Mærin watched durasteel doors slide firmly shut behind Lieutenant Grenn's back. She sank down to the bottom of her containment cell with her legs crossed and wished she had Kreia's composure. The old woman had already lost herself in meditation, apparently unconcerned about their current situation.

Peragus was gone. Obliterated. All of its fuel resources had exploded with the planet, and Mærin didn't need a degree in planetary economics to know what that meant for Telos. She had almost single-handedly destroyed one planet and doomed another.

Atton's voice broke her out of her reverie. "You just had to talk to Grenn, didn't you? You couldn't have just walked away and let the problems go to someone else." His eyebrows were furrowed in a dark scowl as he pointedly glared at Mærin.

She matched his glare through the electric containment field. "And that would have been better somehow? Please don't hesitate to explain your 'logic' to me."

"This," he growled, motioning around at the prison room, "All of this is your fault. All of it. First it was whole hoard of Sith on your ass. Then it was the fact that your 'friends' neatly erased Peragus from the map while the Telosian government held the Ebon Hawk responsible.

"But the thing that gets me the most is the fact that you didn't even bother to try and get us out of this mess. Oh no. You had to be the good citizen and take the blame for a crime you didn't do. If you had any common sense at all, you would have taken my advice and run. But you didn't. Apparently you don't have any Jedi-sense either, because even that should have been screaming at you. What the hell were you thinking?"

"If you had any thoughts besides saving your own hide, then you'd know exactly what I was thinking." Her voice gained intensity and anger, growing in volume. "If you hadn't noticed, the only place on our navigation charts was Telos. The Ebon Hawk is barely serviceable and almost out of fuel. By running, we would have branded ourselves criminals in the eyes of the galaxy and would be a prime target for bounty hunters. Hell, maybe I was trying to be a good citizen. At least I have the decency to try. Next time you want to throw a tantrum and blame someone else for your current discomfort you should think your argument through. It might save you the embarrassment." She turned away from him and let her eyes bore imaginary holes in the opposite wall. After a few minutes, she snuck a glance in his direction.

He had retreated to his Pazaak cards and he was mercifully silent. Mærin closed her eyes, wishing for the peace of mind she used to have.

The hissing of the prison doors interrupted the furious thoughts that streaked through Atton's mind as he glared at his Pazaak cards. He looked up and stood as he saw a tall Republic soldier step through the doors. The soldier's boots clicked sharply on the metal floor and Atton could hear the rustling of clothes as the Exile stood behind him.

"Are our apartments ready?" Mærin's impatience was evident as she spoke.

"No, I'm afraid that they're not." The man's voice was cold and he sounded like he was used to getting his way. "So this is the famed 'last of the Jedi. I can't say that I'm impressed. I was told to be careful, but I see no reason now."

Atton narrowed his eyes. "What do you want?"

The man smiled and sauntered over to the nearby control panel. "The security was surprisingly easy to slip past. The cameras to this very room aren't functioning properly either. It would be a pity if something were to happen to the Lieutenant's prize prisoners." Playing idly with the controls, he turned to face Mærin. "Shouldn't you be attacking me now with your 'powers'? Strike me down, Jedi – that is if you can."

Atton bristled, not bothering to see if he was the only one reacting to the bounty hunter's taunts. "Why don't you let us out and fight like a real man?"

The man's voice was quiet, deadly. "Insolent bastard. Fight me then. I doubt that an old woman, a useless Jedi, and a fool will be able to stop me."

The energy field surrounding Atton disappeared and a breeze stirred past his face. He turned to look at Mærin and balked.

Her eyes had rolled to the back of her head and her hand was outstretched in the direction of the bounty hunter.

Power erupted from her figure, drowning the man in a wave of lightening. His screams reverberated through the small room. The smell of burning flesh soon filled the air.

Silence. Mærin… she had killed the bounty hunter with the Force.
A Jedi.
Shouting soldiers burst through the prison door and were silenced Lieutenant Grenn's voice, directed at the prisoners.

