Chapter Four – Bad Choices
She still loves me.
For the last two days, that thought would not leave Carth alone. It ate at him, crawled under his skin, nagged at him constantly, and it was driving him crazy.
He was still furious with her. Min's arrogant presumption that she knew what was best for him really rankled, but even though he was angry with her, he was also relieved, because after two years of wondering, he'd finally gotten an answer -- at least a partial one. While Carth was still frustrated, he knew that he'd get it all from her eventually, now that she had to deal with him.
That she still loved him hadn't really come as much of a shock. It was something that he'd known, deep in his gut, and it was the reason why he'd been unable to get on with his life in any meaningful way. If she had told him two years ago that she wasn't in love with him, it would have hurt like hell, but he would have been able to get over it. However, he'd suspected something like this, and it had been absolutely maddening to be stonewalled again and again. Now he had the chance to fix it, and he was going to, because, dammit, he still loved her, too.
Carth collected his thoughts as he strode down the sparse corridor of Republic Fleet Command, eager to get his meeting with Admiral Forn Dodonna over with as quickly as possible. The Jedi entourage was leaving for the Rakatan homeworld in an hour, and Carth's gear was already aboard the Valiant, including the Ebon Hawk. When he'd told the Fleet that he wanted to bring his own ship, they hadn't even batted an eye, probably because he'd taken that ship everywhere for the last two years. Being a Republic admiral, even a retired one, definitely had its perks.
He'd agreed to meet Dodonna as a courtesy; the expedition had already been pushed through the proper channels, and she'd already given it her approval, although it had taken days to get the clearances needed for Min's off-planet departure. Dodonna hadn't tried to stop him, at least not yet, but he suspected that was about to change.
Passing the suite of offices that used to be his own, Carth reached the end of the corridor, nodded to the security guards, and entered the High Admiral's suite. It was a scene of ordered confusion, with aides, staff and droids milling about, carrying on the day-to-day duties of running the Fleet. He felt strangely underdressed, wearing only his black civvies and orange jacket in the midst of all the sleek military uniforms.
After waiting for less than a minute, Dodonna's chief aide led him into her office. The High Admiral herself sat behind an enormous hardwood desk with a stack of encoded datapads in front of her.
"Have a seat, Carth, I'll be with you in just one minute," Dodonna said without looking up from the report she was reading. She waved him towards the more informal seating area overlooking the large blast-proof windows. While Carth was waiting, he sipped a mug of caf one of her young staffers brought him.
Dodonna didn't keep him waiting long. After handing off a stack of documents to the aide who had brought him his caf, she dismissed the rest of her staff from the room, informing them that they were not to be interrupted short of a crisis situation.
Dodonna picked up her own mug and joined him in the seating area. "So you're still planning on going on this… expedition?"
Carth's tone was as dry and inviting as the Tatooine desert. "Yes."
Looking tired and resigned, Dodonna asked, "I don't suppose I can talk you out of going?"
"Not a chance."
"I didn't think so," Dodonna sighed, "but I promised her I'd try."
There was no doubt as to whom the 'her' referred to, and Carth shook his head, exasperated, but he was not surprised.
"I won't lie to you. I don't like that you are going. If you were still my admiral, I would order you not to go. I don't want the name of my most famous war hero sullied, but as it is, we cannot afford to anger Senator Na'tal, since he could make it difficult for everyone."
So could I. Carth left the threat unspoken, but it hung in the air between them.
"And if there is a group out there killing Republic civilians, they need to be stopped." Dodonna paused to take a sip of her caf. "On a more personal level, you are my friend. I've known you for a long time, and I'm afraid that nothing good is going to come from this."
"My personal life is none of your business."
Dodonna's gaze turned to implacable steel. "It is if it involves Revan."
"I think you've interfered enough," Carth snapped, still smarting from the realization that Dodonna and Min had started the rumors about himself and Bastila. He was about to inform her exactly how much he didn't appreciate her meddling, when she shocked him with her next statement.
"I know you might not believe this, but I actually do care about what happens to both you and Revan. I've known her for almost ten years. She was barely more than a kid when she accepted my request for help during the Mandalorian Wars. I watched her grow from an idealistic young woman to a jaded war veteran, to a Dark Lord, and back again.
"Revan was so effective, not because of her strategic knowledge or her Force powers — although those were certainly useful — but because she was willing to make the judgment calls that others weren't. Saul and I knew our tactics against the Mandalorians weren't working, but we couldn't get the Senate or our superiors to listen. But Revan convinced them that sacrificing soldiers, and planets, and resources were necessary for victory, even if it wasn't pretty, or fair, or nice. And it worked, but it twisted her." Dodonna's expression darkened. "You know how war is, Carth; it twists us and desensitizes us, because if we don't become detached, then we wouldn't be able to cope. What it must have done to someone who is a Force Sensitive, someone who has to fight the dark side of the Force… In hindsight, her fall was hardly surprising."
Dodonna wasn't telling him anything that he hadn't figured out for himself, but Carth was shocked by the sadness and guilt he heard in her voice. "You feel responsible."
"Somewhat. I was the one who asked her to leave the Order. We needed her and the Jedi so desperately. Without her, and the Jedi she brought with her, we would have lost. But if I had the chance to make the decision again, even knowing what I know now… it would still be the same."
Dodonna took a sip from her mug as she collected her thoughts. "I liked her; in fact, I still do. I consider you both friends, and as much as I would love to see the two of you happy, I have to think about what the consequences would be. The safety of the Republic is my paramount concern. I can't order you to leave her alone, but I'm asking you to please consider your actions carefully when it comes to her."
She changed the subject, perhaps sensing that any response he would make would not be satisfactory to her. "Have you considered my offer about the Republic Fleet Academy?"
Carth shifted in his chair. This was another subject that he really didn't want to get into at the moment. "Yes."
Her eyebrows rose. "And?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"The Republic needs people like you, Carth. If you don't want the Academy position, please consider taking your admiral rank back. I know you were frustrated with the diplomatic missions I was sending you on, but they were just as important as being in the field. Nevertheless, I'm prepared to put you back in charge of the Seventh Division Fleet, with minimal diplomatic missions."
"I'm not interested," he insisted stubbornly, annoyed that she was bringing this up even though she knew he'd already made his decision.
"And I'm not accepting your resignation."
"What? You can't! I've already resigned — you've already accepted it!"
"I'm putting you on a leave of absence."
Carth crossed his arms over his chest. "You can call it whatever you want, but I'm not taking another commission."
"You know how badly you're needed, Carth. You're one of the biggest war heroes of our generation, and one of the youngest admirals in Fleet history. We're stretched for personnel and resources, and we desperately need your talent."
