3951 BBY, Polar Plateau, Telos IV
Brianna
It was thrilling to be alone again. Even if it was just a couple days' jaunt to the nearby orbiting station and back again, Brianna was fully aware of how precious her time was, soaking in the sights of the still-healing Telosian surface as she neared closer to her Mistress' academy, tucked away in the mountainside of the polar regions. Her chest ached as the country green slowly turned to tundra, an unfamiliar regret forming in her chest as soon as she spied the mountain's wintry spires in the distance.
"Home again," she muttered to no one. This ship was strange, but it had been a fun puzzle to solve. If fun was something she could define accurately. None of the commands made sense, but once Brianna cracked the code she found it enthralling to control, as if taming a wild animal. She could blame her delay on that. She could tell Atris that she fell behind schedule because the ship she was instructed to take was more a problem than either of them had bargained for, but part of her knew that Atris would see right through the lie.
I know exactly where the vessel will be kept, Mistress had assured her. Just follow my instructions to the letter and all will be well.
Only Brianna had followed Atris' instructions to the letter and all had not been well.
You don't have clearance to be on this platform, an officer asked as soon as she'd made her first move. I'll need to see some identification.
Atris had not prepared her for this. On Tatooine, Brianna had been given a vessel, complete with its own history and clearance code, along with a fake ID that followed her to Nespis. But Atris had neglected to give Brianna anything to work with upon being dispatched to Citadel Station. From the sounds of her orders, Brianna felt that the job must have been easy enough that such tools were not necessary. But now she wondered if it had all been a test…
"Good work, sister," Ursa's voice greeted Brianna via comm as she approached the spire they all called home. "Welcome back."
Even through the static, Brianna could sense the pride. Admiration, almost. She smiled, face reddening as she registered her sister's words. First Arianna and Orenna, now Ursa. Brianna bit back her smile and cleared her throat.
"I'm only doing what I was told," she said, downplaying her own satisfaction as well as the fear that had just coursed through her at potentially being found out. "I will be glad to return to home."
Home.
It felt right, but different somehow. Brianna could not imagine residing anywhere else, but somewhere in the core of her she already ached to venture out again, wondering where to or even when that may happen again.
An indiscriminate crag in the second-tallest mountain summit slid into the deeper part of the highlands, revealing a place for Brianna to steer the ship cleanly through the irrigation tunnels until she would inevitably arrive at the academy's mouth deeper along the mountainside.
Her mission was complete. She'd done as Atris asked. And yet, her means of success haunted her still.
I'll need to see some identification, the officer had asked her, gaze sharp, hand reaching for a hip-side blaster.
She hadn't even thought to do it. It was as if she were acting on instinct.
You don't need to see my identification, she said, masking her voice with a false bravado. Her fingers twitched, as if manipulating some inner part of the officer that approached her. And something in the man's eye told her that she had, the unwilling puppet to her begrudging puppeteer. His eyes glazed over for an instant and he stilled, as if buffering or running into a glitch, like a droid, before resuming his motion towards her but with more relaxed ease, a smile overcoming his face.
Well, why didn't you say so? He said. Right this way.
It was as if they'd been old friends, or perhaps that she was someone important. From there it had been only too easy accessing the ship Atris instructed her to retrieve, but Brianna found herself sitting in the cockpit for well over an hour biting at her nails, imagining what Mistress would say at her means of accomplishing such a thing.
What if she'd failed? The worry returned as the docking pad of Atris' academy loomed into view, the airlock now visible from Brianna's approaching distance. No one awaited her there, though she spied Ursa's face at the control panel at the window beside the door. She disappeared with a nod just as Brianna keyed in the landing sequence.
Her sister was gone by the time Brianna entered the academy proper, and Brianna was left alone with her worry again.
Report to me as soon as you have the ship, Atris had instructed. And again upon your return.
Atris had said nothing when Brianna first alerted her that the ship was in possession, careful to cover up their correspondence lest the ship's logs pick it up and send the data to a cloud database. Atris had simply nodded in affirmation and cut the comm short. Now, Brianna tensed as she imagined the walk to Atris' chambers, knowing that she had no other choice but to confront her Mistress with the news.
"Mistress?" she called into Atris' office. She rapped on the door once then twice, finally voicing her query after the third knock.
Brianna's fist met the door only for the metal to sputter and then slide open on the last rap. She froze. The room was empty even though she expected Atris to be standing behind the opening door, surprised to find no one there and the room dark.
"Mistress, are you in here?" Brianna asked again even if she already knew the answer, this time in a cautious whisper. The office was quiet but looked as if Atris had just left it. A cup of still-steaming tea sat on her desk in the dark, and a datapad lay flat on the surface of her workspace, screen off but battery flashing a calming a green – fully charged. Brianna took a tentative step forward, eyes darting around the space as she entered, feeling all the more wrong for it the more she descended into the room. "Mistress, I—"
Brianna trailed off. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, her gaze fell upon the open doorway at the back of the space, her feet carrying her towards it without a second thought.
Atris' archives. If her Mistress was not awaiting her arrival, surely she was doing something important. She was preparing for the Exile's inevitable arrival here, no? Perhaps Atris was simply working on the next leg of her plan…
"Mistress?" Brianna asked again, her voice echoing as she entered the storeroom. At the end of the long hallway stood two rooms – one cramped and cluttered with shelves, all the better to store Atris' artifacts, and the other large and all encompassing, like an audience chamber. The archive door was closed, but the chamber door was ajar, and much like Atris' study its opening was dark and inviting. Brianna took a step closer, but unlike the hall upstairs Brianna froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end just as she approached the precipice of the room.
She felt cold. A jolt of iciness ran from the base of her head down her spine, stilling Brianna in her tracks. The room beyond was swathed in shadow, but it glittered, like a galaxy in miniature. There was something beautiful about it, mesmerizing. But as fixed as her gaze was on the view, she could not help but heed the sense of unending dread that filled her at the thought of even stepping foot into that room.
"Brianna," Atris' voice spirited into the space just beside her ear. Brianna jumped, startled, spinning around to find her Mistress standing just behind her, Atris' white robe sleeves meeting in the middle where her hands were gently clasped. "You have returned."
Atris seemed stoically serene, and scarily so. Brianna adjusted herself and straightened her posture, as if it might make any difference, and looked Atris up and down. The woman only looked on placidly, her expression oddly calm.
"Then the Exile is on schedule, just as I predicted," Atris beamed, a familiar pride radiating in her voice though her face remained tranquil. "Excellent work."
