Two weeks ago...
The Admiral and captain of the Republic Frigate Engarde was pacing in front of the deck fifteen VIP suite, trying to look as if he was not pacing.
He hadn't succeeded either when it had been Fleet exams looming up, or the birth of his first and only born, or when Ka-- Revan had been ensconced with the Jedi Council, or when--
"How is, is she?" Carth blurted out right as the door slid open, before even registering astonished and, come to think of it, suspicious green eyes. Bounty-huntress Mira, if memory supplied correctly. He caught his hand on its way towards hair and pinned it behind his back. "Sorry, guess I'm not used to the cool Admiral act yet. It's just that the Ex-- Reni looked pretty shaken up after our, uh, conversation..."
There was no logical reason to, yet he felt guilty about the whole affair. Logically, he couldn't have known that the deaths of his two Jedi friends would be news to the Exile, or one that she would take so badly. Logically, he couldn't possibly have wanted some kind of overwhelming response, some show of pain -- Renani was not the cold calculative Revan who had so long ago boarded the Ebon Hawk to shatter him with that same tale. Logically, he had no reason to feel the slightest bit vindicated by the suffering of Ka-- Revan's look- but evidently not think-alike.
No logical reason at all.
Whatever his nefarious subconscious had been anticipating though, it was not a General crumpling as if dealt a mortal blow; at least not one whose name even flyboys mouthed with reverence. Fortunately the Zabrak had seemed to know what to do while Carth himself all but panicked over a distressed damsel.
Near-catatonia had not prevented said damsel from insisting on her own feet as transport; the Admiral had taken cue from the technician and kept all opinions on "walk" versus "wobble" to himself. Then, back in quarters, the rest of her company had been quick to cluster. "Thanks, but we'll take it from here" might not have registered in ears, but brain begged to differ.
Remarkably protective of their leader, these latest crew of the Ebon Hawk.
Were you any different? a wistful thought murmured.
The Incident was one sleepless night distanced, yet Carth remained as bemused as before.
"Exile's fine," Mira said warily, then rolled her eyes. "'least that's what she's repeating."
"Could you tell me what happened?" Carth tried not to shuffle his incredibly conspicuous stance in the corridor. The woman did not appear any more inclined to lay out the red carpet (nor one of any other shade) than one minute ago.
She shrugged, her top riding the motion up over where gentlemen refused to glance. "She's a Jedi Master," explained everything and nothing. "Seems Exile and the dead guy have history. Death really gets to her. Force Bond thing."
The Admiral hoped he was not goggling. "Uhm, okay. Thanks."
Crystalline eyes, a head or so below his, stared expectantly for a while before some internal realization clicked. "Oops. You must want to come in." Half of the huntress vanished behind the wall to make way, followed by a negligent hand-wave. "Just hang around anywhere, you know? I'll go get the Exile for ya."
He smiled after the small supple form, nostalgia over Mission so thick it coated the back of his throat. He'd had little contact with the woman, the past minutes being the longest they had ever spoken, but there was an air about her that reminded him of the Twi'lek kid Kaelynn and he had picked up on Taris.
Outwardly worldly, inwardly noble. Good old days. And yes, she had been entirely Kaelynn back then.
Carth felt ancient, and it wasn't just the silver that had encroached when he wasn't looking.
"Admiral Onasi?"
The voice startled him from a generic "abstract" piece that he had been staring at since pacing was very bad form here. He turned swiftly, battle-reflexes keen despite a mostly desk job.
"Reni," he greeted/admonished. "I thought we agreed on 'Carth'?"
"Carth." Unpainted lips curved slightly on a pale (even for one with her dramatic coloring) face, but lines about black eyes remained. "Sorry. I have been a little... preoccupied."
They stood awkwardly for seconds during which Carth discovered that he had not thought beyond hightailing here. Rather than prolong the painful silence he said the first thing to come to mind. "I, ah, Mira said you knew Jolee. Something about a Force Bond...?"
Never a wise policy, Onasi, and you're sure old enough to know it.
Reni didn't even pretend to smile this time, though her voice remained even. "Jolee was a good friend, a good mentor. And yes, I do form connections, ah, rather easily. I take it you have some knowledge of them?"
From what he'd seen of Kaelynn/Revan's Bond with Bastila... Carth shuddered.
She preempted the apology mouth opened to give. "I didn't feel him die. I had, was cut off from the Force at the time."
