shared a rare moment of bonding, both grinning over the thought that the ornery old Jedi was causing the Jedi Council trouble. "Anyway, the dinner will give Kel a reason to come out of our room. He's been in there for three days straight. He even locked me out for a while." Since he and Kel shared a room, he'd had to bunk with Mekel and Mekel's smelly roommate for a couple of nights.
"So you think the answer is to take him to a diplomatic dinner? I'm surprised that you didn't…ah…" His father paused, and Dustil couldn't help but be amused that his father was trying to find a tactful way to suggest getting his friend drunk.
After watching his father stammer for a few seconds, Dustil took mercy on him. "Mekel and I tried to take him out drinking, but he wouldn't go. So we brought the liquor to him." Dustil winced. "It got pretty ugly, but I think he felt a little better. He's still pretty depressed though."
"Yeah, I imagine that he is." Carth nodded in understanding, and Dustil didn't miss the pain in his voice. For the first time, he wondered if that was what his father had done when his mother had died. "Let me know if there's anything I can do…"
Despite himself, Dustil appreciated the gesture. "Thanks, I will."
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, as both men seemed startled that they had completed a completely civil conversation. With a thoughtful nod, his father joined Mission, taking a seat in one of the pleakwood chairs and began making plans for dinner that evening.
To fill the time, Dustil turned and studied the painting closely, and was shocked by what he saw. The intricate landscape was made up entirely of living moss in all different shades of colors. They were grown into a pattern of what looked like an enormous country estate. The painting was simply stunning.
"Is this a real mosspainting?" he asked mostly to himself, not really expecting his father to know.
"Yes," Revan answered as she emerged from the doorway to her bedroom, catching him off guard, "it is."
Dustil couldn't help but goggle at the painting. Mosspaintings, cultivated by Alderaanian artists, were extremely rare, as it took decades to grow one. He'd only seen pictures of them in art vids, and there were a few at the Galactic Museum.
"How did you…" he trailed off, unsure of how to ask the former Dark Lord how she had acquired this priceless piece of artwork.
Maybe she killed someone for it!
The answer turned out to be far more mundane. "It was commissioned by my grandfather for my eighteenth birthday. That's my family's estate on Alderaan."
"I thought your family was from Coruscant?" Carth asked.
Revan turned to see his father sitting in one of the beautiful wooden chairs, and the expression on her face changed from polite to heartbroken in an instant. Her struggle to regain her composure played across her face, and her voice trembled as she shook her head slightly as she answered him. "They are. But my family has estates on many planets."
He didn't think it was possible, but the woman who had nearly conquered the Republic and had struck fear in the hearts of millions looked as though she were about to weep. His worried father stood and took a step towards her, the obvious question on his lips, but she held out a hand in front of her. "I have to…" she paused as she tried to pull herself together, finally finding what she wanted to say, "…meet with the Jedi Council." She turned away as she said to Mission, "I'll catch up with you guys later."
He and his father exchanged bewildered looks as Revan fled the room.
Min's blazing presence seared through the serene meditative trance that Bastila had carefully crafted for over an hour. With her mind open to the Force, it was impossible to ignore the presence of her bond mate and the raw, pulsing power that still swirled around the woman.
Bastila opened her eyes to see Min standing in the doorway, watching her. "I'll come back if I'm interrupting something."
"No. Please come in," Bastila quickly assured her. She was glad for any break she could get after staring at the blank white walls of the med bay for the last three days, recovering from her near-fatal stomach wound. Besides, after the Force vision they had shared last night, she was deeply concerned.
Min took a seat in one of the chairs next to Bastila's bed and crossed her long legs in front of her. "I hear that they're letting you out tomorrow."
Bastila nodded. "It will be good to get out of here." After a day in a bacta tank and two days of enforced bed rest, she was growing restless despite the frequent visits of her friends.
But she was worried about Min, who looked tired and drawn, which really was not very surprising, given both the vivid Force dream and Carth's visit this morning. She was determined to talk to Min about both, because she knew that Min was hurting, but was wary because she knew that any offer of help would be brushed off. Not for the first time, Bastila wished she had a better grasp of social skills. But the dream was too important to ignore, so Bastila resolved not to be put off again, and tried to broach the subject in a roundabout way.
"Carth brought Mission and Zaalbar to see me earlier."
"Mmm."
Bastila saw a flash of pain in Min's eyes at the mention of Carth's name, and it echoed through the bond. Bastila knew that it had to be bad, since they were very good now at shielding each other's thoughts. Only the strongest emotions leaked through now.
Min quickly changed the subject. "Did he bring Dustil with him?"
Bastila flushed, and her irritation was betrayed by her frosty tone. "Yes." She frowned as a sly smile spread across Min's lips. "Why am I not surprised that you find this amusing."
Min didn't say anything, she just laughed.