Brianna said nothing. She stood stock still, trying desperately to read Atris' expression, gleaning nothing.
"Will… that be all? Mistress?" Brianna wanted to cringe at herself, though by the time the words passed her lips she was more concerned with Atris' lack of response than anything else.
"For now," was all Atris said after one too many moments, an unusual smile overcoming her face as Atris suddenly swept passed Brianna and into the open room. "You may see yourself out."
Before Brianna could turn around all the way, a thousand questions forming in her mind yet finding no route to her mouth, Atris closed the door. The entrance panel slid into place just as Brianna turned to face it, a soft hush of air hitting her nose just as she opened her mouth, though to say what she did not know.
Was that… a test? Brianna thought to herself the entire walk back to Atris' office and then to her own room. She thought of the man at Citadel Station and how unnervingly calm he seemed just as he granted her access to Dock Module 126, and how Mistress almost seemed to be under the same spell. But Brianna had done nothing to Atris, at least not on purpose. Something isn't right.
As soon as her chamber doors slid closed, Brianna knelt beside her bed and dug into the contents of the plasteel cylinder tucked into the corner. Half expecting them to be gone, she sighed with uncertain relief as she removed the set of grey robes Atris had gifted her and sat back against the far wall, breathing deeply.
Was it a test? She thought again, unwilling to let the thought go. The fabric felt both rough but comforting between her fingers, the soft linens of her mother's robes gone stiff with disuse yet losing none of the scent of her. Like lilacs, Brianna thought, holding the robes to her nose for a moment before returning them to their container and placing it back against the wall. Like when I was little.
But Brianna had no memories of when she was little, the thought only occurring to her in the moment, unlocking some secret recollection. She paused, looking upon the robes as she placed them deep into the plasteel cylinder again, as if committing the look of them to memory would further resurrect her remembrance. But all she could conjure were images of her sisters, younger than they were now yet far less forgiving, like their father had been. It's best if you follow your elders,Brianna recalled him saying as he looked at her sidelong, never comfortable enough to look her dead-on. They'll know how best to guide you.
But now Brianna knew he only meant that in light of the fact that he'd been burned by her mother, a woman who had stolen him from her sisters' mother only to abandon him just the same.
Did he truly believe she was better off serving her sisters? Existing in their stead? In their shadow? Or did he fear what she might become if she followed in her defiant mother's footsteps, unpredictable yet gone come morning?
Brianna was not sure. And she did not know if she wanted to know, either.
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Unknown
Erebus
Erebus' mind vibrated, his veins still coursing with adrenaline even as his senses clouded once more. The dampening device was placed in duplicate around the complex and were it not for one of Azkul's lackey's absently nudging one back into place, Erebus would have suspected that they were perhaps fixtures of this ancient structure. But he'd afforded a glance at one of them – squat, pyramidal like the trinkets he'd studied but rough-hewn and crystalline – and instantly committed its shape to memory. He would sketch a diagram of it later, repeating its features mentally as he was dragged back to the line force cage he was to share with the would-be Jedi.
Mical still looked up at him, wide-eyed, his irises flashing an almost unnatural azure as Erebus gripped his arm after being thrust back into the force cage, still alight with discovery and all too eager to share it. At first Mical's eyes were ice-white, shimmering like screen static, before they turned back to their muted pure blue. Good, Erebus thought, still feeling a shiver of the Force course through him despite the black noise. Maybe he feels it too.
"Revan's time in the Unknown Regions?" Mical repeated, easing the recoil of his arm and settling beneath Erebus' touch. "She left known space before the end of the Mandalorian Wars, yes?"
Erebus could only smile, still reveling in what he saw.
"Rumor had it that's where Revan turned Dark Side," Erebus reminded the scholar, Mical turning pink at the notion as if he'd rather Erebus not know how privy he was to such information. "Any other rumors make it your way?"
Erebus finally eased his grip on Mical's arm, realizing just how hard he was holding as well as noticing just how close they sat. Erebus dared not bring attention to the fact as he watched Mical retreat into the depths of his memory.
"Not much, no," he resigned after a few quiet moments. "Do you-?"
Mical paused, his eyes fixing upon Erebus' before he vehemently shook his head and pursed his lips, physically barring his question from escaping his mouth.
"Do I… what?" Erebus echoed, "Do I know what really happened?"
Mical didn't move until finally he nodded, only barely.
"I mean… did you know? Before whatever it was that you'd just discovered, I'm presuming?" Mical ventured. He remained still, his gaze unmoving. Erebus wanted to look away if only for the intensity of the man's stare but found he could not. There was something so earnest about Mical that Erebus had not quite registered earlier, making the man's deal with him to learn about Sith artifacts suddenly seem obvious. Too curious for his own good, Erebus thought with a hollow laugh. We have that in common, at least.
"Somewhat," Erebus admitted. "I didn't join Revan's legion until after the Mandalorian Wars. I wasn't there when it happened."
"After?" Mical asked, brow furrowed as he suddenly inched closer, the curiosity coming off him in waves. "You joined during the Jedi Civil War?"
Erebus nodded. Whatever adrenaline coursed through him moments ago edged into something less jagged, easing into a rising anxiety instead of all-out manic energy. He tensed, unsure of the shift, though he tried to settle beneath Mical's questing gaze as he formulated an answer he was comfortable with offering.
"I did," he said. "But I'd worked with others who had been there before her fall. There was an obvious change upon her and Malak's return, though no one suspected the Dark Side had anything to do with it before the first war's end. Except for those who survived Malachor, maybe. As you know, Revan and Malak discovered the Star Forge in their time out there. But there were rumors about just who operated the station before it fell under Revan's jurisdiction."
"Oh?" Mical asked, eyes wide. Mical paused, considering Erebus' words before nodding earnestly, begging that Erebus continue with a silent go on, looking up at him through the amber of his eyelashes. He was almost like a kid, and in that moment Erebus remembered the man as he was at twelve – entering the archives with a childlike confidence that he had an appointment with Atris in the face of Erebus' insistence that he didn't. Aiden had been certain his Master was not set to meet with anyone for at least the next standard week. I would have known, Erebus thought, even if an older part of him knew that there were many things that Atris kept from him, this being neither the first nor the last. And yet it was the chasm she insisted on forging between them as begrudging mentor and unwilling student that spurred Aiden on to join Revan's ranks and abandon his given name altogether.
"None of the rumors could quite agree on the truth of it, so I reckon none of them are on the money. Some claimed Revan had encountered a Sith ghost out in Wild Space, like those people claim to roam Korriban, and that it was the spirit that turned her to the Dark Side. Other rumors attested that she had happened upon one of the first Sith, predating Exar Kun's fall, in command on the Star Forge, inheriting the marvel upon their death."