"Back up into your holding cells slowly, with your hands up. You wouldn't want to do anything incriminating."

A female officer gagged at the sight of the man on the floor. "Lieutenant… is that Batu Rem? He's… He's dead."

"Batu Rem… He's not supposed to be at the station – he's on leave. Who is this man?" Grenn turned to face Mærin, expecting an explanation.

Atton answered instead. "Bounty hunter." She used the Force to kill a man. She couldn't be trusted.

"A bounty hunter?" The Lieutenant turned to face the other soldiers. "How did a bounty hunter manage to break into the prison? Who was in charge here?" The soldiers shook their heads and the lines around Grenn's face became more pronounced. "Very well. We will investigate immediately." He turned back to the prisoners, his gaze still suspicious and stern. "Your apartments are secure."

They had better be more secure than the prison.

The prisoners walked tiredly after the retreating shadow of the Lieutenant.

The apartments were spacious and comfortable – a lot more accommodating than the force cages. But they were still trapped on the dying planet, waiting for some psychotic Sith to come and blow their brains out.

Atton didn't want to stay any longer than absolutely necessary. He glanced around the room, searching for any obvious security cameras. "Listen," he said, addressing Mærin, "We need to get off of this planet before some of your delightful 'friends' come for a visit. We need to get the Ebon Hawk."

Kreia stared hard at Mærin, completely ignoring Atton. "The Force brought us to Telos for a reason. There might be Jedi hidden on the planet, and we have been given enough time to investigate before the Sith arrive. We should stay as long as we are able to."

Atton balked. "You're joking, right? Are you actually saying that you want to stay here? Mærin, tell me that you're not considering what Kreia's saying."

Mærin took her time answering, her face a picture of indecision. She finally began to speak, but her words were slow and thought out. "Kreia has a point—"

"What?" He wanted to leave the planet and all of the problems he had suddenly encountered behind. This woman had gotten him into enough shit to last a lifetime.

"Let me finish!" Mærin snapped, apparently remembering their earlier argument. "There might be Jedi that can help us. And we need any help we can get. But I don't like staying here any more than you do, Atton, and I have a feeling that the Sith aren't going to take their time getting here once they figure out where we are." She rubbed the side of her face briefly. "We shouldn't stay on Telos long. We'll look for any Jedi until we're released from arrest. As soon as they let us go, we're leaving. Will that work for everyone?"

Atton nodded sullenly. It was the best he would get from Mærin or Kreia, and he tried to make himself be thankful that Mærin understood at least a portion of what he had said.

It didn't work. He sat at a lone table in the room, glowering down at his Pazaak cards as the old woman and Mærin meditated. Staring at his cards without actually paying any attention to them had become second nature to him, a habit that he used often. The two women meditating had caught his interest, and after Kreia had spoke to Mærin in hushed tones for a bit, they had become silent and withdrawn. The old hag rigidly buried herself beneath her brown cloak, hiding her face from view. Mærin had merely settled into a loose sitting position and closed her eyes. The two women were models of contrast, each doing the opposite of the other. The more Atton watched them, the more obvious the differences became. Old and young. Closed and open. Dark and light. Witch and… what? He wasn't sure how to describe the comparison in that way. Witch and… Jedi.

The name stuck in his mind and turned sour. Jedi. The word didn't fit Mærin exactly, but it fit her enough to make Atton wary. Now that he thought about it, the comparison between the women was different. More like teacher and student.

Master and Padawan.

The apartment doors slid open and a short woman walked in with a serving tray full of food. She was young, and seemed ill at ease around the two Jedi meditating on the floor. Atton glanced past her, noticing how close their guards were standing to the door. At least they have the brains to watch the Jedi closer than before.

"The Lieutenant Grenn has requested that dinner be brought to your room. Just leave the leftovers on the tray and someone will be around to pick it up later." The serving woman backed out of the apartment quickly after timidly relaying her message. The doors clicked firmly shut behind her and Mærin had risen from her meditative state to inspect the food. A small warning bell sounded in Atton's mind.

