ELEVEN

Mission woke to a headache and a dull pain in her left shoulder. I hope this isn't the afterlife. She opened her eyes cautiously and found herself in a dimly lit cargo hold with a large group of others. They must have been all put on the Republic shuttle after the ship knocked the crowd out. She tried to stand and discovered binders around her ankles and wrists.

"Hey!" She looked around and found herself next to Jan, Jirin, and the rest of Jirin's group. The director, doctor, and Ithorians were nowhere to be seen. Jan was just coming around, blinking slowly and looking confusedly about the cargo hold. There didn't seem to be any guards or anyone official anywhere nearby. She struggled fruitlessly against the binders. "I'm one of the good guys!" she shouted to no one in particular.

"Mission, are you okay?" Jan asked finally. He had two black eyes and a split lip, and bore more than a passing resemblance to a wanted criminal from the newsvids.

Mission craned her neck around and saw a kolto patch on her shoulder. She couldn't move it much because of the binders, and it still hurt, but it seemed to be working. "Yeah, except I'm tied up like a criminal."

Jan pushed himself awkwardly into a sitting position. "I guess they couldn't tell who was dangerous and who wasn't, so they're just gonna keep us all locked up until they figure it out."

Jirin stirred beside them. Now that Mission could see them both up close, she could tell differences in the cut of their hair and the hardness of their expressions, but the twins were remarkable similar. The closest Mission had ever been to twins before were a couple of Twi'lek bounty hunters who'd tried to convince her to go into the business with them on Taris. She'd never seen Human twins.

Jirin experimentally tugged at his binders, eyes still closed, then gave up and looked around. He had the decency to color a little when he saw he was between Mission and Jan.

Jan swung himself around and delivered a solid kick with both feet to Jirin's chest. Jirin gasped and fell into Mission, who shoved him forward again with her shoulder. A little blood leaked through the kolto patch along his waist.

"You schutta!" Jan growled. "Everyone thought you were dead, everyone but me, and I figured there had to be some good reason why you never sent me a message. I thought the Sith had gotten you or you'd been sold to slavers, but you were on Telos the whole time, trying to undermine the whole colony!"

Jirin got his breath back and stared across the hold for a long moment. "They meant to take you, you know," he said finally.

"What?"

"They meant to take you. You were always the braver one, the stronger one, and the separatists wanted you, not me. They couldn't tell us apart in the field and grabbed the wrong one. But I talked them into not killing me and eventually proved that I was worth keeping."

"What the hell is wrong with you? Did you really want all of our friends, our mother, to be sent to a prison planet for treason?" Jan's face had the same look it had when he'd asked her if Dustil had really been a Sith.

Jirin shook his head fiercely. "Of course not! But we couldn't just let that Repubic scum take our planet and pretend like they weren't! They've killed Telos and we're all going to be homeless unless we do something about it. We were trying to do something about it when you and your Twi'lek girlfriend got in the way."

"What, by getting the crowd to kill Mission? I guess you needed a reason to get on the newsvids!"

Jirin looked away.

"You're no brother of mine, Jirin," Jan said quietly, a terribly hard look in his eyes.

"Jan—" Mission didn't know what to say, and finally decided not to say anything. She knew what it felt like to be betrayed by your sibling, and she knew nothing she said would make any difference right now. Later, maybe.

They sat in awkward silence for another couple of hours while the rest of the crowd slowly woke up and started to get restless. Finally, a Republic official of some sort came into the room with a datapad in hand. His hair was too long for the Fleet, and it was damp around his ears. He hit a button on the datapad and everyone's binders released. Mission gratefully rubbed her wrists and ankles.

The official rubbed the back of his neck and then began reading quickly from his datapad. "Er, people of Marne, please be patient as we work out your new arrangements. The Resettlement Committee has secured your possessions from your homes and will return them to you. You will be provided quarters here until your resettlement packages have been processed. Those of you not found to be ineligible for reason of crimes committed against the government will be allocated either fifty square klicks of farmland on Tavin VI or the equivalent value of credits and a transport voucher to the destination of your choice. If you have any questions, resettlement counselors will be available between the hours of—" he continued on with a list of protocol and requests that Mission tuned out. Telos was no longer these people's home. She thought of the waving fields of pink hifa and was glad Jan had taken her there.