"But which rumor did you believe?" Mical asked almost instantly, his desire to know plain on his face. He was almost smiling, and Erebus felt an inner part of him wanting to mirror the gesture, sensing the warmth of its camaraderie deep in his chest before the reality of his answer set in.
"I didn't, and I don't," he said. "I believe the Forge was dormant, and that finding the Forge and her subsequent fall to be mere coincidence, only encouraging the rumors in any and all forms so long as it distracted from whatever the truth may be."
"Hm," Mical considered, finally looking away from Erebus now to examine the pattern on the floor again. Erebus exhaled, not realizing he'd held his breath the entire time Mical held his gaze, relishing in the release of air as Mical formed his own opinion. "I can see the sense in that. Smart."
Erebus couldn't tell if Mical was being facetious or honest, though judging by his track record, the man was likely being a bit of both.
"But where does your discovery come in?"
"Ah," Erebus laughed. "Well, in the rumors, sort of."
Mical's face twisted slightly, his brows furrowing even deeper if it were possible. Now Erebus truly wanted to laugh but still couldn't find it in himself to do so in earnest.
"We knew Revan found the Forge through maps, this place being the first of them."
"Was it really?"
"I thought you knew, when you saw the design…"
"I noticed the similarity and knew there was a connection, but…" Mical's face almost lit up at the realization, looking from the floor back to Erebus with a face full of wonder. "You're telling me Revan first found a map here? That's how she found the Star Forge at all? And it's been here this whole time? On Dantooine?"
"I honestly thought you knew that part," Erebus said, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to muster the words to describe the truth of it as well as what it was he saw as Azkul nearly beat the living hell out of him. His tether to the Force, to the Dark Side, was mute again – his mind alight with that constant buzzing as well as the uncomfortable yet not unpleasant closeness of Mical at his side now.
"Was it, though?" Mical waited expectantly, still somehow handsome despite the blood staining his face. Erebus shook his head, looking away.
"I—" he faltered, words failing him as he closed his eyes and recalled the images again, like a memory, as if he'd lived it and not merely bore witness. "It's difficult to explain."
His mind was full of images, colored with feelings and sentiment, a weight he could not justify. It was more than just seeing it – he had felt it. He'd felt what Revan had felt, as well as what little Azkul truly knew of his employer and why that meant so much now. If only Mical could have simply been there, then maybe their conversation now would go somewhere other than in circles.
"You've never had visions, have you?" Erebus asked, his voice quieter than he intended. Mical shook his head, a lock of flaxen hair falling into his eyeline. The man didn't move to adjust it for once, the hair getting caught in the still congealing blood marring his face. His hand twitched, as if he thought about it, before giving Erebus' query some more thought.
"No, never," Mical said, his eyes tentatively meeting his.
"The Force works in mysterious ways, and unfortunately often in ways that cannot be easily communicated." Erebus sighed, wondering if he dared ask Mical to hit him lest it allow Erebus the anger needed to at least be rid of this place.
"Then…" Mical swallowed, his eyes casting about before his gaze fell on Erebus again. "Show me"
Erebus' brow furrowed.
"Show you?"
Mical nodded fervently before stilling himself and nodding a second time, more measured and even than the time before. As if Erebus might not have noticed.
"Through the Force."
Erebus froze, the images still fresh in his mind but the fear of Mical's request dispelling him. Are you sure? He wanted to ask, though his tongue lay immobile. Mical nodded yet again, as if in understanding, the words unspoken. Erebus wished Vash were here for a moment, wondering how the Jedi might interpret this before he extended his hands expectantly.
"It won't be easy," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper, though not out of any reverence. Azkul's dirty work still ached, Erebus' ribcage more than bruised enough for him to draw enough energy upon for a few seconds' worth of magic. At least for something like this…
"I'm ready," Mical said, nodding. "I've read about such things enough times, and I've imagined it enough to know what I might expect. First-hand accounts are quite detailed."
Erebus wanted to laugh, especially knowing that Mical had no need to convince him of anything. But instead he just stared at the man, waiting for Mical to waver and change his mind at any moment.
He didn't.
"Alright then," Erebus said, his voice still quiet in its seriousness, no sardonic comment locked and loaded on his tongue as he gauged just how ready an inexperienced Force adept like Mical might be for an experience like this. He vowed to go easy on the guy, if he could.
"I'm ready when you are," Mical said, an anxious tremor undercutting his affirmation. But Erebus believed him. Erebus nodded in turn and dug a thumb into his bloodied palms, forcing his mind to focus on the prickling pain as well as the dull ache in his chest, priming his still-tenuous connection to the Force before proceeding. When the pain was palpable, steady, he placed his hands out for Mical to meet him halfway.
Erebus' eyes scanned his own digits, momentarily concerned with the dust and detritus still coating his fingers and palms before Mical uncertainly reached out and touched him opposite. Where Erebus' hands were extended facing downwards, Mical's joined his facing up, fingertips gently brushing against Erebus'.
"Like this?" Mical asked. Erebus nodded, ignoring the breath caught in his throat. Mical's bright blue eyes fixed upon him, unwavering, as Erebus closed his own eyes and focused on his memories, willing that the visions that plagued him be shared.
Mical's hands were warm, but fleeting, touching Erebus' palms but only just. His fingertips spirited over his with a nervousness Erebus could unfortunately match easily, but before he could read into it too much he dove deep into the recollection – hopefully relaying everything he saw to Mical through touch alone.
The Rakatan cavern was untouched. When Revan happened upon it, layers of dust littered its floors, hers and Malak's bootprints leaving the first trails in centuries in their wake as they traversed the structure and unraveled its secrets. Awe filled her, and the feeling possessed Erebus in the reimagining, his chest elating with an unspoken wonder that lingered. An ancient droid stood sentinel at the door, its shape mimicking the map in reverse as it would appear to Revan and Malak later and to Erebus as well, though dormant and undisturbed as Azkul questioned him, a dead spider spun in on itself in the corner of the room. Revan activated the map, its tendrils opening itself before her and Malak to a part of the galaxy not seen in centuries, leading them to the birthplace of the universe. The awe grew tenfold, taking up residence in the very core of Erebus' being as it had in Revan, inspiring her every decision that would follow. Before Erebus' consciousness could swim to the surface of Revan's reverence and decipher the map before him, he was in a room unlike any he had ever seen before, its features gone before he could note and decipher them, though in the corner was a door sharp and triangular. Whatever space wonder had carved inside him was soon filled with a hollow fear he had not felt before, an ancient ache as if the feeling were unknown to him but passed down like a possession, an heirloom of unknown origin. Revan felt it when she first laid eyes on the door, and the feeling stuck. Erebus – Revan – wanted to open it, to see what was held within, but he could not. Instead, time passed, and he witnessed Revan and Malak defer themselves to someone cloaked, kneeling before a figure that was no more than a shadow. Even in recalling it, Erebus froze, stilled by the figure that was still no more than an idea even in memory. But awakening with Revan's eyes, Erebus saw the map anew, its jaws unfolding as if on command despite the fear that now coursed through him – and possibly Revan, too, upon seeing it again.