Of all emotions to leak into that unnaturally detached voice, anger was at once both least and most expected. The Admiral had seen more than a fair share of comrades rewarded by lost limbs and sight, had too often played bystander to spirals down anger and resentment he could not quite condemn.
Yet things with Jedi tended to be magnified. And Jedi seemed to rely more on that one sense than ordinary people did the sum of theirs. And emotionally suppressed Jedi were by far preferable to angry ones.
Something of his chariness must have shown, for the Exile visibly reined in. "I am angry at myself, mostly. Don't worry too much. Sith prefer outward-directed anger as a general rule."
A moment's silence passed. "You, you shouldn't bottle it up like that," he ventured tentatively. "I've done it myself, and the results are, well, not pretty. K-- Revan, Revan tried to do that."
Oh good, Onasi. Who needs tact?
"I am not Revan," the Exile intoned featurelessly.
He flinched; Carth could hardly help it. The echo of those exact words, spoken by a woman uncannily like the one here and now, overlaid past and present.
The atmosphere charged with things that made his hair stand on end.
Then the Exile physically shook herself as might a wet hound. "We need to finish our conversation, about finding Revan."
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Of course."
"I think," Reni continued in the same clinical tone, "I expressed myself poorly when I said I cannot hunt Revan."
"I understand that," Carth protested truthfully. If Kaelynn -- yes, Kaelynn -- had not turned Dustil back, he doubted if he could have hunted his own son even had the boy terrorized the galaxy.
"No," she corrected quietly. "No, you don't understand."
Huge, lost eyes shifted to the large round table that dominated the dining lounge connecting individual VIP suits. Carth's impression was that the Exile was not overly familiar with social niceties; for some reason they had remained standing throughout the conversation. Her -- hands clasped behind back, feet spaced a precise distance apart -- parade rest, or Carth Onasi wasn't military.
He was redundantly reminded that the woman had served in the same capacity by her factual recitation. "If I had been... capable during the years Revan unleashed Sith, I would have hunted her. I am foremost a soldier, Admiral Onasi, a pragmatist. I do what is necessary. If it was necessary to kill my twin sister to save the galaxy, then so be it."
The smile etched on the Exile's face chilled the battle-tested Admiral.
"So you see, it is nothing as noble as sisterly affection that moves me. I cannot hunt Revan only because I believe the trail she's on to be far more important to the preservation of the galaxy. More important than any justice gained by bringing her back to face it."
interlude
The other of his race had aged greatly since memory. Hair, scattered in thin wisps amongst his face-horns, were shot through with white that contrasted oddly with dark skin. Grief, guilt, perseverance, plus subtleties spoken language could not convey, crisscrossed weathered skin in fluid blue tattoos.
Bao-Dur had himself felt compelled to rework self-portrait after the tragedy that was Malachor V. It might have been one reason beyond shuttle-crash why the General had only recalled him upon prompting. Not that he considered himself particularly memorable even to a General famed for being in-touch with troops, but one usually did not forget the principal writer of a script that ended with one's Exile. For that act alone -- stripping one person of all that defined her -- he doubted if he could ever forgive himself.
His General had been curious about the altered visage, but not pressed beyond that first indirect query he'd brushed off with a joke. It was a private matter for his race, even if he suspected it was only time that stretched between now and his telling her. Not Force-insight, since the future was not one of the things It saw fit to grant Bao-Dur, just something he simply, unquestionably, knew.
Lack of future-sight could also be blamed for the technician's literal jump some minutes ago when a voice over his shoulder had intoned/#Still too ugly for Ath, I see.#/
/#Better than be you whom Nath covets.#/ Both Zabraki and jibe slipped his tongue by rote, as if it had been days rather than years enough to fill a decade. Shock stole a second before he spun to meet the accuser, then found his lips stretching in an expression he'd only found renewed use for in the recent year.
/#Bao-Dur of Iridonia,#/ the other Zabrak boomed, loud enough that the so named involuntarily scanned the docking bay for might-be note-takers. /#And still his shy little self, I see.#/
Most beings might jump to conclude "shy", but "little" was another standing joke since the darker man's crown-horns aspired only to the tip of Bao-Dur's chin. He returned the left-shoulder-clasp with his right hand, adding an extra shake out of sheer joy. /#Krag-Mak of Lorista. And Doz-Halk, she is here as well?#/
/#I should think so. She's sure been loud enough about coming to find her little lok, even the dead would comply.#/
/#She is in the unique position of poisoning your meals, muscle-brains.#/ A stocky figure of about the same built as Krag-Mak shouldered the latter aside. Bao-Dur had thought it to be one of the Engarde's techs come to investigate the commotion, and was pleasantly surprised when the face-shield came off with one expert twist.