"Wait—they might have added sedatives to the food. You shouldn't touch it."

Mærin rolled her eyes, no longer in the diplomatic mood. "Please. If they wanted to drug us, they would have done it already. I don't know about you, but I haven't eaten in Force only knows how long." She picked up a platter of fruit and rice and joined Atton at the table. The smell of cooked meat had reached him, causing his mouth to water.

When was the last time I had food? He couldn't remember, but he didn't want to prove Mærin correct by eating anything right away. His stomach rumbled loudly, betraying his hungry status to the woman across from him. She smirked, taking an enormous bite from a particularly fragrant fruit.

To hell with it. He snatched something from the tray that looked like it had wings before it was cooked and took his seat. Mærin smiled in a way that told Atton he wouldn't live the experience down. "So Atton, how do the sedatives taste? I hear they complement most meals nicely." Her voice was smug and unbelievably grating against his fraying nerves.

He smirked back at her, taking a bite from his plate. "They do actually, unlike the present company." He took another bite, relishing in his small victory as the smirk in her face was replaced with careful indifference. The meal continued in blessed silence, giving Atton ample time to enjoy his first piece of food since the rations stopped coming on Peragus. He had to admit that the chef on Citadel station knew what he was doing.

Mærin was lost in her own thoughts, and it didn't surprise Atton when she suddenly got up from the table and settled in one of the beds without a word. Atton took the opportunity to get some answers from the old witch. He stood next to her as she stared out at the passing traffic. She barely acknowledged his presence, but that was something Atton had grown used to in the time spent with Kreia.

"I have a question for you."

The woman continued to stare out the window, and when she spoke her voice was devoid of inflection. "I have not the years to answer your questions nor the desire to indulge you."

Atton plowed on regardless. "How did she end up like this? Aren't Jedi supposed to be tough? Capable?"

The old woman snorted in disdain, but still refused to face him. "You think only of Jedi in the sense of the Force. Take that away from them, and they are weak. Mere children in the scope of the world. The Exile has nothing of what she once possessed. It is like cutting off both hands of a duelist and tossing him back into the ring. Now, she is simply a woman."

Atton shook his head. "But that doesn't explain all of it. She has a connection to the Force – we both saw her use it back in the prison and she used it to heal her leg. There's something more to it, I know it."

Kreia's wrinkled lips betrayed the barest of smiles. "Oh? Then why do you ask me if you know I do not have the answers? If you know that there is more than what lies at the surface, then you do not need me answer your question. I have no obligation to tell you. You can survive where a Jedi would not, simply because you cannot hear the Force as they do." It was Atton's turn to pointedly stare out the window. "That is the only reason I find you useful, and the only reason I tolerate your presence." She turned to look at Mærin, cocooned in a nest of blankets. "We will talk of this no more. We do a disservice to her by talking about this when she is not present." Kreia left Atton by the window and gracefully sat down in meditation. Her words left Atton more annoyed and confused than before. If the old hag wouldn't tell him anything, he'd have to find out for himself.

She rested her back against the soft bark of a tree, enjoying the gentle sounds and warm smells of summer. Mærin's history homework on the Tarisian aristocracy glared up at her, threatening to ruin a perfectly wonderful day. The branches above her rustled obnoxiously, and she glared up at them in response.

"You said that you'd help me with my homework!" She looked back at the empty notebook in her lap. "If I knew that you were going to be a Gamorrean about it, I would have listened to Master Traya's lectures when I had the chance."

The rustling, in response, pelted her with ripe Hindian pears and laughed as Mærin gave shouts of protest. An over-ripe pear smacked her squarely in the forehead and Mærin's lips drew together in a thin line as she wiped the pulpy mess from her face. "That's it," she growled, concentrating on the shadow in the branches, "you're in for it now, you snobby aristocrat!" The figure above gave a yelp as an unseen force pushed him from his perch, causing him to tumble to the ground in a heap of twigs and Padawan robes.