Mical shuddered beneath Erebus's hands, his fingers twitching ever-so-slightly, jolting Erebus out of his reverie for a moment – Mical's eyes were still shut, though his eyes were moving rapidly beneath their lids, as if in REM sleep. Erebus closed his eyes again too, slipping back into the memory, only this time it was Azkul's.
There were flashes of Malachor, bright green and luminescent. A more primal fear coursed through Azkul as Erebus saw the moon through his eyes, feeling death in the way non-Force sensitives did – like a creeping dread, a creature in the night. But there were also flashes of somewhere else, somewhere densely populated, and metropolitan. Spires rose into the sky, metallic and swathed with neon lights, undercut only by the grime and grease that covered everything else. It could have been anywhere, but to Azkul it was home. The dread of death receded and faded into something more familiar, something soothing. But amid the familiarity was something sinister, something unknown but somehow necessary. Instead of a person, all he gathered were ideas, messages, orders. Whoever Azkul was answering to, the man had never met them. He was at the whim of an unseen boss' beck and call. But before Azkul's memories had withered completely, Erebus felt it again – the heaviness of Revan's discovery and her deep desire to open the mysterious door – as if the two were connected somehow.
Now it was Erebus' turn to shudder. A wave of cold ran through him, goosebumps rising along his skin as the memories faded and he finally retracted his hands from Mical's. The man only looked at him, wide-eyed, a world of questions forming on his mouth though none made it past his lips.
"That wasn't my best work," Erebus admitted, worried that his recollections were worse in the recounting than in remembering them before he had an audience. "But you get the idea, right?"
Mical didn't meet Erebus' gaze again, though he nodded in affirmation, still processing everything he'd just seen.
"I got it, yeah," he exhaled. "You don't think the man our captor answers to and the person to which Revan pledged her allegiance are one and the same, do you?"
Erebus shook his head.
"No, I don't," he admitted, though he had wondered the same thing himself. "It's strange that both are clouded though, shrouded even in memory."
"Then it must be by design," Mical concluded. "Perhaps not in allegiance but working in tandem somehow, towards the same end."
"Maybe," Erebus offered, cocking his head as he considered the idea. "It's strange, but I gather neither is aware of the other's existence. Yet somehow… you're right."
"I am?"
"It's just a hunch," Erebus said. "But it feels like there's an unseen connection."
"As interesting as that is, I hardly see how that could be our ticket out of here," Mical sighed. "Any ideas?"
"I want to find Vrook, first," Erebus said, looking sideward. Rahasia still stood sentinel at the mouth of the room they were situated in, and somewhere beyond her static-ridden silhouette was Vrook, being similarly detained and tortured as Azkul saw fit. "I have a feeling the man might be able to connect a few more of the dots for us."
Mical paused, considering Erebus' words before nodding in agreement.
"My only question is how did what you saw connect to Revan's time in the Unknown Regions? Something I might have known?" Mical asked, "That was the first thing you said when you came back."
"It was the fear, that feeling," Erebus said, the sensation coursing through him again in the retelling. "I felt it when I saw her traverse this structure in the vision, as well as in the cave with the door, and somehow I know she carried that feeling with her from the Unknown Regions throughout the Civil War. And so long as you know that she'd been there and returned an utterly changed woman, well, I dunno. It must have been something she encountered out there, something she saw. But it wasn't just that, it was as if she—"
"As if she what?" Mical asked.
It was as if she'd always felt it, he thought, somehow unable to voice his revelation. As if she'd seen these structures before and only then the pieces of an unknown past fell into place.
"It doesn't feel right revealing what I think," Erebus relented. "I'm not sure if it's my own interpretation of what I saw – of what I sensed – or if there's at least a kernel of truth to it."
Such was the way of Force visions – unreliable to the last, regardless of whatever truth was revealed. There was no knowing. Either it was something that had happened or could have been. Erebus sighed.
"It can't be a coincidence that Revan disappears, and all of this comes to light," Mical said, his voice solemn in his contemplation. "Either she is responsible for what is unfolding, by design or by happenstance, but she is an integral part of the equation for good or ill."
"Indeed," Erebus mused. "I don't like it, but it only makes me want to keep going, to find Vrook and get the hell out of here. I want it all to make sense."
"And does finding your sister fit into that equation?"
Erebus paused, an unexpected chill running down his spine at the notion. Eden. He'd sensed her during Azkul's beating, fighting a nightmare that bled into his visions of Revan, until he sensed her wake, her voice echoing through the Force. He heard her voice. It was light, somewhere between a genuine laugh and something more polite, restrained. As if she were making painful small talk. What part of his sister's consciousness he'd entered he did not know, and what Eden saw of her brother's circumstances he was equally unsure. But what Erebus did know was that he was not at all ready to see his sister in the flesh again, not after nearly killing her on Tatooine out of sheer surprise and spite.
"She certainly wouldn't like that, I think."
Mical said nothing, nodding and bookmarking the thought for later, looking away as his face grew pink in the din before he coughed purposefully and looked around the room. Rahasia had left their eyeline but Erebus suspected the woman wasn't too far off.
"Now tell me what it is you did, exactly," Mical asked. "How did you tap into the Force?"
Erebus stared, unblinking.
"We talked about this," Erebus said, deadpan. "Or wait, did I not?"
Mical shook his head. Erebus's shoulders slacked, the backs of his wrists colliding with the dirt floor beneath him as his bones felt all the worse for it.
"It's dumb, but basically everything the Jedi said about fear, anger, pain leading to the Dark Side? Well, it's all true."
"Pain?" Mical repeated, rounding on Erebus again as he knelt before him. "You were able to tap into the Force while in pain?"
"I used my pain to fuel my anger, sort of a fight-or-flight response hack. The more I let Azkul beat me up, the more I could feed off my own pain but also the more I could also feed off his anger."