Doz-Halk too, had changed. Older than her husband to begin with, her hair was now almost entirely silver and caught back in a practical ponytail. The lines on her face were of a subtler shade than Doz-Halk's, but told similarly of the emotional price of war.
/#What are you doing here?#/ Bao-Dur asked in wonderment. /#I thought all of Us left the service, After.#/ Completion of sentence neither desired nor required.
/#We did, after the General,#/ Doz-Halk answered when a glance at her husband measured his recalcitrance. There would only ever be one "General" to Them. /#But the War was not kind to economies, and then there was Revan's return...#/ She sighed. /#The Fleet treats its war heroes generously.#/
The emphasis was not lost on any of the three, yet the Jedi Council had paid the price of injustice plus compounded interest.
/#It still feels like a betrayal,#/ the woman finished softly.
Bao-Dur shook his head firmly. /#No. The General will be very pleased to hear that her people are doing well. It weighs on her, though she does not speak of it.#/
Krag-Mak's face took on the cast of an engorged urusai. /#Hah! I told you that the rumors were right about the General's return.#/
Ignoring his antics, his wife looked the other man over keenly. /#So, she is onboard?#/ It was less question than confirmation. /#We are the ones who should ask what you are doing here, Bao-Dur. It has been a long time with no news, though there was talk about you being on Telos.#/
/#I was,#/ he answered simply. /#The General found me trying to preserve a planet rather than annihilate it.#/
/#You have still not forgiven yourself, have you?#/ Krag-Mak frowned. /#I don't suppose she is any wiser on that account.#/
Doz-Halk issued a shushing. /#The War is over and done with. Our task is now to live after it. Now tell us what you've been doing with yourself, Bao-Dur.#/
/#Maybe, finally, some dust-dancing?#/ Krag-Mak followed with an exaggerated wink.
Bao-Dur's parents had fallen victim to the first Mandalorian raids, but even then he had thought himself well beyond the age of squirming before them. Hands clasped determinedly across chest to preclude twiddles, he shook his head.
/#Humph. You know you've just slotted me in for an earful later, right? The wife's set on seeing you suffer as much as I do under her--#/ were words cut off by a non-too-gentle bump on the hip.
The older Zabrak had been fatherly towards Bao-Dur, despite (mostly) friendly rivalry between foot-soldiers and the techs one unorthodox General employed at front-lines. His wife had been a keeper of sorts for a young, quiet tech more fond of machines than wild times in the cantina-of-the-day, had been instrumental in bringing his contributions to their General's notice out of all those she lorded over.
It had been a bad Time, but they'd had many good times to spite it.
/#Don't use me to excuse your insatiable lust for gossip, old man,#/ Doz-Halk grumbled. /#And if the boy takes courting advice from you, then will I start to worry.#/
The laugh, Bao-Dur managed to swallow, the grin, he did not. Krag-Mak might justify miscellaneous "defections" to the Tech side of camp by moaning about his wife, Doz-Halk might blame her low opinion of "grunts" on her husband's doltishness, but they were an established life-couple from the start. Almost a mascot for soldiers harrowed by death and loss -- after the General herself, of course.
/#I won your notice, didn't I?#/ elicited a rolling of eyes. Unfazed, Krag-Mak shot Bao-Dur a knowing glance. /#I'll bet the General hovers as much around you as she used to.#/
/#She is the General. She hovers over everyone.#/
/#Of course she does. That's why she spent most of her down-time destroying valuable components in a particular lab of a particularly shy little tech.#/
/#She likes the quiet.#/ Bao-Dur did not stutter; at least, he did not think he did. It was quite true. Everyone else always sought "just a moment" of her time, to ask for advice, to bounce ideas, to share worries, to make requests, to simply talk. If laconism that made him "cold as Selkath" to everyone else furnished her some small amount of peace, Bao-Dur was more than glad to secede a bit of real estate. It was not like he had technically had any right to refuse a General who wanted (tried) to create fanciful (rather frivolous to the war effort) machines (he winced to call them that) out of bits and pieces he had floating around. They were (sort of) spare junk, anyway.
/#No dust-dancing, eh?#/
/#She's the General!#/ he protested lamely, not liking the way Krag-Mak eyed him.
/#And you the common foot-soldier? That one's old, go work on the next excuse.#/
Bao-Dur gawped.
