3951 BBY, Hyperspace
Mission
"I need you to get to Coruscant as quickly as possible, or anywhere Mid-Rim if you can," Carth was near manic now, his nerves apparent even on the hologram, "Did you get a good look at the ship?"
"It's a Star Forge Centurion-class battlecruiser, that's for sure," Orex replied, arms crossed and voice gruff as usual, "Though it looked pretty beat up. Not sure how that thing was still in orbit."
"What's on Coruscant, Carth?" Mission asked, already impatient, "I don't even have anything to deliver to Bastila, the Exile still has the… erm, the package, or whatever it is."
"I realize that, but I need you to get as far away from the Outer Rim as possible, do you hear me?" Carth said, almost reprimanding, concern coloring his face. Mission wanted to make fun of him for it but instead bit her lip and let the amusement wash over her, a pleasant change from the panic that had otherwise taken over.
"Not to butt in here, but we had orders to rendezvous on Dantooine," Zayne cut in, "I don't know exactly how this little operation worked before Draay had me take over, but the rest of my crew's at the old temple, and if these Sith are looking for something specific-"
"They're looking for something specific alright," Carth said, "The Exile."
The room fell silent as Mission, Orex and Zayne all exchanged glances, waiting for Carth to continue but finding that he wasn't about to award their patience just yet.
"But-" Mission began, looking at both Zayne and Orex before turning to Carth again, "Isn't she headed for you?"
"I sure as hell hope so," Carth replied, sighing, shoulders slumping slightly at the admission. The man needed sleep, Mission knew that much, but wasn't sure if he'd get any. None of them had. "We lost contact with the Harbinger a couple of hours ago. We've heard nothing since."
There was only silence and dread. Mission didn't want to look at the others, her gaze fixed on Carth as he watched on anxiously, and she knew it killed him to appear too vulnerable. But what with Revan gone and everything going south...
"This is no coincidence," Zayne assured them suddenly, taking on an air of authority that wasn't wholly out-of-character but still jarring, as if things weren't dire enough, "But I still say we head to Dantooine. It's enough out of the way for us to disappear while things blow over. If anything, our heading compared to the Harbinger may confuse them, if they're still chasing her."
"The Exile was last seen with us, I'm sure of it," Mission said, "I'm pretty sure we were followed for at least part of the way in the market, and if anyone thought to keep tabs on us after-"
Carth nodded though not quite in agreement, more like he was thinking things over, considering all possibilities.
"That might work," he eventually said, a hand stroking his bearded chin, the streaks of grey even visible in his holo-double. "It might be our only option, given how much time has passed."
They had jumped to hyperspace as soon as they were in range, but even then they had only just jettisoned to the nearest fueling depot. Zayne's shuttle was already sputtering by the time they'd cleared the Nespis moon, and even now it was rumbling unnervingly beneath them as they talked things over.
"If you do go to Dantooine, make it quick," Carth conceded after another moment of consideration, "If these Sith are looking for any remaining Jedi, they just might head there first."
Zayne nodded, understanding, his expression grim. Carth nodded again and without another word signed off, the space where his holo-shadow had been now strangely empty, the room oddly quiet.
"So I guess we're going to pick up our original shipment after all?" Mission asked, turning to Zayne now, who was running a hand through his hair.
"Looks like it," Zayne let out an uneasy breath, and turned to Orex, "And if we're lucky, maybe a little extra. Y'all along for the ride?"
"To the end," Orex affirmed, hand on his blaster as if the man were swearing an oath. His good eye turned on Mission, and she couldn't help but nod in return.
"To the end," she said, wishing she had a drink to toast the sentiment with. A strong one.
3951 BBY, Hyperspace
Erebus
"May I ask why you're so keen on Dantooine, Master ?" Erebus sneered, uncomfortable with the amount of strangers on his ship and the circumstances under which they were all here. Mical was still looking meek, though more-so by choice than by nature, strategically shrinking himself into the background by remaining quiet and compliant. On the other hand, Master Vash wouldn't stop examining every corner of Erebus's ship, but not with any innate curiosity, something more like an insatiable impatience.