"Hey, no fair!" He protested, attempting to rearrange himself.

Mærin crossed her arms. "It serves you right. You promised me that you'd help me with my homework."

He shook out leaves from his unruly black curls and pulled out a piece of fruit from his robes. "Look what I found – the perfect pear. See, it's perfectly ripe and just the right golden tone that you like…" He trailed off, realizing he had gained no ground with Mærin. "Come on, we have the whole afternoon free after Revan and Malak pulled that stunt on the Council – we might as well enjoy ourselves." He stared at her with deep green eyes – his greatest ploy – and smiled roguishly. He moved closer until Mærin could feel his warm breath against her skin.

"Cael," she warned softly, her voice catching. Her anger had disappeared, and her caution was slipping away with it. He silenced her with a finger, leaned in closer, and—

The comm unit's sharp rings pierced into Mærin's dream, shattering the image of the lazy summer day. She groaned as Atton turned to her.

"There's an Ithorian representing Chodo Habat – he wants to speak to you."

Mærin stared bluntly at Atton. What would an Ithorian want with her?

"What does he want?"

Atton shrugged. "Something about the restoration project. He says it's not urgent."

She waved him off. "In that case, tell him I'll talk to this Chodo Habat myself later. I don't feel like dealing with anyone right now." She barely heard Atton relay the message to the Ithorian. She was still caught up in her dream. Caught up in memories of Cael. It seemed so real...
She was startled when Atton sat on the bed next to her, offering her a piece of fruit and a knife. She took both, murmuring a quick thank-you. Apparently he's no longer worried about the food being drugged.

"What have you been doing? Since the war, I mean."

She arched an eyebrow, slicing into the fruit. Direct, aren't we?

"After my exile, you mean."

He seemed unperturbed. "Well… yeah."

"I explored hyperspace routes on the Outer Rim."

It was his turn to arch an eyebrow. "Pretty dangerous work."

She shrugged. "It was something to do, I guess. Something…" she popped a slice of fruit into her mouth and nearly gagged. Mærin turned the fruit over, looking at its golden skin and pulpy innards.

Hindian pear. She stared at Atton, dumbfounded. What are the chances of him giving me a this? I haven't had a Hindian pear since…

He interrupted her thought. "Something what?"

"Where did you get this pear?" She demanded, pointing the knife at him.

He recoiled, lifting his hands entreatingly. "I—from the tray. I noticed you were eating them before so…" He trailed off when Mærin persisted in staring at him.

I must've grabbed one on the plate of fruit, she realized, scrutinizing Atton still further. Why does he remind me so much of Cael? They're so different… But he was similar. His presence, the way he walked – he was sure of himself, just as Cael had been. Her face must have darkened, because Atton's became worried.

"Uh, Mærin? You wanna lower that knife? Are you okay?"

The sharp rings of the telecomm allowed Mærin an escape from the impending awkward explanation. She rose quickly and answered the call, holding the receiver up to her ear. A droid's precise voice greeted her and went on to mention the lack of funding for the Citadel's security.

"Excuse me – what are you trying to say?"

The droid heaved a mechanical sigh, "I'm afraid that the Ebon Hawk is no longer in possession of the TSF."

Her eyes narrowed and her voice rose in anger.

"What? What are you talking about? How is that even possible?" Atton let out a low whistle as Mærin's teeth clenched.

"I'm terribly sorry ma'am, but the TSF has no information about your ship's whereabouts. There have been speculations that it is on the surface of Telos, but we have no confirmation about whether or not that is true."

Mærin could have screamed. "Alright." Her voice was quiet and forced. "If you have any more information… I see." Mærin hung the phone up and turned to her companions. "The Ebon Hawk… It's gone."