There was some crying and discontented muttering around her, but nothing like what had happened in the square. Mission thought for a wild moment that they were all still sedated, but she didn't feel sluggish. She realized it was probably just the shock of their homes being lost, and wondered how this nervous official would keep everyone in line later.

"Mission Vao—" the official called, looking around. "Is there a Mission Vao here?"

Mission jumped to her feet. "Here," she called.

The official consulted his datapad again. "Please come with me. Everyone else, there is food and water available in the back of the cargo hold, and your counselors will be with you shortly."

Mission looked at Jan. "Wanna come?"

He had been craning his neck, looking for someone, and finally waved to his mother. She waved back, then started running toward Jirin. Jirin slowly got to his feet and went to her. Jan turned his back. "Yeah, let's go."

They wound their way through the crowded hold and out the large double doors. The official was waiting for them outside. "Miss Vao, I'm Horva Vandenhol with Republic Disaster Relief." He looked suspiciously at Jan. "Who are you?" he asked.

Jan put an arm across Mission's shoulder. She started at the unexpected gesture but didn't shrug out of it. Jan squeezed her shoulder once in warning and then winked at the guard. "I'm Jan. Where she goes, I go." His voice was full of innuendo.

Vandenhol smiled knowingly. "Right, then. This way." He turned and started up the long hallway.

Jan quickly dropped his arm from her shoulder. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'll ask before I do that next time." Mission looked at him appraisingly and he smiled. She sort of liked the funny feeling in her stomach when he did that.

Mission was so busy trying to recollect her thoughts that she almost missed the infirmary as they passed it. "Hey, wait a minute!" she called to the official ahead of them. "The infirmary's right here."

He turned with an irritated expression on his face. He looked down at the datapad and gestured it toward them. "This says you're supposed to go to the Captain's office."

Mission was confused. Just how long had she been out, anyway? Had they been transported back to the base already? "Captain Onasi?" she ventured.

"Who? No, Captain Brant. She's in charge of Citadel Station until the reconstruction begins."

Her knees suddenly felt like water and she almost sat down right in the hallway. Jan's hand was under her elbow. "Wha—what do you mean, Citadel Station?" she asked. "I thought we were on a shuttle! Where are we? Where's Carth?"

Jan, looking almost as pale as she felt, elaborated. "Captain Carth Onasi of the Republic Fleet, sir. We were all at the Republic base on Telos before the. . .disturbance at Marne."

Vandenhol shook his head. "Telos has been evacuated. There's a Class I virus loose down there—everyone who didn't have it was removed here to Citadel Station for relocation. Did your friend have the virus?"

"Yes, but—"

"Oh." The official rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm afraid that they're expecting no survivors."

Mission was suddenly filled with outrage at this flunky who didn't give a damn about Carth. She strode toward the man, finger pointed. "You find me someone to take me down there, right now."

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but that's not authorized. The planet has been evacuated—"

"I don't give a damn about your damn evacuation! You get me off this station or I'll steal a ship and do it myself."

She'd gone too far. Vandenhol drew himself up haughtily. "Miss Vao, I'm afraid you don't have any authority here. You're classified in our records as an orphaned minor who has now directly threatened government property in the presence of a government witness. I will recommend to Captain Brant that you be detained for questioning."

"Look, you son of a schutta," Jan began, but an Ithorian entered the hall before he could finish his sentence. The Ithorian warbled something to the official.

The man looked surprised. "What? I'm afraid I don't speak—"

The Ithorian switched to Basic. "The herdlings will come with me. The Ithorian consulate has extended its diplomatic immunity to these two."

Vandenhol punched several items into his datapad and finally looked up, scowling. "Certainly, Ambassador Habat. I will leave Miss Vao and her companion with you and report to Captain Brant what has occurred." He spun on his heel and marched stiffly away without looking back at them.

Mission exchanged glances with Jan. They were alone with the Ithorian. "Yeah?" she asked it.