Mical's eyes narrowed, his pupils darting over Erebus' face as if only now taking stock of his wounds that they held new meaning.
"Okay then," the man said, standing up straight again. "Hit me."
"What?!" Erebus sighed, a hollow laugh forming at the base of his throat as he struggled to his feet regardless. "I am not going to hit you."
"Hit me as hard as you can," Mical said, bracing himself. "Do it. Maybe we can escape if-"
"No, and no," Erebus countered, steadying Mical. "You need to keep your strength up. You're next."
"Next?"
"Didn't you pay attention? I thought you were observant," Erebus huffed. "Those men before, they mentioned equipment stolen from the Mandalorian doctor, Demagol. He studied Force sensitives, remember? Azkul made a mistake in beating me to what he considers a pulp but it will keep him placated for now. But as for you…"
Mical's eyes cast about the force cage as if for an exit but finding none.
"But I—"
"I know, you're not trained, but they don't see a difference. And whoever Azkul's employer is will want to know whatever they can about the Force. You can use that as an opportunity to gather more information."
Mical pursed his lips.
"You'll be fine, trust me," Erebus said, considering placing a comforting hand on Mical's shoulder but thinking the better of it. "You'll make it out of here. Maybe a little worse for wear, but we're in this together, right? Unfortunately, quite literally."
Erebus gestured about their shared prison of about a meter and a half across, shrugging when Mical met his gaze again unhappily.
"Wait, what do you mean by we?" Mical asked.
Other than the obvious? Erebus thought internally with a quiet laugh before smiling. "You wanted to learn more about the Sith, no? About Exar Kun? How this all ties to Revan, just as I do?"
Mical nodded, though he didn't seem happy about it.
"Well, consider yourself along for the ride," Erebus said. "We have an agreement, no?"
"That we do," the man sighed. "But I don't see how—"
"Whether you like it or not, however we escape this place will need to involve a we, like right there, just now."
We, us. The word sounded strange in his mind but felt right on his tongue somehow. Erebus held his ground though, quelling his uncertainty as Mical realized the reality of the situation.
"No, no of course I know that," Mical said, shaking his head. "What I mean is… why are you so interested? What stake do you have in all of this? What do you intend to do with Vrook?"
"You don't know?" he said, though an answer failed to form on his tongue.
"None of this makes sense," Mical admitted, finally running a hand through his hair. "It's no mystery that you are of the Sith and that you answer to someone responsible for the deaths of countless Jedi. Sure, Vash shows up and tells you about this vision she has of the two of you traversing the galaxy, but you seemed so eager to believe her, to join her without question. And to help us, to help me, when you've said it yourself – you have no interest beyond what's in it for your benefit, no care when it comes to the people of Dantooine. You could have left but you're here on behalf of Khoonda – why?"
"Because my interests go beyond that of my Master, but I thought you already knew that," Erebus hissed. An anger rose in him though it wasn't malicious. It was frustrated. Frustrated that Mical was unwilling to put the pieces of what Erebus thought was obvious together, but also because his being potentially responsible for the Golden Company was on Nihilus' orders even if Erebus did not wish to admit it was so, his interest in their cease and desist wholly inherent to his plan even if his Master hadn't ordered it from him. "You saw my notes, and you know that the Sith I answer to is an echo of the Wound my sister created in the Force when she ordered that the Mass Shadow Generator be deployed at Malachor V. If anyone should study what that atrocity did to the Force, it should be me."
It wasn't what he'd planned to say – not in the slightest – but the words came out anyway. An unspoken confession that had dogged him since he felt that first ripple through the Force as it echoed in Eden, beginning to tear her apart until she finally grew numb to it. To feel that same pain radiate off Nihilus in such steady waves was like a lullaby, something to lull him into complacency and see beyond his Master Anhur's demise and onward into what his life under Nihilus might be like. A lullaby he did not question until he felt the void in the Force at Anchorhead, when he found out his sister was still alive but mute to it all.
"You care more about your work than your allegiance," Mical confirmed, though his voice remained unsure. Erebus nodded even if the man was only half right.
"Something like that," he said. "I care not for power beyond what it grants me, what I want to know. I don't want to command legions into battle. I just want to learn all there is, no matter the contents, no matter the consequence. If the Golden Company is seeking Jedi artifacts, I want in. I want to know what they know. But seeing how they treated the temple back on Nespis? I'd hardly wish to join them so much as I'd rather destroy them if it meant they'd no longer trifle with things beyond their comprehension. Sure, they're using something they found to trap us here, but they don't deserve a power they do not yet fully understand. How could they? The Force is something beyond their comprehension, they couldn't possibly –"
"Wait," Mical interrupted, suddenly standing. "What if that's part of the puzzle?"
"What is?"
"Whoever the Golden Company answers to isn't just some random collector. They must be a Jedi, or were once. Sure, anyone can figure out where all of the Jedi temples and archives are, but to know how to use the objects found within? They're either being instructed by a Force user or they are one."
"Did you… feel something? When I showed you those visions just now?"
"Y-yes," Mical admitted, avoiding Erebus' gaze. "And quite frankly I am using all of my energy to keep it together despite the very nature of my being taken aback by it all."
Mical covered his mouth and turned away, running both of his dirt-covered hands through his hair. Erebus' hand twitched, as if thinking to reach for the man with a mind of its own, to comfort him. But Erebus stopped himself.
"Who else would be able to keep their identity hidden to such a degree?" Mical ventured. "If this man keeping us captive – Azkul, as your memory serves – is kept in the dark about such things despite being tasked with this monumental of an assignment, then there must be a reason other than pure privacy."
"Possibly," Erebus said, only half-agreeing but not wishing his hesitation to sound apparent. "Unless being the head of the most criminal organization in the galaxy outside that of the Hutts has anything to do with it."
"Maybe," Mical added. "But being outed publicly has never harmed the Hutts. If anything, their accolades and notoriety grant them even more power than if they were anonymous. They flaunt it."
"True, but so far that only convinces me that—"
"Wait a tic," Mical said, spinning around now. "You said 'the most criminal organization'… what did you mean by that?"
"I—what?"
"We don't know who put the Golden Company up to this, but the Exchange has put a bounty out on Jedi as it is. I thought it was too easy to figure that they were also the ones employing a mercenary company to do additional work for them but… does anyone know who the head boss of the Exchange even is?"
Erebus paused. It all seemed so obvious. He'd known from the start that much of this was too much of a coincidence to ignore, but now the pieces fit too closely together for comfort. However the math worked, it still didn't sit well with him, and he shook his head nonetheless.