"The visions said as much," she responded, absently examining every surface still, unsatisfied with what she'd found.
"Right, obviously," he murmured, sighing as he collapsed into his desk chair. "When you're ready to give me some real answers, just let me know."
Master Vash shot him a glare.
"Judging by the… items in your possession, I would say you're not one to judge."
"Yet here you are doing just that, judging . I don't answer to you anymore, Lonna , nor do I follow the will of the Council as you may very well guess," Erebus mocked, waving a hand about at his cargo hold, "And let's be fair, no matter whose side I'm on, this is still my. ship. "
It all felt surreal. Sleep deprivation and pure exhaustion would have otherwise wrecked him, but now he was running purely on the now-potent fumes of fear and anger, almost egging himself on as Lonna Vash explored his stores without express permission. He could live off his fear for long enough, but it was the anger ran through him like adrenaline. His eyes would glow a molten yellow if he was forced to keep it up, as he knew from experience, fading only when the aggravation faded… or when he let it.
Lonna flashed him another glare, and limped toward him.
"This is as much a shock to me as it is to you," she admitted, setting herself down slowly on one of Erebus' unopened cargo crates across the room from him, her eyes intent on holding his gaze as she spoke, "I am only here because the Force wills it."
Erebus rolled his eyes before he began nursing his right temple with a thumb and forefinger, "Why am I not surprised?"
What else did the Force have in store for him? He could scoff at the idea, despite the mounting evidence.
"It's only going to get worse," Lonna laughed a hollow laugh, her expression dark, "Trust me."
Erebus' hand dropped from his head and into his lap, both hands now forming clenched fists - attempting to control his anger, temper it, lest Master Vash get another snippet of his thoughts unwillingly - before releasing all tension by spreading his fingers wide again, like a blooming flower. No electricity prickled at his fingertips with the movement. He breathed, relieved, but continued to watch on as Master Vash made herself comfortable with a wary gaze.
Lonna closed her eyes, inhaling slowly as she let the weight off of her bad leg. Erebus glanced down but saw nothing other than the cloth of her pants and the edge of her boot, seemingly intact, only extending to just above the ankle. Whatever injury plagued her it was an old one, her appearance otherwise unruffled.
"Let's start at the beginning shall we?" Erebus smiled sourly, sending a wayward glance at his desk and the onyx pyramid that stood there, its dark energy radiating. He wondered if Lonna Vash could feel it too.
"As you know, I was one of the Jedi that judged your sister some nine years ago," she began, pulling no punches.
Erebus nodded, remembering the news clear as crystal. He had been both enthralled and horrified when Atris told him. Elated to hear that his sister had been dealt due judgement for her actions, for rebelling, but devastated to hear what had become of her, to hear of the shell of herself that she had become. He could feel the hollowness of her cheeks, could see the dark circles wreathing her eyes, sense the sallowness of her skin, the ache in her heart and in her chest and her bones. And to hear Atris deliver the news with such righteous surety, with a fire in her eyes he was certain could not be sated, it broke him. Even as a nemesis, Eden was more worthy of her attention than Aiden, Atris' own student. It was no wonder he fell not long after that, letting a bloody brawl in an alley of a backwater metropolis lead him down the path he was still currently headed on… granted Nihilus didn't kill him for it.
"I had my doubts then, as I'm sure Atris might have told you."
Master Vash said this was absolution, and Erebus nodded again. He remembered Atris' rant, her angered words as she paced the Jedi Archives in retelling the trial in its entirety before him as he tried to catalogue their latest shipment of ancient scrolls.
"Yet you still voted in favor of her exile," Erebus mused, "Curious."
Vash sighed, "This is true. Though I will admit, it was in part due to my trust in Master Kavar. He seemed quick to judge her, his own student."