/#Ach, quit teasing the boy, braino. Some of us have important things to do.#/ Doz-Halk, though amused, was as ever more perceptive and/or caring than her husband of when all of the young Zabrak's buttons had reached the limit of pushing. /#So, what's this I hear about the General having broken yet another ship?#/
The hearty guffaw was contributed by the obvious party. /#Oh, tush. She's got to give a reason for keeping the boy around, no?#/
Bao-Dur plead the Force for help.
end interlude
"Please, just say what you're thinking," the Exile asked softly into the prolonged silence.
"It, it's nothing." Carth shook his head slowly, voice hushed. "Only that you're way stronger than I am."
What was it with gold-flecked eyes and inevitable confessions? Though, strictly speaking, he was not caught by them now, having sought refuge in hands wringing uselessly and not quite by volition on his lap.
"I told Revan that I'd do what was necessary if... if she fell again. But I, I guess I always knew... if Zaalbar hadn't... she tried to make him kill Mission. Mission Vao! Little blue Twi'lek kid, bright as a pin, like a daughter to Zaalbar. Kaelynn treated her like a sis..." he faltered, then coughed to swallow the word, then in the hallowed tradition of fools, rushed in. "Zaalbar shot himself rather than submit. He, he'd sworn a life-debt to her, you know. Kaelynn, that is. Life-debted to Revan. Didn't know the whole package at the time, of course. Heh. None of us did."
"If Zaalbar hadn't done that, hadn't sent her back to her senses -- or at least let the Kaelynn part reassert itself enough -- I, I would have run. Told myself it was to get news to the Republic, the Jedi. Duty and all." He laughed; it tasted bitter to his own throat. "But I would've run. Run, because I couldn't kill another woman, another woman I l-loved."
Some time passed before her response. "Then I envy you, Carth Onasi, because I can."
He returned eyes to her, and felt instantly like he'd just slapped a trusting child.
It was that look again, one that intermittently pinched the already-sharp angles of her face. A thunderbolt epiphany claimed that this is a woman who hates herself.
Carth's second horror was at whomever, whatever had made her that way:
Bastila had mentioned that the Jedi took on trainees at a very young age, back whe-- back then.
The Jedi were (in?)famously big on self-sacrifice.
The Exile had wiped out the Mandalorians in all but technicality. Revan had ordered the construction of the mass-shadow generator, but it had been the General's tech and presumably the General's planning and for cert the General's order that had unleashed obliteration on Malachor V.
The Jedi Council had Exiled the sole Jedi with the guts to come back and face the music.
Fifth finger not required, certainly no toes.
Carth Onasi truly disliked the Jedi Council, for their machinations, for their view of people as tools of some Force nowhere near as benign as they made it out to be. A bad position for a dedicated Republic officer before the wars. An increasingly popular one during and after, but still officially frowned on by the Powers-That-Be.
Better leave the Krayt dragon asleep and nominally on our side, than poke sticks and hope it'll rise against the enemy.
All moot now that the Council were dead to the last bodiless corpse and the Jedi scattered like children in panic, but it was Carth's bitter experience that wounds festered long after excision.
"Tweet, broop-bip! Twoot tri-oo-it breep."
Both parties startled, a fact which further startled the Admiral since Jedi were typically an unflappable lot and the Exile in particular seemed to exist within an unseen sensory web. The Zabrak who had just been greeted at entrance sent them an abashed look.
"Sorry, General, Admiral, didn't mean to interrupt. Come, T3, we'll s--"
"Wait, Bao-Dur. Admiral Onasi was so kind to visit, so if you have time, I think... it is time to go over information crucial to our next journey." Something Carth could only describe as a gathering of will settled over the woman like a mantle. Was it only moments ago that he'd glimpsed an injured animal?
The technician's brows rose in inquiry, but he glided over compliantly, clipping the datapad in hand to utility belt as he did so.
"T3, if you could fetch Mand--"
"That might not be advisable," Bao-Dur protested before Carth could.
It was the Exile's turn to raise an eyebrow, but the Zabrak's evenly modulated tone must have contained nuances to her that the third party could not himself decipher. She tilted her head slightly to the side, the tech shifted minutely, then the slightest of nods signified the end of a conversation as subtle and delicately choreographed as any Nahra performance.
The Admiral was impressed. That the Iridonian technician had been a member of General Renani's mysterious Elite back in the Mandalorian War, he had made it his business to know. Tall tales about said Elite, he had taken with a large dose of veteran's salt.
Of course they might "simply" be communicating via the Force, though Carth doubted it. Wasn't that possible only between Jedi, Bonded ones at that?