"I told you I would help you, herdling. Please, come with me." It started down the cross hallway. Mission realized that this was the same creature who had spoken to her in the infirmary on Telos. She shrugged and followed it. She didn't really know how to fly a shuttle, so she might as well see if the big alien could help her get Carth off the planet.

Just when she thought they'd be walking all day, the Ithorian waved its hand in front of a panel, and a door opened. Mission ducked inside, and her jaw dropped. Instead of the standard sterile guest quarters that she was used to, the enormous room was draped in ferns and plants of every color. Greenish-blue grass crunched lightly under her boots. Mission turned and saw that she was leaving distinct footprints in the groundcover. The air smelled like—air, not the recycled stuff she was used to breathing. Ithorians were roaming about, some holding tubes and other equipment, others simply reading datapads or looking at the scenery as they walked.

She slowly circled, taking in the view. A haln bird streaked by her head, its long purple feathers trailing behind it. "Hey, I thought those were extinct!" she exclaimed. Jan was a few meters away from her and also staring around in awe.

The Ithorian smiled, or at least, that's what she thought it was doing. It nodded its large head vigorously. "We found six left on Deralia and cloned them in our laboratory. Now there are several hundred."

"But why do that?"

The Ithorian cocked its head at her. "It is what we do, herdling," it said, as though that explained everything. It went on, "My name is Chodo Habat. How does your herd know you?"

"My name's Mission Vao, and my herd knows I'm the blue one with the big mouth. This is Jan Valenta. He's much less loud." Her smile faltered and she remembered that her herd was why she was here in the first place. "Why did you say you would help me? Do you know Carth? Is he okay? How do we get back to the planet to get him? What's happening to the planet?"

Habat blinked slowly and puffed a few times. "Slow, herdling. Your herd leader is very ill, with a virus I am afraid we created here."

Mission gaped at the alien. She knew the Ithorians were involved, but actually created the virus? "Why would you do that? Who do you think gave you the right—"

Habat continued as though she hadn't interrupted him. "We created the virus to use after all the Humans left the planet. You see, before we can begin repairing Telos, we must strip away the parts that continue to thrive. It is confusing for the Humans on the planet, we know, but the few remaining habitable areas prevent us from starting anew. We will make no progress creating life until all the life is gone."

Mission darted a glance at the open door. She didn't realize she'd be surrounded by genocidal maniacs when she followed the alien. "Where do you get off, deciding who lives and who dies?"

Habat moved in a way that was probably a shrug. "Even creation requires choices. The virus was not meant to be released until we had safely transported the Humans away. It was for animals and plants only. We would wait for a hundred years, if necessary, to avoid taking sentient life." His grayish skin darkened. "But the Human Diplomatic Herd was impatient and planted the virus in all of the village herds. We protested, but did not realize that the Diplomatic Herd would actually deactivate any of the vaccines. Even the ten percent deactivation was too many. And though we will get the planet sooner because of it, we mourn the loss of sentient life."

"Loss of life?" Mission squeaked. "Does that mean there's no cure? What about Carth?"

The Ithorian put a large hand on the top of her head. "He will already have joined the Life Force by the time we could return to the planet. We are sorry for you, herdling. We will leave you alone for now. Stay here as long as you wish." The alien loped away.

Mission's knees did give out then, and she found herself sitting in the grass, sobbing into Jan's shoulder. Daughter-of-my-heart, he'd said. And now he was gone. Even with Jan's arms around her, she felt completely alone.

Dustil flipped the thin holodisc over his thumb and watched it spin lightly in the air before dropping back to his thumb. After a few runs of this, he let it spin high and then tried to freeze it with Force. He was still embarrassingly poor at Stasis, and usually the thing just flickered pink for a second before falling back to his hand. He sighed finally and flipped it up into a Whirlwind to let it spin while he rubbed his eyes. He was giving himself a headache.