Wrong , Erebus thought. Kavar had nearly become Eden's Master, before he chose a seat on the Council over her. In that regard, Erebus had always been happy that his sister had some inkling of what it felt like for your mentor to favor another protege over you, even though Kavar chose the Jedi as a whole over Eden instead of a single student, as Atris had with her, before realizing Eden would rebel against everything she believed in.
"I doubt it means anything to you, but that single decision haunted me for years," Vash said, closing her eyes for a moment before saying anything further, "Zez-Kai Ell as well. He believed we should have explored her abilities, allowed her a full trial. I think he was right, and I know I wasn't the only one, eventually. But none of us did anything about it. We lived with our choices and then moved on. Until Revan came… again."
"Again?"
"You've undoubtedly heard the story, or some version of it," Lonna continued, a wry smile spiriting over her lips "Revan is betrayed by Malak and suddenly becomes an agent of the Light again? A tool of the Jedi?"
Erebus shook his head. He'd heard of Revan's change of heart, but among the Sith the nature of her new allegiance was glossed over, likely due to Malak's attempt at keeping the remaining Sith under his power in line, a haphazard effort of turning those who followed solely for Revan into loyal followers of whoever held the Sith mantle.
"An interesting story at that, and none that would paint the Jedi too kindly."
Mical appeared in the doorway now, arms crossed as he leaned against the frame, locking eyes with Erebus before he said, "We're on course for Dantooine, alright. We should arrive within the day."
"Excellent," Lonna said, " You should be happy."
Mical balked, looking at Erebus again before continuing.
"Erm… me ?"
Lonna laughed knowingly, but didn't elaborate.
"You arrived just in time for a history lesson," Erebus greeted, extending a hand towards another unoccupied cargo container, "I heard you were a fan. Take a seat."
Heard. More like pried into his mind and extracted, Erebus thought. Though best to assert dominance where he could, especially now with another Force user on board. Mical scowled but did as Erebus said, his wary gaze shifting between Erebus and Lonna, looking the opposite of relaxed once he sat down.
"As you were saying," Erebus said, directed at Master Vash now, "Revan, the Jedi tool ."
Mical sighed and mouthed a silent ah, as if he knew the story, watching Master Vash with some mild intent despite sensing Erebus' latent bitterness.
"I won't go into detail, though perhaps I will later, if you have a mind," she said, as if silently making fun of Erebus, a Sith, for not knowing the true nature of Revan's sudden change of allegiance. "But it didn't sit well with me, nor did it sit well with Zez-Kai Ell. Though I wouldn't have long to discuss it at length with him. Or anything else for that matter."
Erebus waited, watching Master Vash, noting the dark coloring of her robe, the streaks of grey in hair, yet the sharpness that never seemed to leave her eyes despite the pain she was in, even while sitting.
"And not long after Revan's change of heart, Jedi continued to go missing. What I mean to say is that Jedi had been disappearing since the beginning of the civil war, undoubtedly in part to Revan's influence. But even while Revan was being watched by the Jedi it continued, much as it had before, but this time under Malak. And then once Malak was defeated, things were quiet for a while. Until it started happening again, six months ago. Though, I have a feeling you may know what's behind that."
Erebus remained silent for a moment, mulling it all over. He had been one of those first missing Jedi, gone rogue once the civil war broke out. Recruited by Revan, though not personally, just a remnant of a program she had put in place. But he hadn't turned out of love for Revan. In fact, he still felt the opposite, even all these years later.
"I'm curious as to how you can say that with such surety," Erebus drawled, narrowing his eyes.
"As much as it may seem the contrary, I am not here to accuse you," Lonna continued, "Your Master is the key to the missing Jedi, yes, but there is oh, so much more to it than that."
"This is where the visions come in, I take it?" Erebus asked, almost accusing. He wasn't sure where Master Vash was going with this, and he wasn't sure he liked it.
"As a matter of fact yes ," she said, standing again now, "As well as your visions."