Her appeal to his strong sense of duty hit a nerve, but although Carth felt the familiar twinge of guilt, he knew that he was making the right choice. "Forn, the last time I chose duty over love, I regretted it. I'm not going to make that same mistake again."
As Dodonna stood, her disappointment was almost tangible. Carth hated the feeling that he was somehow letting the Republic down. "I understand you have a transport to catch. At least consider what I've said."
He nodded, unwilling to commit himself to anything more.
She held out her hand even though she was frowning. "Safe journey, and may the Force be with you, my friend."
Carth took it and said, "Thanks."
An official Fleet escort met him outside her office and transported him to docking bay 471-G. The Jedi entourage, consisting of Jolee, Vrook, Yuthura, Canderous, Min and Zaalbar, was waiting for the Valiant to dock. Min's official escort, a squad of Special Ops troops armed to the teeth, also filled the bay.
He recognized the squad. Not only were they the same unit that had brought Min into custody after the Star Forge, but they had also been assigned to guard her for the last two years. Their leader, Captain Leeda, stood at the front of the group, looking alert as always. It appeared that two years of guarding the former Dark Lord of the Sith had mellowed them a bit towards Min. He was happy to see that she wasn't in binders or a neural restraint. Time had taught them that Min wasn't a threat; their job now was to defend Min from assassins more than protect the galaxy from her.
Carth joined the rest of the party; Jolee smiled wryly while Canderous chuckled, amused by his presence. Both Yuthura and Vrook looked serene and unruffled. Carth scrutinized the purple Twi'lek with a wary eye; he wasn't happy that he was going to have to work directly with a woman who had had a direct hand in destroying his son's innocence.
Exasperation replaced Min's bored expression when she saw him. Her shoulders tightened and she scowled at him when he went to stand next to her.
While they waited for the Valiant to give them permission to board, Carth scanned the docking bay, looking for his son, and his disappointment was sharp and painful when he didn't see him. It must have shown on his face, because even though he knew that she was still furious with him, Min was actually concerned enough to ask, "Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I just… I was hoping that Dustil would come and see me off."
When Morgana had been alive, she always made time to bring Dustil to the docks every time he shipped out. The two of them seeing him off had always been painful, but it had meant so much to him because he knew that he had two people who loved him waiting for him. But those days were long gone.
Ever since the meeting at the Jedi Temple, Dustil had been even more resentful and aloof than normal, and had taken the news of Carth's departure with an indifference that cut Carth to the bone, even though Carth knew the indifference was just an act. Something big was bothering his son, but he simply couldn't get Dustil to talk about it, no matter how hard he tried. He'd mentioned where and when they were leaving, in the futile hope that Dustil would come to see him off. While he hadn't expected Dustil to show, it still hurt like hell that he hadn't come.
Min was quiet and sad, and Carth knew that she was beating herself up inside. "I'm sorry, Carth. I wish there was something I could do."
He decided that now was as good a time as any to start working on her obsessive guilt complex. "This is something that we have to work out between ourselves. I just wish I knew how to get through to him. Maybe when I get back, he'll be ready to tell me what's bothering him."
"Maybe you should stay," she suggested, turning her dark eyes on him.
The docking bay doors opened and the party began to move forward down the long narrow docking tunnel. Commander Leeda and his men took the lead and brought up the rear, with the Jedi entourage in between.
Carth shook his head. "That hasn't helped before — he just shuts me out when I try that. Besides, you're not getting rid of me that easily."
Her lips thinned, but she didn't say anything to that.
"Getting Dodonna to talk to me was a nice try, though."
Min let out a small, exasperated sigh. "Clearly, it failed."
He simply grinned at her and watched her smolder with anger; he'd forgotten how much fun it was to irritate her. "Got anymore tricks up your sleeve?"
Min blinked at him, and the corners of her lips twitched as she did her best to fight off an involuntary smile. "Like I'd tell you if I did."
They stepped through the boarding hatch, where Captain Mavi, the commander of the vessel, and his senior staff were waiting to greet them. He was fairly well acquainted with Captain Mavi; the man had served as one of Saul's aides for several years, and Carth knew that he was a good, solid officer.
But when the captain moved forward to welcome them to his ship, a nasty shock coursed though Carth when he saw the woman standing behind Mavi with a group of senior officers. Carth automatically responded while the introductions were being made, even though he was trying to cover the shock, shame and guilt that engulfed him when Captain Mavi presented his chief medical officer.
"Hello, Carth," she said with a warm hopeful smile that made his stomach turn.
"You've met Commander Ygdrass," Captain Mavi said.
Carth managed to recover enough to nod an affirmative, although he couldn't seem to find his voice at the moment. Min and the others looked at him as though he'd lost his mind.
Commander Ygdrass' eyes raked over him, but her expression was neutral and enigmatic. "Oh, yes. We know each other very well…"
Dureen Orbital Space Station – Four Years Ago
The nearly empty officers' lounge smelled of cigarra smoke and liquor, but Carth barely noticed; he was just grateful that the bar was still open. Even better, at the moment it was almost empty.
Carth crushed his cigarra in the ashtray and drained his glass. He'd paid for the entire bottle of Corellian brandy so that he wouldn't be disturbed by the Twi'lek bartender. With a shaky hand and a heavy sigh, he poured himself another drink. The bottle clinked against the edge of the tumbler as Carth sought oblivion in the bottom of his glass.
Almost a week ago, Admiral Dodonna had forced him to take a few weeks leave, claiming that it was absolutely necessary for one of her most dependable captains to get some R & R. She had informed him that his fatigue was beginning to affect his decision-making abilities, and that he needed to get his anger and frustration under control, otherwise he was endangering his entire crew.
He had protested vehemently, not wanting to be sidelined while the fighting went on. He was desperate to get a chance to find and kill the man he'd been hunting for two years — the man who'd betrayed his trust and ruined his life. In the end, it had taken a direct order, forcing him to take leave.
Carth was at a complete loss as to what to do with himself during his newfound free time. He'd briefly considered taking a short trip to Coruscant to visit his brother, but he didn't think he would be able to bear his brother's domestic happiness; Ivan's family was too close to what Carth had lost. So he'd stayed on the space station, and everyday he came to the officers' bar, ignored the pitying stares of his fellow officers, and quietly drank himself blind. He always sat in the back corner table, next to the big viewing windows that overlooked the ship berths, and watched the vessels come and go, wishing like hell he was on one of them. Carth had far too much time to think about what he'd lost when the days seemed to drag past in an endless haze of boredom, frustration and pain. And today was the day he'd been dreading.
Today would have been his fifteenth wedding anniversary.