He and Case had found a pilot to bribe at the Korriban port and persuaded him to deviate from his route to Nar Shaddaa to drop them off at Telos. The man, who was ostensibly transporting minerals but was almost certainly smuggling spice, flew like someone was chasing him and never let his hand stray far from his blasters. He wouldn't even tell them his name. Dustil didn't like the shadows in the man's eyes or the lust he projected at Case, and was glad when she appropriated the only cabin and locked herself in. Dustil himself tried to keep out of the pilot's way, which meant he spent most of his time in a corner of the cargo bay, trying to keep himself occupied.

He watched the holodisc spin and thought again about the Echani woman who had given it to him. You could be one, I think. An assassin. Dustil knew, somehow, in the same way that he knew that he could touch the Force, that he would be good at the job. He had been near the top of his class at the Sith Academy, and he might have gotten tapped for the job anyway if he had stayed. But he thought about the way his father had looked at him on Korriban, the terrible joy at finding him that he had been obviously trying to hide. The things Dustil had said to him made his face hot. If Dustil went Dark again, he would never be able to face his father. But he was more certain every day that he couldn't go back to the Jedi Academy. All the enforced calm, the grandeur—he already felt like he might suffocate there. Could you fall to the Dark side just because you didn't know what else to do?

He'd have to make a decision at Telos after. . .after whatever happened to his father. He pushed down the fear that made him want to take control of the ship and make it go faster somehow. Surely they would get there in time. After that, he would contact the woman with the holodisc or not.

"You're a Jedi." A voice interrupted his thoughts, and it was not a question.

Dustil snatched the holodisc out of the air and shoved it quickly into his pocket. He scrambled to his feet to see their pilot leaning in the doorway to the crowded cargo hold. The man's voice was neutral, but Dustil could see hints of red flickering around the edges of the man's gray aura.

Dustil decided to bluff. "I'm wearing a Korriban Academy uniform; what do you think?"

"Right, so you must be Sith." The man continued to stand there, glowering at him. He was older than Dustil and younger than Case. Dustil got the sense that he had seen a lot of battle, but he didn't hold himself like a soldier.

Dustil tried to walk around the pilot, but he casually stretched his arm across the doorway and blocked the exit. Dustil's fingers twitched involuntarily toward his lightsaber. The man showed his teeth in a hard grin.

Dustil sighed. "What do you want?"

The pilot shrugged. "Saw you playing with that holodisc--looks like something I've seen before. Can I see it?"

Dustil flushed. He didn't want anyone to know he had the disc. "It's none of your business. You won't even tell us what your name is, and now you want to look at my personal stuff?"

The man narrowed his eyes, and a shiver ran down Dustil's spine. He reached out his Force senses to the pilot's mind and was rebuffed by a string of hyperspace coordinates. While Dustil was puzzling out what that meant, the pilot darted forward with surprising speed and snatched the holodisc out of his pocket.

"Hey!" Without thinking, Dustil had his lightsaber out and activated. The man didn't even flinch at the red glow.

"Come on, kid, we both know you're not going to hurt me with that thing. Put it away before you ruin my cargo."

"Give it back," Dustil growled.

The pilot looked closely at the holodisc, then flipped it back to Dustil. He caught it in Stasis between them and yanked it out of the air. He held it clenched in his hand.

The pilot grinned his humorless smile again. "See, kid, I knew you could freeze things if you really tried hard enough. What is it you Jedi call it? Stasis?"

"I told you, I'm not a Jedi. What do you know about them, anyway?"

"Let's just say they used to be. . .an occupational hazard of mine," he said, turning away and walking toward the bridge. "We're dropping out of hyperspace in a few minutes." He stopped halfway there and turned to face Dustil again. "If you know what's good for you, you'll destroy that holodisc before you're tempted to contact them." Dustil felt a spike of strong emotion—regretshamefear—from the man before it was sharply snuffed out. "The Assassin Corps is no place for you." With that, he walked into the bridge and closed the door.

Dustil stared after the man, trying to figure out what their conversation had meant. How did their pilot know what was on the holodisc? Surely he would have killed them both already if he were himself an assassin. He remembered the Echani woman had been looking for someone. I think he may have left the profession, she'd said. He was one of our best. Dustil looked at the holodisc in his palm for another long moment before putting it back in his pocket.