"You may be onto something, and as interested as I am in getting to the bottom of it, it doesn't help our present situation," Erebus sighed. "Azkul was pleased enough to let me go for now, but given our history he'll likely question me again. And when he does, I'll find Vrook."
"But then what?" Mical asked, his voice almost a whisper in its half-uttered accusation. "Master Vrook answers your questions about Kun's lightsaber and then what?"
Erebus knew what Mical wanted to hear. He could sense the indictment in his voice, an undercurrent of blame running beneath his question more like an allegation than the pure posing of a scenario.
"I'll dispose of him as I do anyone that ceases to have a purpose," Erebus said with an air of mock severity before he snorted. "I don't know! But whatever it is you assumed of me, know that it is likely less fleshed out than that and something more along the lines of I'll just leave him where I found him. Satisfied?"
Mical stared at Erebus looking none too happy, his face contorting between faint expressions of either confusion or disappointment before the man simply shrugged.
"Well, I guess you'll have to be," Erebus said with a huff. "Anything you'd wish me to ask your former esteemed Jedi Master, expelled student?"
The jab came out more barbed than Erebus intended but the sting manifested on Mical's face with a grimace, making Erebus regret his choice of words the moment they escaped his sorry excuse of a mouth.
"No thank you," Mical muttered. "Just get him out safe, if you can."
Erebus wanted to argue despite whatever alien regret coursed through him, willing his tongue to lay silent despite his inner demons' wishes to ruin whatever just happened between him and Mical. They were getting somewhere, though where exactly and whether it was good or bad was a complete mystery. It would be a shame to sour their transactional relationship so soon, especially before Erebus could make good on his promise and before Mical could be of more use to him.
"Sure," was all Erebus said, feeling all the more an idiot for it. The word sounded insincere in his voice, and Mical flashed him a look, as if he sensed it too, before feigning a nod of agreement and relenting.
"Good." Mical squared his shoulders and stood with his hands on his hips, looking pointedly at Erebus like a mother just convinced out of enacting a reprimand for bad behavior. "Thank you."
You're welcome was the phrase Erebus' mouth wanted to say, if only out of courtesy and habit, but instead the words stayed his mouth, holding their ground and digging their heels into his tongue as if planting themselves there.
Because unlike other times when Erebus made promises, this one felt genuine. Mical was welcome, and Erebus wasn't sure how he felt about that. So instead of speaking it, he kept the words, swallowing them and saving them for later.
Lest he forget why he was here in the first place.
Right?
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Entertainment Module, Fashion District
Atton
"How does this look?" Eden asked, emerging from the shop's changing room once Atton had won a few rounds of Pazaak and finally had some juma in him. "Too orange?"
In the wake of Eden's new hairdo, the rest of Eden's body followed suit out from behind the changing curtain to reveal an orange top and beige flight pants. Eden turned, looking at her image in the nearby mirror while she awaited Atton's response.
Atton shook his head, though he had to internally admit that orange was a surprisingly good color for her.
"Too loud," he said, crossing his arms as his eyes ran another sweep of the clothing shop and thankfully only settled on the attendant at the register, their midst clear for the moment. After browsing the promenade for what felt like forever, Atton's nerves getting the better of him despite his better efforts to quell any worries with alcohol, they finally found a department store with normal enough looking clothes for Eden to try on. Most other shops offered a variety of garb Atton could only describe as fit for either a wealthy executive or a cheap cantina dancer – and while Atton was curious enough to at least wonder what Eden might look like in either garb, he knew it was in their best interest to fly under the radar as much as possible. "The pants are good, though. Non-descript, which is smart. The more you look like some sort of maintenance crew the better. Those guys always go unnoticed. Also, a fun trick if you want to get in somewhere without clearance or paying a cover charge."
"And how's that?" Eden asked as she re-entered her temporary cocoon before emerging as yet another iteration of herself.
"Just carry a ladder or a toolbox. No one will question it," Atton laughed conversationally, thinking back to a time he'd snuck into his father's estate on Alderaan with the intention of stealing back some war medal or another on his dad's behalf, being banished from the family grounds on account of philandering and all. One advantage of being an unnamed bastard was the stuff you could get away with when the rest of the family had yet to find out you even existed. If only Atton had taken more than he was instructed to that day, maybe he would have-
"Smart," Eden said before exiting the change stall again, but this time with a dark green sleeveless shirt and a different hairstyle. "What about this? I'm thinking darker colors will do me more favors. Plus if I tie up my hair like this—" Eden demonstrated, her hands voguing around her hair done up in a half-bun as if Atton had never seen the back of her head before, "Might detract from other looks of minethat might be on record, y'know?"
Eden had cycled through her bounty listing with Atton once they'd left the apartment after running into a wanted poster just outside the entertainment promenade, a version of Eden will full-on blonde hair and dark eye makeup looking up at them as if in warning not to enter the Pazaak den lest Atton get them both in trouble again. As a safety measure, they returned to their TSF-appointed quarters for a moment to regroup where Eden had twisted her hair into twin buns atop her head while abandoning the jacket she'd been wearing altogether to wear Atton's ribbed vest. Atton was still sporting the mystery jacket from the Ebon Hawk, presumably belonging to the owner of said ship or at least someone they knew. Kreia's mysterious friend. The witch was still resting, keen on staying out of things and absent even when they'd returned to the apartment, and Atton wasn't yet sure whether that put him at ease or not.
"It's at least not as attention-grabbing as my last hair style," Eden added.
"Sure, yeah," Atton said, "It's different enough I think."
Eden paused, her eyes fixed on Atton as she tried to gauge a response.
"Really? You think this is fine?"
"I don't see why not," Atton shrugged, thinking back to his luck at the cantina, still waiting for the other boot to drop. Finding a table had been easy – too easy. They'd hardly had to barter way in and Atton was almost expecting the dealer to show up at any moment demanding some sort of cut for the winnings Atton had so effortlessly afforded them in just two hours' time. Eden had stumbled into an altercation fast-turning bar brawl upon entering the cantina, instantly stalling the escalating tension with a bet that landed Atton an instant spot at the Pazaak table. With a little bit of early losing, which Atton planned on purpose of course, it wasn't long before he was turning a profit all while seeming to only benefit from beginners' luck. If only that's all it was.
"What about some accessories?" Eden asked, though Atton's eyes were still nervously scanning the store. "Just enough to seem normal, not to stand out."
"Good idea," Atton said, almost afraid to look Eden in the eye lest she suspect something. Even if she most certainly did.