Carth pulled a small, battered wooden box out of his pocket and set it on the table with a small click. For what was probably the millionth time, he opened the box, carefully drew out the contents, and ran his callused fingers over the fine gold ankle chain. The blue sapphires set into the Telosian wedding anklet winked in the dim light of the bar. At the time, it had cost him a year's pay to buy. Carth could still see Morgana blushing, a brilliant but dazed smile on her face, as she stood barefoot in the ceremonial wedding circle. He'd knelt before her and fastened it around her ankle, and she'd never taken it off. A rescue worker had returned it to him, along with a few other personal effects she'd been carrying, before they'd burned her body along with the rest of the Telosian dead.
He stared at the jewelry as though he could summon her by sheer force of will if he concentrated hard enough, and drank his brandy, trying to fill the lonely, empty nothingness inside him. Carth had sunk into a warm, brandy-soaked haze when she somehow appeared before him, tentatively taking a seat next to him. For a wild second, he thought that it was Morgana, even though he knew that was impossible; the long blonde hair and the generous curves of the woman next to him were similar to his wife's. He dropped the anklet into the box and stuffed it into his pocket, ignoring her polite but curious glance.
Lieutenant Kali Ygdrass favored him with a warm smile. "Hello, Captain Onasi."
Kali had served under him for several years aboard his ship, the Intrepid, as a medical officer, until she transferred a year ago. Her service, while exemplary, had also been very awkward. Lieutenant Ygdrass was easily ten years his junior, and had a rather obvious crush on him, which was coupled with a bad case of hero worship. Although she seemed like a nice person, it had been a huge relief when she had been promoted and transferred off his ship.
"You don't have to call me that anymore. I'm not your commanding officer, and we're not on duty." It came out gruffer than he'd intended.
"Carth, then." She said his name like she was testing out the flavor of it, and she settled back into the seat next to him.
Carth sighed, too tired and too drunk to come up with a polite way to ask her to leave, but she didn't give him the chance, instead burying him in an avalanche of small talk. She told him what she'd been doing since she'd transferred off his ship, and news about mutual comrades-in-arms, and despite himself, he slowly began to relax. For several hours they drank together and reminisced about old times on his ship, and Carth felt his emptiness ease a bit. She was pretty and funny and easy to talk to, and when Carth finally glanced at the chrono, he was surprised to see that it was late into the night. There was an awkward pause in the conversation, and both of them were at a loss as to what to say.
He cleared his throat. "Well, it's late. I should…"
"Yeah, me too."
They both rose and walked out of the bar, heading for the residential wing. They reached her quarters first.
What she said next caught him completely off guard. She blushed, touched his chest and asked, "Would you like to come in?"
Carth stared at her, shocked that there was a big part of him that did. She was pretty and attractive, and he was tired of feeling empty. The thought of facing this night of all nights by himself was suddenly unbearable. Guilt and grief battled the need to not be alone.
He looked down at her hand on his chest. "I…uh…I'm not sure that's a good idea."
"Let me help you, Carth. You don't have to be alone tonight."
She took his hand; it was soft and warm. He looked down at her earnest face, and tried to ignore the way she was looking at him. Warning bells went off in his brain, and a part of him knew that this was a very bad idea.
She's had a crush on you for years. All she sees is a shining Republic hero. This is wrong.
But the other part of him couldn't bear the thought of spending yet another endless night staring at the ceiling, aching for his wife. Kali was attractive, and she looked like Morgana, and he was tired of feeling empty. So he nodded silently, and as she led him inside her quarters, he tried not to think about how he was betraying his wife.
For a few hours Carth lost himself in Kali's arms and her bed, desperately trying to feel something other than an empty void. Carth refused to spend the night, despite her hurt looks and pleading words.
But every night for almost a week, he went to her seeking oblivion, and every night he hated himself for it.
Unsurprisingly, it ended badly.
Carth could feel the weight of her gaze on his back as he pulled his trousers on, and he flushed under her scrutiny.
"I was thinking that maybe tonight you could stay," Kali suggested hesitantly. She rose out of bed, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her cheek against his back. "We could get breakfast in the morning, and then later we could do something together."
The hopeful tenor of her voice cut him to the bone, and he knew that he had to end this now, before he really hurt her. Gently, Carth untangled her arms from his waist and turned to face her— and his gut clenched because he could tell from the look on her face that it was far too late.
He tried to mitigate the damage he had done anyway. "Kali, this has to stop. This isn't fair to you."
Her face fell and she backpedaled quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean upset you."
"Don't apologize. It's not you… it's me." He winced at the utter lameness of that line, wishing he could come up with something better, something that could explain to her how hollow and broken he was, but he couldn't seem to find the words.
She frantically tried to get him to stay. "We don't have to do something. We can just stay here and — "
And I can use your body, while I pretend that you're my wife and try to forget my pain for a little while?
Carth cut her off, the bitter bile of self-loathing crawling up the back of his throat. "I can't give you what you deserve. I'm using you."
She began to tremble. "I don't see it that way."
He couldn't understand how she could be so blind.
It's Ana's name I cry out every night, not yours…
But saying that out loud would just be too cruel, even if it was painfully obvious, so he repeated himself and tried to make her understand. "I'm using you, and it's not right."
She watched him in broken silence as he quickly pulled the rest of his clothing on.
Carth looked her in the eye and forced himself to face what he had done. The words seemed so inadequate. "I… I'm sorry."
He didn't know what else to say that wouldn't make it worse, so he ducked his head and walked out the door, thoroughly disgusted with himself.
Dinner was a very tense affair.
Captain Mavi had insisted on inviting the entire Jedi entourage to dinner in his private conference room. Min suspected that the honor had more to do with Carth's war hero reputation and retired admiral status than the captain's desire to honor his Jedi guests.
She didn't particularly care, since eating in the mess hall was simply out of the question for her. When she had been in the custody of the Fleet, she had frequently taken her meals in her cell-like quarters. The one time she'd been allowed to eat with the crew of Dodonna's flagship, one of the marines stationed on the ship had pulled out a blaster and tried to kill her. She'd found out later that he was from Telos, and that his entire family had died in the attack.
The private had been easily disarmed by Bastila, and later court-martialed. Min had asked Dodonna to let him go free, thinking that it was the height of hypocrisy for this man to stand trial when she herself had killed millions. But Dodonna had been adamant that he be punished, pointing out that she couldn't allow his insubordination to stand. The kid had been sentenced to ten years on a prison planet.
So, unsurprisingly, Min was used to causing anger and tension in those around her; being a former Sith Lord tended to have that effect on people. But she was fairly certain that, for once, she wasn't the cause, at least not directly.
A lot of the tension was caused by the fact that most of the people sitting at the dinner table couldn't stand each other. Jolee seemed to have some kind of silent feud going on with Vrook. Although they were both their usual ornery selves outwardly, they seemed to snap at each other more than usual, in extremely personal and terribly vicious ways.