He went to the solitary cabin and knocked. There was no response. Dustil knocked again, harder. "Case? We're just about there. You might want to get ready." Still no answer from behind the door.

Muttering a curse at the trouble she was putting him to, Dustil pulled out a spike and set to work on the door lock. He wasn't nearly as good at this as others in his class, but it was a simple lock. The door swished open after just a few minutes.

Case was sitting upright on her bunk, legs crossed and palms resting on her knees. Her eyes were closed. Dustil was again surprised to see a complete lack of aura around her—to his Force senses, she wasn't even there. "Case?" he ventured again.

Case opened her eyes slowly. "I can't reach it," she said in a low voice that he had to strain to hear.

"Reach what?"

"The Force, boy!" she snapped. She glared at him from under her shaggy hair.

Dustil glared back at her. "If you want me to read your thoughts, just let me know. I'll stop respecting your privacy."

Dustil thought she almost smiled for just a second before she sighed and stretched her legs. "Sorry. It's just so damn frustrating to know it's there—I can see it right there in front of me—and not be able to touch it. Even after—after the Council changed me, and I didn't know that I could use the Force, I could still feel it. And now I can't even do that."

Dustil felt a little sympathy for the woman, though he'd feel more if she hadn't done it to herself. Her behavior also tightened the knot in his gut when he thought about Telos. He'd hoped that four days alone in her room would snap her out of whatever kind of funk she'd put herself in, but that obviously hadn't happened. If she couldn't touch the Force, then she couldn't Heal, and if she couldn't Heal. . .he cut off that line of thought.

The ship swayed slightly as they dropped smoothly out of hyperspace. Whatever sociopathic tendencies their pilot had, he could at least fly the ship. Dustil clenched and unclenched his jaw, saying finally, "There's a bunch of medpacs in the cargo hold. I guess we'd better take them with us." He turned away quickly but not before he saw the hurt in her eyes.

By the time he'd gathered up the medpacs, the ship was noticeably slowing. Dustil went back up toward the bridge and was glad to see that Case looked a little more like herself. Her aura was still blank but she'd strapped her lightsaber back on and slung her pack across her chest. The determined look he'd come to realize was her standard expression was back in place.

Their pilot walked back from the bridge. He raked Case up and down with his eyes, lingering on the divide where her pack strap crossed her chest.

"Hey!" Dustil said sharply. The pilot disengaged his gaze and slid it over to Dustil.

"Yeah?" he challenged lazily. "Don't like me lookin' at your Master, Padawan?"

Case didn't show any overt emotion, but her hand dropped to her saber. Dustil mimicked the man's humorless grin. "I don't like you, period. You're supposed to be landing the ship—stare at the ladies on your own time."

The pilot shrugged. "Fair enough. The Fleet's not letting anyone down to the planet. Says it's under quarantine and all ships have to dock at the Citadel Station."

Case looked at Dustil. "Where is he?" she asked.

With a wary glance at the pilot, Dustil closed his eyes and tried to reach out his Force senses for the "feel" of his father. He was glad now that the pool had forced him inside his father's head, because he knew what to look for. He swept the Citadel Station and the docked ships without feeling him, then turned his attention to the planet. He thought it would be too large for him to find anyone, but he was shocked to find that there were very few living creatures at all on the planet. Not even the tiny blips of animals. There was an odd collection of life at the north pole, but it wasn't his father. He blew over the planet once without finding anyone else and was about to give up when he felt the faint pull of his father's life. It was dim, but it was there.

Dustil opened his eyes again and was surprised to realize that he was drenched in sweat and leaning against the wall of the narrow hallway. His vision swam alarmingly before him. Case reached out a hand to steady him but he shook his head and tried to pull himself together. That had been harder than he'd expected. "He's on the planet. I think there's a base down there."

The pilot shook his head. "No way. You're not paying me enough to run a Fleet blockade. I still like living, you know."

Case rolled her eyes and reached into her pack for a datapad. She stabbed some figures into it and tossed it to the pilot. "That should change your mind. You'll get an equal amount when we get off the planet."

The pilot looked at the number, eyes widening slightly. He tucked the datapad into his belt. "Strap in. It's about to get bumpy."