He had felt the Jedi's pain the moment she stepped foot on the Citadel Station, a lingering hurt that had festered over the years. He didn't know how long she had lived with the pain – he only knew that it crippled her mentally and physically. The pain was at her very core, linked to the essence of who she was. The sheer amount of it was enormous.

The only time he had felt that much pain was the first time he had walked upon Telos' ashen surface. Everything on Telos had been burned and crushed, leaving the planet screaming and dying.

The Jedi carried a planet's worth of pain, and how she managed to breathe was a mystery to him.

But she would help him and his herd restore Telos to what it should be. He would try to help her as much as he was able, but he wasn't sure that it would be enough.

She would need to heal her pain herself.

The hard heels of her shoes clicked rhythmically as Atris walked through the corridors of the Ebon Hawk. Her ice blue eyes scanned the deserted freighter, glaring at the solid metal walls. The ship told little about its inhabitants – it was as if the information that Atris was trying to obtain was being held just out of her grasp. Mærin had been on this ship: that much was certain. The security recordings had revealed her in the med bay, the cockpit, and the dormitory, but they didn't tell Atris about what Mærin was doing on the Ebon Hawk or what she was doing with companions. They didn't explain why Atris found the cloaked companion so familiar and so strange at the same time.

All of the personal items had been confiscated by the TSF on the citadel station and stored elsewhere. All of the personal items except the cheap romance holobooks secreted away in one of the dormitories. They were worthless, only revealing that Mærin had been on the ship – information Atris already knew.

Atris sighed angrily. She had taken a great risk in sending the last of the Handmaidens to steal this ship, and she had apparently gained nothing by it.

Sitting down, Atris replayed the security recordings, furrowing her brow as Mærin's voice and image sprung to life.

Mærin had aged well, but the years of exile had hardened her features. The holovid showed Mærin on the medical bench tending to her leg, but Atris only saw a woman instead of the girl she used to know, a woman still tainted with the dark side.

A man's voice sounded on the recording, distracting Mærin's attention from her leg. Atris strained to hear the man's voice.

It wasn't Cael.

What did that mean? Cael and his beliefs had caused enough problems for Atris and the Jedi Council – tacking Cael and Mærin together would condemn Mærin as well. But the man wasn't Cael. Was Mærin no longer with Cael? If that was true, then she'd no longer sharing the same beliefs or doing the same thing. Which would mean that Mærin could have nothing to do with the numerous Jedi assassinations…

And yet Atris didn't know who the other man was. She didn't know why Mærin was on the Ebon Hawk or why she was wanted by the Telosian government. She didn't know why Mærin had suddenly come out of her ten year exile.

Atris glowered at the holovid.

What does it all mean?

Quiet whirring echoed down the hallway to Atris's right, shaking her out of her frustrated thinking. Taking her time, she followed the sound down the darkened corridor until she arrived in one of the dormitories. A droid rested with its back turned to Atris, projecting small images onto the back wall of the room. Atris smiled.

The droid would definitely clear some matters up.

Mærin shot a glance at the two droids sitting across from her in the docking quarter of the Citadel Station. One was a small utility droid, reminding her of the T3 unit that had been left aboard the Ebon Hawk before it was confiscated and then apparently stolen, taken to the surface of Telos.

The other droid, a companion to the first, was undeniably B-4D4, the droid that Mærin had tricked into accessing Czerka's mainframe to obtain dirt on Jana Lorso, the head of Czerka on Telos. That was just one of the 'favors' she did for the Ithorians to aid them in their cause to heal the planet of Telos. After all of the trouble she had with those Ithorians, Mærin was certain she wouldn't be doing any favors for a long time.

She rubbed her temple. It all seems like such a blur now.

The involvement with the collapse of the Bumani Exchange Corporation and the Czerka scandal was dangerous and idiotic considering the Sith assassins clamoring for blood. Atton and Kreia had made sure that Mærin was aware of that fact.

But it was over now. All of the hours spent in the Cantina, all of the credits spent on bribes, all of the politics and bloodshed was over.

Was it worth it?