Their host, Captain Mavi, was distinctly uncomfortable in the presence of a former Mandalorian general. Canderous, of course, picked up on this immediately, and began to quiz Captain Mavi on his exploits during the Mandalorian Wars. The captain barely disguised his contempt, answering all of Canderous' questions tersely, which just prodded the Mandalorian on. Min sent him a warning glance, which he completely ignored, until finally Yuthura stepped in and took over the conversation. Canderous seemed to find this very amusing, and allowed the purple Twi'lek, who seemed to dislike Canderous intensely herself, to change the subject.
And then there was Carth. On top of being frosty to Yuthura and barely tolerant of Canderous, he was acting really strangely. She watched him push his food around his plate as guilt, shame, and misery swarmed around him, and it seemed to be focused on the woman sitting next to him. The ship's chief medical officer kept trying to start a conversation with him, and while Carth was doing his best to be casual, Min could tell that he wanted to bolt and run.
Concerned and extremely curious, Min ate her nerf steak and studied Commander Ydgrass. The medical officer was curvaceous, blonde and very pretty. As she sized up the commander, she kept telling herself that Carth's misery was none of her business.
After a minute or so, Min realized who the woman was.
Min clutched Carth's shoulder as she came slowly back to reality. She knew that she must look entirely wild, all panting and sweaty and naked, but she felt glorious.
Carth kissed her again with one of his amazing bone-melting, soul-scorching kisses, before scooping her up off the desk and carrying her to the leather couch. With a grateful grunt, he sank into it, cradling her on his lap. Min snuggled into him, resting her head on his broad shoulder, amazed that they had finally done what they'd been dancing around since Taris.
"Wow," he said, finally breaking the silence between them. He looked down at her. "So, do you still think I'm wholesome?"
Min looked up at him, laughing. "Yeah." At his indignant look she added, "But wholesome can be pretty damn sexy, Onasi. You're amazing."
He gave her a grin that made her heart do a funny little flip, and once again she was astonished that she could love someone as much as she loved him.
"I was inspired, gorgeous." Carth kissed her forehead. "Actually, I was afraid that I might be a little rusty. It's been awhile."
Min had to know. She reached across him, enjoying the feel of her dark skin sliding against his space-pale chest, picked up her untouched wine from the end table, asked, "How long?"
"Two-and-a-half years."
She choked on the swallow of wine she had just taken. When she'd stopped coughing, she said, "And here I was bitter because it had been five months."
She still couldn't believe it. "Two-and-a-half years? Really? That's awful! I knew you felt guilty, but I thought that you must have…two-and-a-half years?" She shook her head; the very thought was incomprehensible.
That was when he told her about his brief and ill-fated affair with a Fleet medical officer. Min didn't need her Jedi senses to sense how guilty and ashamed he still felt.
"Carth, that doesn't make you a bad man." She looked away, because she had to ask, but she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. "I hope that you don't feel guilty about this."
He was painfully honest. "I do," he said, and her stomach dropped to her feet. He cupped her chin and turned her to face him. "But it's because you're different, Min. You're the only woman other than Morgana that I…uh…"
He gave up on talking, instead kissing her again until she was dizzy and breathless. But when they came up for air Carth immediately stuck his foot into his mouth. "Min, do you have anybody. Uh, do you have anyone waiting for you when you get back?"
Wounded that he could think that she was that callus and shallow she simply stared at him as she asked. "Do you think that if I had a serious lover, that I would be sitting on your lap, naked? I would have told you!"
Carth backpedaled, realizing that he'd insulted her. "I'm sorry, I just-"
Min's black eyes flashed in anger. "What kind of person do you think I am?" She pushed away and started to rise.
He grabbed her wrist to keep her from storming off. "Damn it, wait! That's not what -" Carth took a deep breath and tried again. "I think you're wonderful. I asked because I don't want there to be anyone but me."
Her anger evaporated instantly; she simply couldn't stay angry with him when he said things like that. "There isn't. Jax was just, well, for fun." At his dubious look she added in explanation, "He was very pretty, but not all that bright."
She watched amusement and jealously battle each other across his features. Fortunately, amusement won.
Still, Min felt compelled to reassure him. "It was a good time, but it wasn't anything special," she said softly as her eyes met his.
He searched her face intently with his honest brown eyes and asked, "Why not?"
Min colored in one of her very rare blushes, desperately wanting to just tell him how much she loved him, but afraid that if she did she'd scare him off.
She finally settled on: "Because it wasn't with you."
As they looked at each other, a silent understanding flowed between them, and no words were necessary. They never did manage to say it out loud, at least not until much later, but as he kissed her silly, she could feel his love flow from him, and she wrapped it around her, and it soaked her senses and into every fiber of her being. At that moment, Min figured she could die blissfully happy, and she reveled in the way he made her feel.
Min dropped her fork, and it hit her plate with a loud clatter; everyone at the table turned and stared at her. Clearing her throat, she slowly and carefully picked up her fork and resumed eating, embarrassed, and feeling like an idiot. Sharp, bitter jealousy made the food taste like sawdust. She choked down her food and tried to ignore the completely irrational and entirely unfair urge to scratch the other woman's eyes out.
She looked across the table at Carth; their eyes met and he flushed. He looked like he had just gotten caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
For the second time that night, Yuthura graciously saved the conversation, and Min sent a silent thank you in her direction.
"Captain Mavi, how long have you had this command?" Yuthura asked.
"For several years." Mavi paused and looked directly at Min, regarding her with a careful and measuring look. "I actually owe my career advancement to you."
I bet you do.
Min figured that he'd probably made his name during what was now being called the Jedi Civil War, but strangely, she wasn't sensing any anger from him, just curiosity.
"You really don't remember me, do you?" He paused and studied her carefully. All dinner conversation stopped, and everyone's attention was riveted on the two of them.
Min blinked. She always dreaded meeting people who had known her before, because she was never quite sure what their reaction was going to be. "No, I'm sorry. I don't remember much past two-and-a-half years ago."
"I thought that the stories about your memory loss were just a cover." He set his knife and fork down precisely. "I was one of Admiral Karath's aides. I was assigned to assist you right before the battle of Dxun. I served with you until Serroco, where you assigned me to General Kor-vas."
A thousand questions popped into her mind, questions she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answers to. Min didn't recognize the name, but she had a brief image of a striking face with enigmatic slanted eyes and a cheeky smile. "General Kor-vas?" Her effort to try to sound casual was undermined by the fact that her voice was shaking.
A name floated through her shattered memory. Nico…
"He was one of the Jedi who followed you. He led the assaults at the battles of Dxun, Serroco, and Malachor."
The way he said 'Malachor' caught Min's attention, and she was desperate to know more. She wasn't sure she wanted this conversation to happen in front of everyone present, but didn't think she'd get another chance.