The Admiral cleared his throat more nervously than he'd had in years, ever since the pinnacle of his career had begun to stretch like a day-job without the relief of finite hours. "I, uh, I'm in for an interrogation, aren't I?"
The Zabrak's tranquil expression did not so much as twitch, so Carth dismissed the inkling of amusement as over-cultivated suspicion. The measure taken by space-dark eyes was much harder to ignore, undemanding though they were.
He didn't make it to one minute. After precisely forty-nine seconds, as the fighter-pilot's hindbrain kindly timed, Carth sighed and sunk into the nearest (quite nicely padded) chair.
"Alright. I guess the Fleet's not going to be handing you transcripts of my reports, so I'll start from the, uh, start..."
A number of hours later, one Carth Onasi had completely revised his opinion on the comfort of his ship's VIP lounge chairs.
"You do outrank me, Admiral, more significantly than you think," Reni pointed out when he took a breather and tried to subtly shift his own weight. "You have been sitting as if this were a tribunal."
He did? Carth hadn't noticed -- the woman exuded Authority like air in breath, though memory could not pin a single instance nor particular word or motion where she assumed it. He was? Perhaps the culprit was activity, not setting.
"It's, it's just bringing back memories, that's all." Carth planned a joke on flash-backs to post-Star-Forge "debriefings", but had fortunately grown enough tact being an Admiral to veto that brilliant idea. It was at any rate a poor comparison; this latest round was parsecs more surgical than those from superiors who wanted the whole affair packaged and blockaded and just plain over with. Moreover, no flavor of judgment had entered the current proceedings, astonishing as that feat was.
Reni dipped her head. "I wish there was another way, but there are few with both knowledge and desire to share, and none as reliable as those who lived it."
"Yeah, I, I know." Carth closed his eyes as the number of available "those who lived it" struck with infinitely replenishable freshness. The other two did not interrupt, understanding only as survivors of parallel tales could.
A short while later he blinked swiftly and tried to push it all to background. Peeling out of his jacket and settling into half-recline ate up a few more seconds. "So, uh, we were up to..."
"Kashyyyk. After Zaalbar had been, ah, detained."
"Right. Kashyyyk. Actually, this is one part I can't tell you much about other than Kaelynn going down to the jungle floor to pacify Chuundar. She... well, there was Mission, and the Czerka red-tape, and, erm. What's important is that Kaelynn only took C-- Mandalore and Juhani with her."
Carth Onasi still hated being left out of the loop, especially now with some experience under belt of just how large the loop was. And growing.
"Juhani came back up by herself, later. Said something about another Jedi down there who'd promised to show the way to the Map. What went on in the three days before the other two came back with Jolee... well, I'm afraid only Mandalore can tell you now. Kaelynn was very, uh, she didn't want to talk about it."
"Mandalore." Black eyes unfocused in a moment of thought, then resumed the attentiveness that had not wavered once during the Admiral's narration. "He was not Mandalore, back then."
He shrugged at the non-question. "No. I don't know what kind of game he's playing now, but I, uh, would rather you asked him about it."
The Exile nodded, but in a neutral manner. A quick glance sideways reminded Carth of the tech's presence -- the man did not speak much, it seemed, or at least not to strangers. "We all have secrets," she murmured like a quote, "but his name may be one we should respect, for now. I believe his reasons for that to be... personal in nature."
Carth dropped another shrug. "We might have traveled together for almost a year, but I could never read the man. Didn't care to, actually. He was pretty much the archetypical Mandalorian. Arrogant. Bloodthirsty. Brutish."
Reni raised an eyebrow as if his holo did not align with hers, but made no comment.
A rumble brought pink to the tip of the Admiral's ears.
The reply was a chuckle that startled Carth for its source. The smile lingered in the Zabrak's voice as he admonished, "Us mortals do occasionally require nourishment, General."
The Exile looked as embarrassed as Carth felt, and mumbled an apology.
He waved it off. "Why don't we continue after lunch? Uh," -- the chrono begged to differ -- "a very late lunch. The mess hall won't have anything now, but you don't want to try that sludge anyway. Trust me. Luckily there are some perks to being Admiral..."
Courtesy of non-perks of being an Admiral, "after" was two days in the making, although "lunch" was adhered to (and at a more conventional hour).