"I wish you had never said anything," Bastila snapped as she primly smoothed out the blanket covering her lap.
Min choked back her laughter as she defended herself. "Hey, I was just pointing out the obvious."
"Well, it was not obvious to me, and I wish it would have stayed that way. It is absolutely mortifying!"
"I don't see why it bothers you so much. It's just a crush. You should be flattered."
Flattered was the last thing that Bastila was feeling. Every time she saw Dustil Onasi now, she couldn't help but notice the way he looked at her, and how he stammered and flushed when he tried to talk to her. Dustil's reactions reminded her of how Min used to tie Carth in knots, except that Min had done that on purpose. Bastila was not trying to tease Dustil, but it seemed that no matter what she did when it came to the boy, he stared and stumbled over his words. She couldn't imagine the situation being more embarrassing than it already was.
"He is a teenager! Surely you're not suggesting…" Bastila couldn't even finish the sentence; the idea was so incredibly ludicrous.
"He's only four years younger than you. He's hardly jailbait. And you have to admit he's a good-looking kid."
Exasperated but not surprised that Min would tease her about something this humiliating, Bastila crossed her arms and glared at the still-laughing woman. Sadly, the glare made Min laugh even more, and Bastila could not believe that she had wasted her time worrying about her so-called friend.
"Kid being the operative word."
Min, still hiccupping in laughter, struggled to get her mirth under control. When she had mostly succeeded, she said, "I'm not suggesting that you do anything, other than being a bit nicer to him. You glare at him every time he comes near you."
"If I am nice to him, won't it just encourage this," Bastila sputtered, trying to find the right word to describe this horrible situation, "idiocy?"
"You could let him down nicely…" Min said as she shook her head. "You know, tell him that you're flattered but that you just don't think about him that way."
"Or I could just ignore him, and maybe he will stop."
Min rolled her eyes. "Oh, yeah, 'cause playing hard to get is a sure way to get a guy to stop."
"What would you know about playing hard to get?" Bastila pointed out tartly.
At that, Min laughed so hard that she nearly fell out of her chair. While Bastila was glad that she had made Min laugh, she was irritated that it had come at the expense of her own dignity. She crossed her arms and waited for Min to stop laughing.
Wiping the tears of mirth from her eyes with the back of her fingers, Min conceded, "Good point." Clearing her throat, she regarded Bastila with a sigh. "Okay, out with it. What is it that you want to talk to me about?"
"I am just concerned. That vision last night must have been painful, and Carth being around cannot be easy for you."
Min's good humor vanished immediately. "I spoke to the Council about what I saw. They were… scared. Something's going on, Bastila. Something big that's got them spooked. But I don't know what it is, and it's not likely that they're going to tell me." Their eyes met and Min continued, completely sidestepping Bastila's concerns. "Anyway, that's not what I came to talk to you about. I came to talk about our bond."
"Oh?"
"We know now that it can be broken. Somehow, I broke mine with Malak. I think that if we don't use it, it will eventually fade."
They looked at each other for a minute, and then Bastila asked softly, "Do you want our bond to die, Min?"
"Honestly? I don't know. Two years ago I would have said 'yes' in an instant. Now, I'm not so sure. You're my friend, Bastila, and I owe you a lot. I owe my life to our bond, and now it's hard to imagine not having one. But it can't be easy being bonded to me…"
Bastila spoke slowly, considering her words very carefully. "It's not easy, but that's not your fault. And it can't be easy for you either. Breaking the bond…" There was a time when she would have given anything not to be bonded to Min, but now Bastila couldn't even fathom not having it, she was so used to the other woman's presence. "I'll have to think about it."
Min rose. "If you decide that you want to break it, I want you to know that I understand."
Bastila nodded, not knowing what to say and needing time to think about what Min had said. The women talked for awhile about trivial things, and Min managed to avoid talking about Carth or her vision any further since Bastila was too preoccupied thinking about the bond. When Min finally left, Bastila watched her go, still worrying and still wondering what to do.
Wow! Thanks for the feedback guys. I really, really appreciate it! Beer is also welcome, but sadly I don't think it will help in the frequency of updates…
Once again, a huge whopping thank you to xenzen and Lord Valentai for the beta.
Also, I have to give credit to xenzen. While it was my idea for Carth to get…um…propositioned by the Queen of Naboo, it was her idea to make the Queen eighty years old (which makes it so much more entertaining).
BlackpoolBird: I'm assuming that being "well chuffed" is a good thing…
Brynn: Thanks for the review. I'm curious to know what it is about setting this story two years after the events of the game that you don't like. Please let me know, because constructive criticism is always appreciated. :)
Xan: I feel your pain about not having an xbox. I'm consoling myself with the reports of slow load times, sluggish frame rates, and buggy game play… all of which will hopefully be fixed for the pc version.