"What happened to him? Did he… did he follow me when…" She forced herself to say it, "When I left the Republic?"
"No one knows. He was last seen at Malachor V. He didn't return with you when you came back as Darth Revan."
"What was he like? Did I know him well?"
The captain shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Oh… well… he was charismatic, clever, resourceful, smart. We were lucky to have him."
Min wanted to ask more, a lot more, but Vrook cut in. "Leave the past in the past, Revan," he said, not even looking up from the nerf steak he was cutting.
Suspicion gnawed at Min's guts. "Do you know what happened to him?" she asked Vrook.
Their eyes met, and animosity flowed freely between them. "Nico was brash and defiant, just as you were. He returned to the Jedi Order after Malachor V and faced our judgment. He was exiled for disobeying our orders."
"You cast him out for following me?"
His answer was terse. "Yes," he said, and it was clear that he considered the matter closed.
But Min wasn't about to drop the subject now. "Even though he returned to the Council instead of betraying the Republic?"
"He made his choice and was dealt with accordingly."
Her voice rose along with her temper. "You arrogant bastards!"
Vrook lashed out at her, and even though she knew it was petty, Min was satisfied to see his temper finally snap. "We were not the ones who were arrogant, Revan. A whole generation of Jedi Knights followed you, and you destroyed them! He refused to admit that going to fight the Mandalorians was the wrong choice. We were given no alternative."
"You exiled him because he didn't agree with you? What happened to Jedi forgiveness? Did you do this to others who returned?"
"There was only one who returned. The rest you corrupted or killed at Malachor V."
She was stricken, but she wouldn't let him shift the blame so easily. "And if they had returned, would you have cast them out, too?" she spat.
Min watched as Vrook turned nearly purple. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to get his temper under control. When he opened his eyes, the Jedi serenity was back… mostly.
"I am not going to discuss this with you, Revan. You have not earned the right to pass judgment on the Council."
Vrook stood and strode out of the room, leaving everyone to stare at Min. Completely livid, she stared at her food, appetite lost. She lapsed into silence, and the dinner broke up shortly thereafter, the conversation unable to recover.
Bastila meandered through the Room of a Thousand Fountains, and her steps echoed throughout the eerily silent room. The once-glorious creation that was the crown jewel of the Jedi Temple was now silent: the waters stilled in memoriam for all the Jedi who had fallen in the Mandalorian Wars, and in Malak and Revan's attempt to conquer the Republic.
The Temple was too quiet, and it wasn't entirely due to the Jedi serenity of its inhabitants. The enormous temple complex was simply too empty, the numbers of the Jedi too few. When Bastila had been a padawan, the halls had bustled with activity and purpose, but most of her contemporaries were now dead and gone. Even then there hadn't been many, since so many Knights and Masters had either left with Revan to fight against the Mandalorians, or left later to fight against Darth Revan and Darth Malak's rampaging forces. Students had been turned away because of the lack of masters, and only the very strongest and most promising had been trained. Now the Order was paying a high price.
Bastila sat on the edge of the great fountain in the center of the room, and trailed her fingers through the still waters. She used to love this room when she was a padawan, but now it brought her only pain. It was a silent, accusing reminder of her past crimes. She had caught Min in here several times since their return from the Fleet, and Bastila suspected that they both came here for the same reason.
We come here to punish ourselves.
Intellectually, Bastila knew that this was hardly healthy, productive behavior, and that she was dangerously close to wallowing in self-pity, but it was difficult not to reflect and regret in times of peace. For the first time in many years, she actually had nothing to do, and had no duties to attend to. Unable to go anywhere outside of the Temple because of the recent lockdown, she was slowly going out of her mind.
However, she knew that was only part of the reason for her unease. She was also worried about the disturbing attacks against the Jedi Order. Bastila was still annoyed that both the Council and the Fleet had insisted that she stay behind; the Council had declared that her assistance was unnecessary, while the Fleet insisted that they didn't want their most effective weapon put in unnecessary danger. It irked Bastila to be treated as a weapon and not a person, but that was hardly new.
What was also rather disturbing was how directionless and useless she felt without Min, and she wondered if she had grown too dependent on the woman. She was beginning to realize that her entire existence was defined by other people. She was the dutiful Jedi Knight, she was the Fleet's most powerful weapon, she was Revan's bond mate, and without those people or institutions, she felt like she had no real purpose or direction.
And that is just pathetic.
In an effort to fill her time, she had offered to help with the investigation on Coruscant, but the Council had politely but firmly told her 'no'. She was in the middle of trying to determine what she should do with herself, when she heard footsteps ring through the hall.
Bastila greeted her visitor with a smile, and she hoped that it didn't look as false as it felt. "Hello, Master Zhar."
Zhar returned her false smile with a genuine one. "Bastila, I wonder if you wouldn't mind helping me with something?"
She was so relieved to have something to do that she couldn't hide her eagerness. "Yes! Of course!" she said, inwardly cringing at how desperate she sounded.
"Excellent. I was wondering if you knew where Revan's T3 unit is. Master Kavar and I would like to use it to run a system check."
"Oh." The disappointment that he wanted T3 and not her was sharp. "I believe he's with Mission."
Against everyone's objections, Min had given T3 to Mission after the destruction of the Star Forge, and the amount of trouble that the two of them had managed to get into was nothing short of spectacular.
His eyes crinkled in concern, and Bastila flushed, embarrassed that her desperation was that obvious. "Are you all right, Bastila?"
"Yes… No… I just… I feel rather… useless." Zhar didn't say anything; he just waited patiently for her to continue. "For the first time in a long time, I don't have anything to do. I should be happy, but I don't know what to do with myself." She sighed. "I feel rather foolish."
"You're not foolish, Bastila. Your feelings are understandable."
Bastila waited for Master Zhar to tell her that she needed patience and more time in meditation. Instead, he said, "I need some help going over the data we've collected about the attacks. I would be grateful for any assistance you could give me."
Bastila hid her gibbering gratitude behind what she hoped was a mask of calm serenity, even though she knew that Zhar wouldn't be even remotely fooled.
It didn't take them long to find Mission. She was in the dining hall, surrounded by Kel, Mekel, Dustil and several other young padawans. Bastila felt an involuntary twinge of jealousy at the ease with which Mission could relate to people. It was something that she had never been able to master herself. As they approached, Bastila tried not to let her discomfort show when Dustil turned bright red and stammered out a greeting. She returned it with a curt nod, sincerely hoping that she would not be required to speak to him.
Although Mission was unhappy at being left out, she allowed them to use T3. Tee seemed to be overly eager to help, as if the droid were suffering from the same feeling of listlessness and boredom that she felt. Zhar led Bastila and T3 into one of the backrooms of the Jedi Archives, where Master Kavar was waiting for them. Bastila was very relieved when Kavar waved her into the room and didn't object to her presence.