Mical looked between the two of them, unsure of what was unfolding and unsure of whether he wanted any part in it. Erebus' gaze remained fixed on Lonna, who now stood over him with her arm outstretched.
"Let me see the artifact," she said quietly, and Erebus knew exactly what artifact she meant. " He might need to see it, too."
She glanced at Mical, surprised again to be acknowledged.
"Then you might want to show us what you uncovered back at that temple."
3951 BBY, Citadel Station
Atton
Atton eyed the Pazaak table, still unsure.
Nursing his second drink, he tried his best not to watch the gambling but failed, keeping a keen eye on each player's hands, looking for even the slightest movement in the eyes, a blink or a twitch, a tap of the knuckles, a twinge in a lekku strung over a shoulder. Instead he feigned to appear nonchalant, bored almost, trying to convince himself that he wasn't tempted to go at it himself.
You're a natural, his father would say. A shame you can't teach me how you do it.
He'd tried, once or twice, but his father'd been slow to read others, too preoccupied with showing off and making a show than anything else. Atton had tried getting him to look at the smaller details, teaching him how to read the other players and how to keep track of the numbers in his head. But Atton was shit at explaining things, and his father was shit at listening. Plus, if Atton couldn't help his father cheat at cards, there was no reason for him to stick around, no reason for his dad to pity him and let him pocket some of his winnings before being shooed back home to his hovel where his mom would be waiting, with credits if he was lucky.
He hadn't yet decided if Atton was the type to gamble, the sort of man to place his bets. It was gambling that got him into this mess in the first place, the reason why he decided to saddle up with the Peragus mining outfit to settle his debts. Jaq had been an amazing gambler, gambling often and recklessly with his life and his money. But the aliases that came after had varying luck, and his last one dealt the worst hand of the bunch.
His fingers itched, his brain already busy counting, singling out the victors before the game was even half over. Even if he didn't play, he could still turn a credit on backing a winner alone. But that was still betting, wasn't it?
Atton downed his drink, at least certain that this Atton Rand was a drinker. He could play Pazaak games in his head if he wished, but conjuring the effects of juma was something else entirely. Maybe if he could somehow figure out how to more effectively numb himself - his thoughts, his feelings , his regrets, and daresay his fears - then maybe he could manage foregoing it. For now, the alcohol was necessary. Very necessary.
As if reading his mind, or at least craving the credits, the bartender slipped his empty drink out of one hand and slid a full one into his other. Too thankful to be dumbfounded, Atton only nodded and began sipping again, trying not to eye the Pazaak table now, as if were a challenge.
How long can you go before you slip? He thought bitterly, How long does it take for the memories to creep back? For the guilt to set in?
Sneering at no one, Atton turned to the other side of the bar, now in full view of the performing band and the throng of the dancing crowd beyond. Despite a lack of skill, he could lose himself in there. If he downed another drink or three, he could disappear, dissolve until he was nothing but sweat and heavy breathing, the beat thrumming in time with his pulse as if it was all he was born and bred for. It was either that or waste away in his designated apartment, surfing the spice channels until something worse came his way…
But what he really wanted was… sky . Space and sky. And stars.
He'd applied for a delivery rotation with Peragus, not knowing they weren't the type of outfit to take position requests. They were full up on delivery pilots, booked with ship outfitters and repairmen, no need for a single worker having anything to do with their incoming, outgoing or out-of-commission vehicles or even a position with even a sliver of a view of the wrecked asteroid field and the stretch of space it hung precariously in. But they were in constant need of miners, considering the hazard pay and all - not that the money made up for the mortality rate. Which Atton took as a challenge after considering it. But as much as he might deserve death, he was a survivor, above all else. And he'd yet to change his mind.