"Alright, what about this?"
Atton glanced Eden's way but wasn't sure what it was he was supposed to be noticing.
"Looks good," he offered absently. Eden rolled her eyes, clicking her tongue.
"I think it's cute, love," a buttery voice added, "Go for it."
Atton froze. Thankfully, Eden only smiled bashfully before retreating to the confines of her changing room with a hurried thanks, oblivious to Atton's expression as it blanched.
"What, thought you could get away so easily?" the voice continued in a sharp whisper, this time accompanying a long red fingernail that traced all along Atton's arm before tapping his wrist with mock familiarity. Atton turned to meet the face of the Zeltronian woman from the week before, the same vampiric pink smile peering up at him from beneath her fringe of crimson hair, "I have eyes everywhere, hotshot. I've known you were here since the moment you landed."
Luxa spoke through her smile, the store clerk not at all privy to Atton's discomfort as he disappeared into the back room without a second glance, leaving the two of them utterly alone.
"The assassin, at the station—"
"An idiot with a head start, nothing more," Luxa assured with an air of annoyance. "But our work isn't done. You still owe me."
"I –" Atton faltered, eyes scanning the Zeltronian's expression for a way in but finding nothing other than smug indignation. "I can explain."
"Oh, no need," she said sweetly. Luxa's smile widened, and if a smile could be both sour and sweet Atton imagined it would look a lot like this. "Whatever happened on Peragus is between you and the Jedi. You see, this little situation works out in my favor, so all I need you to do is listen."
3951 BBY, The Sojourn, Hyperspace
Carth
"Now what?" Carth sighed, eyes shut as he kept his now-perpetual migraine at bay. His room aboard the Sojourn was dark, Mission's miniature holo-image providing the only illumination in the space. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of living like this, already resigning to a life of chronic pain despite the discomfort that came with that kind of truth.
"We've got a bit of a situation," Mission admitted, shoulders slumping. Carth's eyes shot open though he couldn't say he was surprised. The girl's entire body twitched as it normally did, her holo-body shifting from foot-to-foot as she searched for the right words to clue Carth in on what nonsense was now happening on Dantooine.
"Isn't there always?" he asked, harrowed.
"This is worse," Mission said. "The mercs took Mical and the Sith. They used some sort of, I dunno, dampening field to mute the Force or something. I've never heard of anything like it. You don't think Bastila knows anything about something like that, do you?"
Force dampening? Carth hardly knew more about the Force than Mission did, but the thought sent a shiver down his spine nonetheless.
"I'll ask her," he said, and without thinking Carth patched in a code Bastila urged he only use in emergencies. Mission tsked as she registered that he was typing away, not looking at her directly.
"What are you doing?" Mission asked, her voice rising as Zaalbar grumbled something grumpily off-screen beside her. "Are you even listening to me?!"
"Of course I'm listening, Mission, calm down!" Carth half-assured, half-reprimanded, thinking of how he'd accidentally talk down to Dustil when all he'd meant to do was communicate that the boy not jump to conclusions, forever trying to act as the stoic adult in the face of danger only for his son to roll his eyes at him. Mission did the same now, huffing as she spun around and awaited further elaboration from Carth.
She was about to protest again when Bastila's figure appeared beside Mission on his holopad, presumably appearing similarly to Mission who now took a step back and balked. She paused, looking from Carth to Bastila, half an apology on her face before she sputtered and said, without missing a beat, "Well if it isn't your royal highness. Nice to see you again, Bast."
"And you as well, Mission," Bastila said, her voice soft but laced with obvious concern. "Carth, what is the meaning of this? Is this line secure?"
"As secure as can be," Carth promised. "We're using an unusual subspace channel on this voyage as per Republic protocol for covert operations, still being on the clock for Onderon business and all. Bastila, I think you need to hear this. Mission, tell her what you just told me."
Now it was Bastila's turn to form a migraine and mime her growing pain as Carth watched on, mind racing with what to do next.
"They what," Bastila said, deadpan, head in her hands. "And who's idea was it to trust a Sith? Carth, shouldn't you be taking him in and interrogating this man or something?"
"Me?! I'm no Jedi, I thought that was your purview."
"Yet no one thought to tell me about him!"
It was like a family dinner gone wrong, the holiday meal already cold and the booze downed before dessert as everyone shouted at one another from across the table, slinging blame as petty and inconsequential as insults in a schoolyard fight.
"Another Jedi was already on the case," Carth said before Mission chimed in.
"Her name's Lonna Vash. I can get her to talk to you if you'd like."
"Master Vash?" Bastila asked, her face paling. "She's alive?"
Mission nodded, all agitation melting from her face. Carth softened, too, forgetting just how out of the loop Bastila truly was in hiding and how it must have weighed on her.
"She's the one that trusts Erebus, the Sith. Carth and I believe he may lead us to the rest of them so long as he cooperates, for now. Though at the moment he's just as captured as Carth's scout so we're a bit stuck."
"Erebus?" Bastila echoed. "You're on a first name basis with a self-proclaimed Sith?"
"He's different," Mission protested, raising her shoulders in defense. "But he's just as dangerous. I think he's worth looking into, no use interrogating him yet. Not to mention I fear that's exactly what these mercs are up to given the tech they seem to have at their disposal."
"And what technology would that be?" Bastila asked, her grey eyes shifting from Mission to Carth now, her gaze brimming with accusations of being omitted from a conversation she should have been let in on from the beginning.
"Mission said they found Force dampening equipment, though it looks to be ancient," Carth admitted. "It's why I called you."
"Force dampening?" Bastila cast her gaze about whatever room she was in as if visually searching for an answer that lay somewhere hidden in her memory. "What did it look like?"
"It was a triangle, or pyramid more rather." Mission explained, Zaalbar rumbling in agreement beside her. "The Jedi Exile had recovered something similar just outside Anchorhead, most of them palm-sized. But this one was sizable, maybe about a meter across and just as tall."
Bastila paused, her gaze settling somewhere in the middle distance as she looked at neither Carth nor Mission and instead typed something in on a datapad she must have had set up nearby. Bastila's eyes narrowed before they widened, her face growing even whiter than before.
"Oh no."
"Oh no, what?" Mission echoed, inching closer to her comm.
"Nevarra was having me look into incomplete Jedi records not long before she disappeared, many items of which bear an alarmingly similar description."
"What?" Carth wanted to feel scandalized even if he knew it was par for the course, that Bastila had already told him as much as she thought was necessary, or more rather as much as she thought he could understand. Whatever Carth didn't know was on Nevarra.