Tee jacked himself into the nearest wall socket, directing a series of beeps and squawks at Bastila, waiting for instructions. Bastila looked at the Masters, uncertain as to what they wanted Tee to do.
"We would like a complete diagnostic done of our computer system. Specifically, we would like to know if there has been a security breach," Zhar said, taking a seat at the conference table, which was covered in datapads.
Tee beeped an affirmative and settled in to work, and Bastila tentatively joined Kavar and Zhar at the conference table. She gestured at the stack of datapads. "May I take a look?"
Kavar smiled, and Bastila couldn't help but remember how all of her classmates had sighed and mooned over handsome Master Kavar. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
And now most of them are dead.
"Certainly," Kavar said before turning to the data that he'd been studying.
Bastila began to sort through the information the Jedi had gathered on the group that was killing Force Sensitives, but sadly, there wasn't a good deal of information to go through. She read through the security reports of the break-in at the Senator's apartments, but didn't see anything that caught her eye. The Senator's personal security force had discovered a bloodstain that didn't match the blood of any of his family members. The species had been identified as Iridonian, and they were still trying to match an identity to the sample, but so far without success.
Glancing down at the next datapad, she saw a list of the Force Sensitives that the assassins had claimed responsibility for killing. It appeared that someone had already gone through and verified that they had actually died.
The hair on the back of Bastila's neck stood on end when she read through the names. Surnames caught her attention immediately: Nita and Jayson Lamar – killed in an exploding speeder accident, Mip Lestin – killed in a back alley on Ryloth, Allonis Revan – killed by an overloading power conduit, Xenus and Martin Algwinn – freak speeder accident. Other surnames on the list screamed at her: Bandon, Vassar, Sunrider, Bindo.
She looked up at Zhar and Kavar. "This cannot be right."
"It is accurate," Kavar stated with a worried frown. "We have verified all of the names on the list."
"But most of these are relatives of active Jedi or former Sith!"
"Yes." Zhar nodded and shifted his lekku around his neck. "That's why we need T3. We are afraid that our genealogy has been compromised."
"Genealogy?" This was the first time that Bastila had heard of any such thing.
Kavar elaborated. "Whenever someone who is Force Sensitive enough to be considered for the Jedi Order is found, their immediate family is tested so that we can track their bloodlines. While Force Sensitivity is often random, as it was in your family, it can often be passed down from generation to generation. Even if the Force Sensitive is too old or refuses the training, they are entered into the databank, so that any children they have can be tested in the future."
Zhar spoke carefully, as though he didn't want to believe what he was saying. "Other than three Miralukas, all of the people on that list are relatives of active or former Jedi. It is possible that some of the names were discovered through public records, but not all of them could have been found that way, which is why we think that they must have somehow gotten access to the Archives."
Bastila sat in silence, trying to work out the ramifications of this while T3 worked, and hoping that the Masters were mistaken. But an hour later, T3 confirmed their worst fears. The Masters left to call an emergency Council session, leaving Bastila and T3 to try to trace where the breach in the system had come from.
Yuthura gingerly took the metal circlet Minuet handed to her; she didn't want to touch it, but she knew it needed to be done. She tried to suppress a shudder as she slipped the cold metal circlet over her forehead, and nausea almost overwhelmed her when the Force winked out of existence. She couldn't tell if it was her imagination or not, but the nearly empty training room seemed to become deathly quiet.
Minuet's sympathetic grimace swam before her disoriented eyes. "Rather unpleasant, isn't it?"
Yuthura focused on controlling her breathing, and fought the instinct that told her to panic and hyperventilate, waiting for her body to adjust to the absence of the power that had always thrummed beneath the surface.
Minuet ran a hand through her hair and chewed on her lip thoughtfully. "Although it probably won't be necessary with an entire squad of special troops following us everywhere, we should probably set up a training schedule. We need to be prepared, just in case."
"It might be a good idea if we enlisted Carth's and Canderous' help, especially with blasters, which all of us should start to carry." It was a reasonable suggestion, but Jolee delivered it almost gleefully to Minuet, who rolled her eyes and scowled back at him.
"Fine," Minuet snapped. "I'll talk to Canderous about it."
Yuthura sighed. They were only two days into the six-day hyperspace journey to the Rakatan planet, and she was already tired of all the tension and drama, even though she wasn't quite sure what the source of it all was. She stood, attempting to get used to the feeling of moving without the Force. It was amazing how even rudimentary things like walking and running became difficult.
They only had one circlet, and the Council had been loathe to part with even that one, but Minuet had nagged and browbeaten them into allowing them to take it for training.
Yuthura started with something simple, pulling out a vibroblade, because lightsabers were too difficult to use without the Force, at least without more practice. She began to go through the Shii-Cho lightsaber form, clumsily at first, but she was determined to focus and make it work.
Minuet started to spar with Jolee using practice blades, and Yuthura could tell that she was rusty and in serious need of sparring practice. She wondered how Minuet could have gotten so out of practice, but then she realized that the Fleet probably didn't allow the former Dark Lord of the Sith to keep her lightsaber skills sharp.
After a half hour or so, Minuet looked at the door. "I should go. There is going to be a shift change soon, and I should get back to my quarters before the crew comes." Minuet excused herself, and Jolee went with her. She headed to the door, where a pair of Special Ops guards flanked her and followed her out the door.
Because she was wearing the circlet, Yuthura didn't sense Canderous' approach. He had a bag of gear in one hand, which looked very heavy.
He sneered at Minuet's retreating form. "She could cut every single one of them down. Dodonna knows it, the ops team knows it, and yet they insist on making a show of it, and she allows them to lead her around like a dog."
Yuthura kept her face carefully blank; as a rule she detested Mandalorians, and she wasn't entirely sure why Minuet allowed this one to stay around. She knew that he had helped defeat Malak, but she resented the fact that she was now forced to deal with him. She took the circlet off and wrapped it up carefully before placing it in the special carrier, since she was uncomfortable being around him without her Jedi senses.
They watched the door shut behind Minuet and her guards. Canderous turned his appraising gray eyes on her. "You don't like me very much, do you?"
Yuthura simply looked at him, and decided to be as blunt as he was. "No. I don't."
Canderous nodded, as though he had expected both her opinion and her honesty. He didn't look the least bit angry or offended, simply curious. "Is it because I'm Mandalorian, or just my own charming personality?"
"I don't know you well enough to dislike you personally."
He dropped his bag of gear on a nearby bench and began to rifle through it. It was full of sheathed weapons, blasters, shields and many things that she simply couldn't identify. From the way he was digging, it looked like whatever he was searching for was at the bottom of the large bag.