She hoped so. The Ithorians were honestly interested in Telos' welfare, and she prayed the Force that they would succeed in reviving the damaged planet. It lessened her guilt about Peragus and lifted the painful weight off her chest. Peragus was dead, but Telos didn't have to share its fate.

Mærin looked toward the docking bay doors. They were finally being given the chance to find the Ebon Hawk on Telos' surface by taking a shuttle provided by the Ithorians. They were finally being given the chance to fly away from this condemned planet and find out what kind of adversaries they were up against.

Mærin looked at Kreia, who had fallen asleep in her chair. The old woman's head had fallen forward onto her chest and her breath was heavy and slow. She began to snore quietly and Mærin smiled slightly, enjoying catching Kreia when her walls were down.

Atton had retreated back into his cards. Mærin sighed, looking around the waiting room. She wasn't tired enough to fall asleep and she couldn't leave the area until the shuttle was ready for flight.

She glanced back at Atton. She waited for a moment, considering.

Decided, she got up from her seat and sat next to him.

"Ten credits say that you can't beat me in a game of Pazaak."

He put his cards down and smirked. "Fifteen credits say that you're wrong."

As Atton shuffled and dealt, Mærin sneaked one last glance at the droids and knew that she never wanted to see those droids again.

Carth sighed, staring into a reflection that wasn't his own.

He wished the reflection wasn't his own. He didn't want the graying temples, the dark circles under his eyes, the tired expression of a man who'd seen too much.

He didn't want the eyes of a man who's lost too much. The eyes of a man who's lost everything twice over.

The sharp rings of his telecomm punctured the silence of his quarters aboard The Sojourn.

Carth groaned, turning away from the mirror to answer the incoming call. He acknowledged Lieutenant Grenn's mature face on the screen with a small nod.

"Congratulations on your promotion Admiral Onasi, But I'm afraid I have to report bad news." Carth's face was impassive as Grenn continued. "The Jedi is no longer on Citadel Station."

Carth wasn't surprised. Jedi had a knack for squeezing out of situations. "Do you know where the Exile is?"

"Exile?" Carth knew the Lieutenant's sharp mind was already making connections. "We… We have no information on her whereabouts, Sir."

Carth massaged his temple. "Don't worry Lieutenant. The Republic has assumed a "wait and see" approach on the Jedi topic. We'll just have to wait to see how this situation ends. Over and out"

Grenn signed off with a smart salute and the telecomm screen faded to black. Carth turned off the lights in the room and made his way over to his unmade bunk in the dark. The Republic could have used the Jedi's help in the constant struggle within the galaxy but Carth had wanted to meet her personally. He knew she was one of the Jedi who had been with Revan during the Mandalorian Wars. General Mærin Banyin, the woman whose decisions turned the tide of battle countless times. If she knew Revan, she might know where Revan was now.

Carth slid off his boots, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat.

His thoughts – they were always hardest to deal with at night. There was nothing to occupy his time, nothing else to occupy his mind. Empty and dark, the night never kept his mind from straying to memories of her.

Revan.

He rubbed his face tiredly with his palms and let himself sink deeper in self pity. He wanted her to be here, with him. He wanted to hear her loud, beautiful laugh ring out through the room and he wanted to touch her face to make sure that she was real and not some wonderful dream he had made up.

He wanted to see her bright amber eyes, always so full of emotion and life, and the smile he was sure she kept just for him. He wanted to run his hands through her dark hair, breathe in her scent. He wanted to be able to lie next to her each night and feel her warmth at his side.

She's not here. The truth cut at Carth like a blade, just as it did every night, every day, every moment of his existence. His mind was spent on worrying about her, wondering if she was still safe, wondering when she would come back.

Wondering if the Exile knew where Revan was.

Four years. Four years, and he was still waiting for her to fly back to him on the Ebon Hawk. The lump in Carth's throat grew larger, threatening to choke him.

He stared up at the blank metal ceiling and silently begged the Force for a miracle.