"She remembered something from childhood, something she found, but the records were either missing or incomplete. We never got around to finding out their true purpose, until—"
"Until what?" Carth urged. Bastila swallowed and paused, casting her eyes about before meeting Carth's questing gaze via comm.
"Until she left in search of her old master, with the intention of finding General Valen," Bastila said, looking away. "It was something Nevarra remembered from the Mandalorian Wars. She did not disclose what it was, exactly, only that General Valen might know something about it."
"And we don't have any idea where she is now, do we?" Mission sighed. Carth tensed and both women noticed, their eyes sharply turning to him the moment he felt the realization and the shame rise in his throat.
"I… know where she is," Carth admitted, closing his eyes again. "I meant to tell you, Mission, at least. But with the situation on Onderon and the Harbinger…"
"Where is she?" Mission asked within the span of a breath before Carth could even finish his sentence.
"Funnily enough, right where she should be," Carth answered with a hollow laugh. "She's being held under surveillance on Citadel Station, suspected of the crime of destroying the Peragus mining facility."
"Wait, what?!" Mission hissed.
"Well, is she?" Bastila asked. "Is General Valen the one responsible?"
"Unfortunately yes," he said. "And not for a reason either of you will like to hear."
"Let me guess," Mission answered, shaking her head. "More Sith?"
Carth could only nod before Bastila groaned and stood up from wherever she had been settled to pace, her figure flitting in and out of her holofeed like a wandering ghost.
"By the Maker, Carth," Bastila sighed. "You can't be serious."
"I'm afraid I am," he said. "And to make matters worse, the Republic has no intention of following up on such accusations. What with Katarr, Nespis, and now Peragus… I don't know how else to convince them to take this threat seriously."
"Once upon a time, the Republic heeded the wisdom of the Jedi and now they cower from anything regarding the Force," Bastila near whispered before Mission snorted.
"I don't blame them, honestly. I mean… look where it's got them!" Mission threw her arms wide. "This is crazy, and what's happening here on Dantooine is downright wrong."
Zaalbar growled again off-camera, Mission nodding along emphatically.
"Big Z's right," she continued, "If you're tied up with political nonsense and Bastila's better off in hiding, then who do we reach out to Carth? Who can help us?"
Carth wanted to be the one to arrive at Dantooine with reinforcements, to find the Harbinger and swoop into Onderon's orbit just in time to curb the influx of nuclear-grade weapons his fleet had just gotten wind might be arriving via a source in Hutt Space. But as much as he wanted to be the one with the solution to every problem, he could only be in so many places at once. If he knew where Agent Amara was, if she was even still alive, he might task her with heading to Dantooine with a small battalion. But other than Rell Amara, the only other one of Carth's inferiors privy to what was going on was now in Golden Company custody.
"I can go," Bastila offered as she stood steadily before her comm again, her gaze faraway despite the urgency in her voice. "I can meet with you, Mission. Perhaps we can gather enough physical evidence of the Sith's existence to help Carth as well? That way you can focus on—"
"No, Bastila, you don't need to do this," Carth urged, cutting her off as Mission nodded in solemn agreement. "We don't need to put any more Jedi on the map, not with the bounty and not after what happened at Nespis and Katarr. The more you remain hidden for now, the better."
"But who else knows about Jedi artifacts? Who has the expertise?"
"Unfortunately, Mical," Mission said, shuffling her feet. "And Zayne, of course, but it's not enough. With Zayne and Lonna on our side, we might stand a change. But if the Golden Company was able to disarm two Force sensitives without trying, then I don't know how much of an advantage having any Jedi in our midst would help."
"What you need is more fire power," Carth said, biting his lip as he wracked his brain for some ideas. "Bastila, if we can secure a line to wherever you are, do you think you could at least, I don't know, consult them? If they come across any new Force related tech, they can ask you for help?"
"Yes, of course," Bastila answered before Carth was done speaking. "So long as my communications can be disguised, I'd be more than happy to help."
"Great," Carth sighed. "I'll meet with the Jedi Exile soon enough, perhaps she can—"
Carth paused, all words failing him as his body jolted. His eyes cast about his dark room, searching for the source of the disturbance before the ship jostled again, this time sending him careening towards the port window.
"Carth?" Bastila's voice echoed through the space as his holo-feed buoyed between static and streaming as Carth braced himself against the far wall, his balance threatened yet again by another blast.
"What in the hell?" he muttered.
"Are you still there?" Mission asked, Zaalbar's voice rumbling beside her out of view. "Carth are you okay?"
He cast a glance outside the window, his view empty save for the void of space until a hulking mass of beige and orange lurched past the Sojourn, too close for comfort, and all within the confines of hyperspace, if that were even possible.
"I think I may have just found the Harbinger," he said, eyes fixed on the ship as it soared past the window like a boat sailing over smooth seas.
"What?!" Mission asked. "Where even are you?"
"Good question," Carth said, his voice a ghost of itself as his eyes remained fixed outside the window. Without tearing his eyes away, Carth reached for the Republic-issued comm pinned to his breast pocket and asked the bridge, "What's going on up there? Anyone get a reading on the Harbinger that just fired on us?"
"Yessir," a voice answered, briming with a shock palpable enough to translate via comm despite the static. "It looks like… the ship's empty."
Goosebumps rose along Carth's skin as he watched the Harbinger sweep ahead of the Sojourn, firing nothing else as it comfortably took the lead in the hyperspace tunnel, threatening to beat them to Onderon. If Carth didn't know any better, and if the other ship hadn't just fired any warning shots, he wouldn't have suspected a thing. The Harbinger was expected near Onderon days ago. Perhaps his trip to Telos would be delayed after all.
"How could the ship fire on us if there's no one aboard?" the voice said again, "And why would they if it's one of ours?"
"Gather evidence, ensign," Carth ordered, "Send all data directly to the Supreme Chancellor."
"Aye sir," he was assured before the comm shut off. Carth waited until the Harbinger was entirely gone from view before sweeping across his quarters to Mission and Bastila awaiting, wide-eyed, in hologram form atop his desk.
"I hope you both got all that," Carth said before turning to Mission. "I may not be able to get to the Exile in time, but—"
"You said she's on Telos, right?" Mission said before Carth could finish. He nodded. "I think I may know someone who could at least relay a message."
"Please do," Carth said, despite the questions bubbling at the base of his throat. "Hopefully this is the end of it."
Mission and Bastila both nodded soberly before signing off, Carth nodding in turn, knowing that none of them believed any of this would be over any time soon. Not by a long shot.