"Anything in particular about us Mandalorians that you find offensive?" he asked.
The training room doors slid open, and crew members began to wander through. Almost every single one scowled at the large Mandalorian. Canderous ignored them completely.
She crossed her arms under her breasts. "Well, other than the fact that you come from a brutish culture that conquers people for no better reason than honor, I suppose it is the Mandalorian practice of slaving that I find the most offensive."
"Ah. You were a slave," he said, as though it was no real surprise to him.
"I was a lot of things. But yes… once I was a slave." She turned, starting to go through her lightsaber forms again, not wanting to discuss this any further with him.
The appraising look he gave her made her skin crawl, but she remained outwardly composed, refusing to allow the Mandalorian the satisfaction of seeing her profound discomfort.
"To a Hutt? As a joygirl?" he said.
"Of course." The bitterness was difficult to keep out of her voice. "I'm a female Twi'lek. What other use could I possibly have?"
He went back to searching through his bag, grunting in satisfaction when he found a roll of tape. "None to a Hutt. They are very short-sighted creatures in many ways."
She knew she shouldn't continue this conversation, but she couldn't dismiss her old resentment so easily. "I suppose the Mandalorians would have found a better use for me."
"Definitely," he stated as he started to tape up his hands. "You would have been too skilled to waste as a whore. Besides, sex between Mandalorians and slaves was highly discouraged. While some slaves were used that way, it was not common."
Yuthura indicated her skepticism with one arched eyebrow.
"It was simply a matter of practicality. We were encouraged to breed among Mandalorian women, so that our numbers and our might would grow. Only pureblood Mandalorian males were allowed the chance to become warriors."
"And the women?"
His answer surprised her. "They were not allowed to partake in battle, because they were too important. They bore the future of our people." He laughed at the expression on her face. "The fighting was the province of the males, but the females were in charge of everything else: production, education, economics, social structure. It is not like they were chained and barefoot in our kitchens, waiting on us hand and foot."
"No. That's what your slaves were for."
He smirked. "Yeah. Although usually we didn't have to chain them."
She made a disgusted sound, and it seemed to amuse him greatly.
"We also used them as support troops during battle, sometimes in key positions. Many slaves were considered valued members of the clan, and some even gained enough honor to earn their freedom."
"How generous of you," she snapped.
The infuriating bastard had the gall to laugh. "I'm not looking for your approval. I could care less about what you think."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"Because anyone who claws their way out of Hutt slavery by killing their master, and almost becomes headmaster of the Korriban Academy, is someone who is worthy of my time. Besides, who else am I going to talk to? Onasi hates my guts, Revan is too busy with her idiot mating dance with Onasi, I can't speak Shyriiwook, Vrook glares at me, and Jolee has been keeping to himself lately."
"Idiot mating dance?" Yuthura couldn't help but be a bit curious. Minuet hadn't confided to her, although something was obviously bothering her deeply. And from the way that she and Admiral Onasi looked at each other, it was clear that he was the focal point of her pain. Sometimes, Yuthura felt like she was stumbling around blind in a minefield.
"Oh yeah. They used to be lovers, but now she's crippled by useless guilt and he's screwing off, wasting time worrying and being understanding. He should just haul her off to the nearest broom closet and not let her out until she sees things his way, and she should just give up the game, because it is only a matter of time anyway before she caves."
Yuthura stared at him, wondering if he was actually serious. "I can't believe that you actually care about what happens between them."
He shrugged. "I don't. If she wants to martyr herself and make both of them miserable, that's her business. But I've got five hundred credits in Mission's betting pool that says she caves in less than a month."
Her eyes went from narrow skepticism to wide surprise. "There's a betting pool?"
He grinned down at her. "Yeah, you want in?"
Master Quatra finished her lecture on Outer Rim economics in the post-Exar Kun galaxy, and Dustil barely managed to suppress a sigh of relief when she dismissed the class and stepped down from the podium. He'd spent the entire lecture in a bored haze, teetering on the edge of dozing off. Dustil gathered up his datapads quickly and hurried out of the small lecture hall, before she could stop him and find something to lecture him about.
An anxious-looking Mekel stopped him just outside the doorway. "Hey, do you know where Mission is?"
Like I care.
"No."
Mekel scratched the stubble on his face. Dustil wondered if he was trying to grow a beard or something.
"Damn. I've been looking for her all day."
"Maybe she doesn't want to see you." Dustil couldn't keep the malicious glee out of his voice, but he instantly regretted it when he saw Mekel's face twist in anger.
"You know… you can be a real prick sometimes, Dustil," Mekel spat as he stormed off.
Dustil watched him go, even though he knew he should go after him and apologize. He knew he'd been a complete jerk ever since he'd overheard his father's conversation with Revan, but he just didn't feel up to apologizing at the moment. Resolving to do it later, Dustil headed to his quarters, deciding to skip dinner, since he really didn't feel like playing nice today.
He decided to go back to his room and lose himself in his artwork, which seemed to be the only thing that gave him peace of mind lately. But when he reached the entrance to the living quarters, he almost collided with Mission, who was practically running out the door.
"Hey, watch it!" Dustil snapped. Other than Revan, Mission was the last person he wanted to see.
She didn't even look up at him when she muttered, "Whatever, Sithboy."
Dustil wanted to yell at her, to take his misery, frustration, and anger out on her, but she looked so sad and miserable that he actually asked, "What's wrong?" before he could stop himself.
The look she gave him was full of contempt. "Like you care."
Mission tried to step around him, and he noticed that she looked like she was headed somewhere outside of the Jedi Temple. She had a flashy purple outfit on and a duffle bag slung over her shoulder.
"Where are you going?"
Her head-tails twitched and she looked like she wanted to smack him. "None of your business!"
More than anything, Dustil wanted to step aside and let her pass; he really didn't want to get involved in whatever she was up to, but the emotions that were pouring off her were so mixed up that it actually made him pause. His father's request brought his unwanted conscience kicking and screaming to the front of his mind.
Before his father had left to chase after Revan, he'd asked Dustil to keep an eye out for Mission. Dustil, still furious about what he'd witnessed between his father and Revan, had blown him off. But it occurred to him now that his father might have had a point when he'd said that, other than Revan, Carth, and Zaalbar, Mission didn't have anyone looking out for her, at least anyone who was on the planet at the moment. And despite what she said, she was still a kid.
He also couldn't stop thinking about how disappointed Master Zhar would be if he gave into his anger and lashed out at the girl, or ignored someone who was so obviously upset. So Dustil repeated his question. "Where are you going, Mission?"
She glared at him. "Out."
"Out where?"
"Not that it's any business of yours, but I'm going to the Yemari district to see my brother."
