With the tap of a bony finger against a key, Atris cut the link between the Ebon Hawk and Atton's comlink and leaned back into the co-pilot's chair. Out through the viewport, there was little her one remaining eye could show her except for a slightly blurred, cockeyed view of the hangar bay. Dead ahead was the door leading to the rest of the spaceport, which several Gran guards had sealed from the outside moments earlier. Off to the right, a short staircase led up to a control room fronted by a one-way window.

There was no visible sign of activity, but the Force warned that Telthek Nest was thrumming with danger. In truth, it had always done so; the aura was simply more pronounced now, more active and awake. Atris sensed its many forms out there in the spaceport, from the merely base and selfish to the truly cunning and malevolent, a spectrum of villainy.

If there had been Jedi, true Jedi of the sort that Atris had once believed herself to be, then such a one might conceivably march into Telthek Nest with shining blade in hand, ready to meet all of its darkness with an equal and opposite ferocity. But there were no such Jedi, and Telthek Nest was no place for a maimed old woman such as Atris.

She was no streetwise ne'er-do-well such as Atton or Cole, instinctively comfortable in these dark corners of the galaxy, being predators one moment and prey the next. And neither was Kaevee, but unlike her, Atris had spent the majority of her years, and with them their potential and energy. True, the Force was with her, and in certain moments it seemed to be strong, but those moments were few and brief—and this moment was not one of them. In this moment she felt all the weight of her sixty-nine years, and the shallowness of what was once deep. Outside of the Ebon Hawk's shielded and armored hull, Telthek Nest was a dangerous place, and Atris did not belong there.

Oh, well, she thought. With her one remaining hand, she took hold of the gnarled cane that she had propped against a nearby console, stood, and shuffled through the ship's corridors toward the loading ramp.

Along the way she passed the droid X-C88, not seeing it but hearing the uneven warbling of its repulsorlift unit. Its chiming query had a markedly suspicious tone.

"Thank you for your concern," Atris told the machine, though concern was not what it had expressed at all. "I will be back soon."

She left the ship and started across the hangar bay, the walls of which served only to partially muffle the sounds of pandemonium outside. At the top of the stairs she took a short breather, then raised her cane and rapped it against the control room door.

There was no answer, but there was an attendant inside, a single mind that jangled with anxiety. Atris felt his thoughts stiffen with the determination to pretend he hadn't heard the knocking. Not a guard, then. No aggression at all.

Though she could relate to the attendant's shyness, indulging it was not an option. Leaning forward, Atris gathered the Force and gently took hold of his mind, pouring in calm and credulity. "You should let me in," she said through the door. "You have nothing to fear from me."

"I... should let you in. I've nothing to fear from you," came the muffled reply. With a series of clicks the door unlocked and opened, revealing a Human in a scruffy uniform, younger than Atris but not by much. Securely under the mind trick's influence, he regarded the visitor with a muted, uncritical stare.

"You should reopen the bay doors for us. Quickly."

"I should reopen the bay doors..." Even as the attendant spoke, his legs were carrying him back to the control desk by the viewport. Atris watched him from the doorway, unable to miss how easy it was to move this living, thinking, sentient creature about like a piece on a dejarik board. During her six-year exile on Belsavis, she had devoted much time to questioning how the Jedi Knights had ever managed to rationalize their use of the Force in manipulating "lesser" minds. A deep part of her was revolted that she would employ the art here, on a being who was not even an adversary in any real sense. What right have I?, was its indignant query.

Atris did not think she had the right. What she also did not have at that hour was the luxury of satisfying her conscience. Besides that, she was quick to remind herself that there were more heinous things she had done to other beings.

"I can't open the bay doors."

Setting her doubts aside, Atris hobbled up alongside the attendant as he leaned over the control desk, mystified. "Why can't you?"

"They've been remotely closed by central security. My controls are locked. I can't override them. Don't have authorization." He looked up at her, his face strained with distress. "But I'm supposed to open the bay doors for you..."

Atris said nothing. Her grip on his mind was beginning to loosen, and she saw little point in prolonging it. For a moment she looked over the attendant's shoulder, half-heartedly studying the array of buttons, switches, and glowing screens.

True frustration began to murmur in her thoughts. Although computer and security systems were outside her chosen discipline, she was not completely ignorant of such matters. However, it had been many years since she'd employed such knowledge. Moreover, her time to act was limited and she lacked any standard slicing tools, not to mention a hand.

A specter of Atton Rand took form in her mind, giving voice to the mockery that he usually reserved for when he thought Atris was out of earshot. Sure am glad we brought you along. Ooooh, the almighty power of the Force! Ooooh!

She looked up. The transparisteel viewport was filthy, tinted black with months or years of industrial grime. Beyond, crouching restlessly on its landing gear, was the Ebon Hawk—though it was hard to recognize as such. On Ord Vaxal, its gunmetal and rusty red colors had been exchanged for frost-gray with blue accents. Atris recalled Cole Terrick expressing annoyance with the change. It feels like it's trying to fool me—again, he had said.

At any rate, the ship's disguise would do little good if it remained trapped in Telthek Nest. No more than a few minutes remained before the others arrived, and when they did, there would be no time for Atton to slice the bay door controls. Atypically, he was counting on Atris to have dealt with the problem already.

She took a moment to retreat into a brief, light mediative state, not emerging until she had purged her feelings of frustration and impotence. There is another way. There is always a way...

With her mind freshly cleared, she quickly realized that a false assumption had been preventing her progress. Strictly speaking, the bay doors did not need to be opened in order for the Ebon Hawk to escape.

After advising the attendant to lock himself in the control room until it was safe, and to forget that he had ever seen her, Atris walked as fast as she dared down the steps and returned to the ship. X-C88 was hovering about the main hold, manic as ever.

"Ecksee," she told it, "Will you bring the ship's weapons online for me?"

The tone of its reply was—if droids could feel anything—distinctively joyful.