The view was shit here on Citadel Station, the window outside the cantina offering little else other than countless finger smudges on the duraglass that separated the station from the inhospitable atmosphere outside, but it sure as hell beat the view from Atton's room. Maybe he'd meander the station for a while, clear his head, and try to forget about Pazaak, about his debts, about his father, his past…
He downed the rest of his drink and began rummaging through his jacket pocket for credits, only for the bartender to stop him. The bartender held up a hand as the droid beside him tendered credits from a woman across the bar, her pink skin aglow as she winked at him and nodded, biting her lip as she shooed him off, assuring Atton silently that she'd cover his tab.
Atton paused, unsure if he'd ever seen the Zeltronian woman before and if he'd ever made a pass at her, or worse, owed her money, her gesture more of a threat than one of good will in hopes of a future rendezvous. Or perhaps she was just an interested patron, hoping to catch a man drunk enough to dance.
He doubted it, but Atton nodded in return all the same, brows furrowing as he turned to leave, his limbs suddenly leaden with the movement. Atton shot the woman one last glance, her eyes still on him as he retreated from the bar, a strand of crimson hair falling into one of her eyes as she watched him leave, gaze unwavering. Atton froze. Normally, he wouldn't walk away from an invitation, but this one seemed… strange. He hadn't been looking to shack up with anyone, but more than that, he felt as if this gesture came with strings attached, though still unseen. So he thought it best to cut ties while he still can, acting as if he'd always meant to leave, regardless if this woman wanted him to stay or not.
He turned back again, eyes fixed on the cantina's exit, knowing the entire time that he was being watched. Atton scanned the space with his peripheral vision, careful not to linger on any one person for too long, uneasy as he made his way back to his sad excuse for a room. He glanced at the duraglass, hungry for some slice of sky, but the air outside was instead full of a thick, grey smoke, billowing in stacks just beyond the window.
"Ain't that a metaphor if there ever was one," Atton murmured, shoving his hands in his pockets, already hungry for the empty black of sleep.
3951 BBY, Hyperspace
The Last Handmaiden
Fire. All she could see was fire. A blue-hot flame at the core of the galaxy, burning, burning… burning bright in the center of a black hole, time warping around it in a way she could not explain only… feel . It echoed within her, the very core of her, somehow, commuting its existence without words, before disappearing entirely. And then… she was in a room, but asleep, suspended in something but not swimming, unaware of what was around her other than the lukewarm liquid that made her skin tingle as if she were drenched in menthol, cool and warm at once. She could feel lights shudder out, one by one by one, before the darkness settled in, like a ship overhead, eclipsing the sun, much as it had back on Nespis VIII, back when-
Brianna woke with a start, fever in full swing. When she opened her eyes, the world was black static, the ship around her slowly coming into focus as the sounds around her grew to a low murmur, then a gentle hum, like an engine running. Only… there was an engine running beneath her. The ship… Her hands grasped at the sheets she was wrapped in, her palms pressed against the thin mattress as if to confirm that she could feel the engine running somewhere beneath her, that she was on a ship, that she was no longer in the Jedi Temple on Nespis VIII…
The last she remembered she was running through a room full of bodies, either dead or about to fall, and a man… a most familiar man…
"You're finally awake," Arianna's voice floated into the room from nearby. Brianna swung to meet the sound but found herself dizzy, her vision swimming. " Sit , sister. Sleep ."
She could hear her sister cross the room and set herself down beside her, the weight of her body shifting the mattress slightly.
"I'm surprised we got you out of there," Arianna continued bitterly, "If there were any time to lose consciousness, that was not it."
Brianna was too weak to reply, though her mind knew she was in the right, that she had acted accordingly, though… how did she know? Her memory was fuzzy, though part of her knew something wasn't right, something hadn't added up back at the temple. But she was in no state or test her theories, and no state to trust her own judgment or recollections…
Brianna tried to will herself awake, though her vision was fading again. With Arianna at her side, the blue-hot flame from her dreams formed again in her central vision, though her sister's hand on hers anchored her to the here and now, an image transfixed like a ghost in the room that only Brianna could see.