That district was deep in the heart of the underlevels of Coruscant, and was notorious for being one of the roughest and rowdiest places on the entire city planet.
"You can't go down there by yourself. It's too dangerous."
Her lip curled and she sneered at him. "Hey, I'm not a backwater hick like you. So frack off, and get out of my way."
It was hard, but Dustil ignored the jibe. He knew that his father would never forgive him if he let Mission go by herself. While he wanted to believe that he didn't care about his father's opinion, he knew deep down that he still did. Worse, from everything he'd heard, Griff was a real core-slime. He couldn't just let Mission go down there by herself.
Besides, you're supposed to be a Jedi, and Jedi don't let little girls go into slums to visit their no-good brothers by themselves, even if the little girl is a pain in the ass.
"I'm coming with you."
"No way! I'm going to have enough trouble getting there without a big, doofy nerf-herder like you tagging along like a lost kinrath pup. Get your kicks somewhere else."
Her words were sharp, but Dustil could sense her desperation, and he knew that she didn't want to visit her brother by herself. There was no way he was going to let her go by herself now.
"Too bad, because I'm coming."
"You can't leave, anyway. They're not going to let you out of here," she pointed out, and Dustil realized that she was testing his resolve to come.
"They don't have to. We'll leave the same way that we always do to sneak out of here." Astonishingly, relief and gratitude began to pour from her, even though she was still glaring at him. More importantly, she stopped her token protests, apparently accepting that he wasn't going to take 'no' for an answer.
He ran his hand through his hair and began to make plans. "We'll meet up with Mekel and Kel at dinner, and-"
"No!" Mission flushed, and she shocked him again by saying, "I mean, Mekel and Kel are nice and all, but I'd rather it were just us."
Dustil's ears turned pink as he wondered if Mission had a crush on him, and was just trying to get him alone. Panic mounted. Mission was a lot more like a really annoying little sister. The whole idea of them together was just… gross.
"Uh…" he sputtered.
She killed that thought with her next statement, to his intense relief. "I mean, this is kind of a private… family thing."
Dustil didn't quite know what to say about that. "Oh… okay." He looked down at his conspicuous brown robes. "I'll change and then we'll go, all right?"
"Okay." She almost smiled at him, and it wasn't nearly as offensive as it usually was.
As they made plans for that night, Dustil tried not to think about how much trouble he was going to get into if he got caught.
Zhar watched Dustil and Mission disappear into one of the service vents underneath the massive Jedi garden. The service tunnel had been used by padawans to sneak out since before Zhar's time, and in his youth he'd used it to sneak out rather frequently. Revan and Malak had used it, too, and now it seemed that Dustil and his friends were the next generation keeping the tradition alive.
Dustil slid the grate back into place, and Zhar hoped that he was not making a big mistake by not stopping Dustil. While it was risky to allow his padawan to leave with all of the assassins out there, Zhar felt that stopping him would be far riskier to Dustil. The boy had so much anger and resentment inside him towards his father, towards Revan, towards Mission and towards the world in general, that his fall was practically guaranteed unless something changed drastically. This was the first time he'd ever seen Dustil reach out to Mission, and he was hoping that the girl would be the catalyst for that change. He made a mental note to have that tunnel sealed after Dustil returned.
Zhar turned from the ventilation grate, and began to stroll through the gardens. The cultured beauty of the gardens, cultivated by countless generations, was completely lost on him, because he couldn't stop thinking about the latest Council session. He took a seat on one of the simple stone benches, and waited. It didn't take long for Master Vandar to join him, and Zhar wasn't surprised that he was the one to approach him, since the small Jedi Master was his closest friend.
"You were very upset in today's Council session," Vandar began. "I hope that upon reflection, you will see the wisdom of our actions."
"I can see the pragmatism of your decision," Zhar admitted, "but our members deserve to know."
"If it becomes known that the assassins are attacking their families, then the Order will be lost. We will be spread too thin. The Jedi will go to protect their families, and leave themselves and the Order vulnerable."
"Or maybe they'll save their families. How can we place our Order above the lives of complete innocents?"
Vandar didn't answer him, although Zhar hadn't really expected him to. The arguments had been rehashed, over and over, and there was nothing new to add.
"What are you going to do?" Vandar asked after a while. "Are you going to tell them?"
"I don't know."
Actively defying the Council seemed unthinkable, yet he wasn't sure that he could remain silent about this. It made him feel ill just thinking about it, and he wondered if Revan and Malak had felt this way when they had made their choice to leave.
Zhar couldn't stop thinking about the last time he'd seen his former student. Malak had been so earnest, so determined to do the right thing, so completely in love with Revan, that nothing Zhar said had made an impact. But he knew that Malak had been torn up by the decision to leave, and he had asked his former Master to join them. Although in his heart Zhar had wanted to join them, he had refused, and the last meeting between Master and student had ended in anger and bitterness. Zhar had trusted in the wisdom of the Council, and Malak had fallen. He couldn't help but feel that if he followed the Council's wishes this time, and ignored what his heart was telling him, the results would be just as disastrous as before.
The practical side of Zhar knew that the Council had a legitimate point. But he thought of his padawan, Dustil, who had already been lied to by the Sith. His mother's family was on that list, and he knew that it was wrong not to tell him.
"Please give it some time. Let us come up with a plan."
"I will… meditate on it."
Vandar turned to leave, realizing that Zhar wasn't going to promise more than that. He left with a warning.
"Think carefully, old friend. Your actions may determine the fate of our Order."
Once again, an absolutely enormous thank you to my good twin xenzen, who was instrumental in helping me take the complete chaos that this chapter was and turning it into something coherent and readable. She's also done some fantastic sketches of Carth and Morgana as they appear in Common Ground. Links to the sketches will hopefully appear on my author profile page (as soon as I can figure out how to insert hyperlinks properly…grar). At any rate, they are over at kotorfanmedia, so go check them out and tell her how wonderful they are.
Also, thanks for the feedback everyone, as always it is very helpful to hear what worked or didn't work from you all.
Dinah: Thanks for the review. You're right, there is definitely more to Min's motivations than she's said so far. There is no deep dark secret or anything, more like psychological hang-ups and issues that will be explored in later chapters.
Kosiah: I have an entire story mapped out in my mind about the whole Jolee/Nayama/Vrook triangle (it's been nagging me for months and months and months). I'm not sure how much of it I can fit into this story because what I have in mind is a bit too big to fit well here, so someday I may have to write it (someday when I'm not writing two stories at once…Heh).
Bluecaterpillar: Thanks for the review. I currently don't have any original fiction. From the Ashes was my first attempt at creative writing ever, and at the moment I'm having too much fun writing my two kotor stories. But who knows… maybe sometime in the future I'll be inclined to write some original stuff.