chapter 2

Carth Onasi was finding it difficult to finish packing his gear without his wife suspecting. He hadn't even discussed the communication he'd received from Commander Karath, requesting he re-enlist. Petra would be furious – after all, he'd promised to stay home and not go to war, but the Republic needed pilots. The Mandalorians wouldn't be stopped until people everywhere made a conscious decision to fight back. Maybe his efforts would be in vain, but he had to try. Every person counted now. But what would he tell Petra? Somehow, she didn't see this the way he did.

"Need any help?"

He turned to see his wife leaning against the doorway, her eyebrows lifted, awaiting a response.

"Petra, I can explain –"

"Explain what? Explain how you're reneging on your promise to me?"

"Commander Karath asked me to come back. He said he needed me."

"Oh, well I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

"Petra – "

She was angry now and was ready to release her fury on him. "What do you want me to say Carth? Have fun? I'll see you soon? Carth, you're talking about going to war against the Mandalorians! Chances are slim that the Republic militia can even meet them in combat and hold its own and you want me to support you in this! What about your son!"

"I'm doing this for Dustil . . . and for you, Petra. I won't let the Mandalorians take Taris, and if my helping Commander Karath even slows them down, I've served my purpose. " He moved closer to his angry wife, taking her hands in his. He wanted her to understand. He needed her to understand.

" Petra . . ."

"Save it, Carth!" She snapped again pulling away from him. "You're leaving me again, but this time you're leaving me and your son, and you may not come back. How do you expect me to accept that?" She was shaking and her tears were angrily forcing their way down her cheeks. "I don't want you to become another name on the list of . . . " She stopped as if it pained her too much to even finish the sentence.

"Petra . . ." Carth called, slowly taking his wife in his arms. He didn't know what to say to her, to assure her that he would indeed return. He wanted to tell her anything to give her peace, but he couldn't. The truth was that Petra was right. It was questionable if anything the Republic did now would even slow down the Mandalorians, but they had to try. He had to try.

"Mom, Dad, I'm home!" a small voice echoed through the house. Petra wiped her tears quickly and pushed away from Carth just as little Dustil walked in. "I finished my lesson for the day. The computer says that I've done better than anyone in the city!"

"That's wonderful, Dustil," Petra said, quietly sniffing.

She couldn't hide her tears, however from Dustil's observant eyes. "What's wrong Mom?" Dustil asked.

"Ask your father," she said after a while. Then turning to Carth she continued. "Go ahead, Carth. Explain it to your son. Maybe he'll get it."

"Get what, Daddy?" Dustil was concerned now. Rarely did he see his mother in tears and his father didn't exactly look excited, either.

"Dustil," Carth started, choosing his words carefully, "remember what I've told you about what I used to do?"

"Yep. You said you were a pilot for the army. You helped people help other people."

"Exactly. Now, Dustil, with the war going on, they need me again."

Dustil stopped for a moment and Carth wasn't sure the boy heard him. After a pregnant pause, the boy blinked and frowned a bit. "You're leaving?"

"Just for a little while, Dustil. I promise. Now you'll be the man of the house. You've got to look after Mom for me, alright." The little boy nodded his head and smiled a bit, as if trying to look stronger for his father. Carth hated this. He was never quite able to talk to Dustil on his level. He always seemed to treat Dustil as if he were one of his officers, barking out orders for the boy to follow. He wasn't an emotional man; he never needed to be. Most people understood the feelings behind his actions, whether he showed them or not. But Dustil was different. He awkwardly hugged his young son, who was now stone-faced but obviously holding back tears. "It'll be alright, son. I'll be fine." He released his grip on the boy who feverishly wiped the tears that had escaped away. "I've got a lot of packing to do before the transport leaves Thursday. You wanna help your old man get things together." He should have said something more comforting. 'I love you' would have been the way most people responded to a son's tears. Somehow, however, he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Instead, he playfully jumbled Dustil's hair and stood, looking down at his son with a small grin stretching across his face.

"Alright, Dad," the boy simply replied and the two left in silence, Dustil leaning as he carried his father's duffle bag.