"Your fever should break, before we arrive," Arianna said, resting her other hand on Brianna's burning forehead for a moment before pulling away."And Mistress says you've done well, for now," her sister continued, almost cooing, as if Brianna were still a child needing coaxing before bedtime. Brianna wanted to glare at her, but another part of her shrunk away, ashamed as always, wondering what she could have done to do better, to be better, allowing the dream-image of the flame and the pressing dark of sleep close in around her.
Mistress had trusted Brianna with her initial mission after all - her first foray into the galaxy alone, without her sisters, without supervision. It was nice, for a change, but temporary. Only temporary.
And with that, Brianna drifted back into a fitful half-sleep, filled to the brim with dreams and visions, and the unending black at the edges of space.
3951 BBY, Citadel Station
Atton
Atton had never ridden a swoop bike, but now he was betting on one. He'd approached the table with the intention of hitching a ride, or at least bartering with the bookie to let him take one for a spin. But it was a no-go. It was all bets or nothing, and unfortunately, Atton had the credits to spare.
He started small - five credits. Then ten… then fifteen… but he stopped at twenty. Managed to stop at twenty, giving himself hell for it after forking over the last of his pocket money. He'd intended the cash to pay for juma and juma alone, and it was the lack of drink in him that convinced him to stop betting. And it was on his last bet that he actually won .
No. Not again. Not now.
As soon as the cash prize was doled out, Atton strode to the bar with his half-finished drink, making sure to turn his back to the swoop den tucked in the corner of the cantina, lest he find himself itching to place another wager.
"Come here often?" a voice cooed in his ear as he finally edged into a seat as its previous owner edged out of it.
Atton glanced sidelong at the voice's owner - the Zeltronian. Again.
"I take it you already know the answer to that," he replied darkly, taking a sip of his drink, the heat of it slithering down his throat, "And I take it you must come here often enough to notice."
"I only notice people worthy of my attention," she said. Atton doubted that, about to abandon his newfound seat to find a table somewhere, one without unoccupied chairs - but the woman stopped him, placing a manicured hand on his chest until he sat back down again. She smiled, the pointed edges of her incisors peering out over the edge of her red-painted bottom lip.
"Whatever it is you're selling, I'm not interested," Atton said without breaking his gaze, downing his glass and placing it on the bar with purpose.
"Who says I'm selling anything?"
Atton narrowed his eyes and glanced at the swoop bike den, at the pazaak tables in the corner, thinking only of the debt he owed. Shaking his head, he stood back up despite the Zeltronian's hand still placed gently on his chest, though he knew an old version of himself would gladly take her up on her offer - whatever it was.
"Thanks, but no thanks," was all Atton said before walking off.
He craved another drink, or maybe three, but he didn't like the feel of this. In another life, Atton would have taken any offer handed to him, and in another, he would only do it if he deemed it worthy of his time, depending on his mood. He might have flirted a bit more back at the bar but still… he knew a swindler when he saw one, and even an afternoon with a plaything wasn't worth it. Not that Atton had any interest at the moment, anyway.
Without thinking, he'd walked himself to the shuttle depot, watching as countless ships docked and undocked and undoubtedly argued with the port authority on landing codes from the comfort of their own cockpits. Maybe soon he'd transfer to a shipping unit, managing cargo to and from the mining facility. Maybe his transfer request would be granted once he returned from his annual leave. One year down, four more to go. He sighed, knowing his luck didn't run that thick.
With nowhere else but the bar to haunt, Atton considered grabbing a bite before ultimately settling on the idea of sleeping. Like a ghost he wandered the station, wondering how in the 'verse he landed with such a sorry lot this time. Well, at least I'm not dead, he thought, keying in the code for his sad excuse for a company apartment, eager to toe off his boots and dive head first into the lumpy bed assigned to him for the week being. But when the doors to the module slid open, a woman was waiting for him at the small sitting area, a blaster in her hand.
"I really just wanted to talk, Atton," the Zeltronian said at the sight of him, running a nail along the white leather of the chair she sat in, and tsked casually before continuing, "Now look what you've made me do."