"Perhaps you could fill me in on something. Nobody seems able to tell me your last name," Carth ventured, hands over comfortably distended stomach, a decent length of time after the Exile had last filled her plate. The woman -- like a certain other -- could sure pack away a lot under those voluminous robes. So could the Iridonian, but he had the excuse of build and species. As far as the Admiral knew, the Exile was as Human as himself and a slender one to boot (he nearly blushed at how that knowledge had been obtained).
She looked, for the first time (alright, the second, but the first first didn't really count), taken aback. "I... don't have one."
"Huh? I know everybody called Revan just 'Revan', and after, ah, Saul, I didn't think 'Inesa' could be her real family-name, but even Bastila had a... Surely the Jedi didn't...?" he let his voice trail off a question.
Reni was silent for some time, and Carth about to retract when she brought herself out of reverie. "It's not something I've thought about for a long time," she explained, then first answered his last question. "No, the Jedi discourage dwelling on family ties, but they don't forbid some degree of nostalgia. In our case -- Revan's and mine -- there were none to dwell on."
"You mean you were adopted as babies? By the Jedi Council?"
"I suppose 'adopted' is an acceptable term." Neither tone nor face revealed anything. "Though it was not by the Jedi."
"General?" Bao-Dur prodded, more daring than a thoroughly (well, more than usual) confused but belatedly gaffe-shy Carth.
She almost found a smile for the tech. "A Stranger -- gender, even race unknown -- once imposed on Kas Joktan and Maath Hegarty. Much against their will, though they would never say why they tolerated it. When the Stranger left, two barely weaned infants remained with the couple. And there they remained, until one of them caught the eye of a passing Jedi."
"That stranger, do you think it could've been your mo--" Curiosity was shocked to sense and silence by a look from the Zabrak. It had to have been a trick of paranoia, but for a moment the Admiral had been taken aback by that veelgeg-point glance. Come on, he assured himself, she's the only Jedi around, remember?
"That is all I know," Reni said with finality.
Carth hated being out of the loop -- but reminded himself that he had no right to demand this woman's life story no matter her relation to one with whom he'd thought he'd earned it. He attempted grace. "It's really none of my business, I suppose. But there's this other thing I'm wondering..."
He took the Exile's lack of protest as acquiescence; besides it was only fair that she offer some answers in return. "Bastila, Revan and Bastila had what they called a 'Force Bond'. It was how Revan found her, after she, ah, I guess we haven't gotten to that part, but anyway. Since you are sisters and all, well, I've heard that Force-sensitive siblings share the same thing. So...?"
"So why haven't I used it to locate her?" Reni spared him the pain of searching for -- and likely failing at -- an un-accusing way of phrasing the same. Carth nodded.
The Exile sighed. "The Jedi Masters have always considered my Bonds dangerous, the one with my sister most of all. We were taught to block each other early on."
"What? But you were only children!"
"Exactly. In many ways children can be more cruel than adults, for 'right' and 'wrong' mean less to them than 'nice' and 'nasty'. It was necessary to keep the stronger personality from dominating the weaker one. Amongst other things."
Carth was unconvinced. "But surely--"
"It is done and past. Neither of us regrets those lessons."
He huffed frustration. "Okay, but you did say 'block', not permanently cut off. Surely there's a way--"
"Perhaps, but not one I'm open to. Not while other routes remain."
Having lost his family and unthinkably nearly his son, Carth could not help some impatience with those who would willingly forsake theirs. "Have you even tried connecting to your sister, ever? Revan and Bastila didn't enjoy the lack of privacy all that much, but they did admit that it wasn't all bad. I'm sure that once--"
"I do not know the extent of what Revan and Bastila shared. I do know exactly how far Revan and mine go, and it has been fully open in only one instance that I know of.
interlude
Thud. Swish. Thud-thud-thud. Thud. Swish. Thud-thu--
Nine pairs of eyes watched with varying degrees of obviousness as the First Twin paced the short span of already-claustrophobic space that was the Republic Cruiser Advent's passenger lounge. The Awareness/Alertness suffocating the fifteen-by-eight room was no mere fancy to the enlightened. The projectors of those sensations were certainly included in the latter, but did so anyway as helplessly as organics pick on scabs.
Each one knew the stakes. Each one knew the sacrifices already made, and had better-than-most ideas of those to come. Each one knew the fragility of their position, so aptly mirrored in "choice" of transport.
Cruisers could barely run, much less fight. Mandalorians had no compunctions about firing on unarmed and/or diplomatic transports, though it might -- if one was lucky -- bore them too much to bother.
Even the Twi'lek-Cathar-Ugnaught cliqued in a corner were subdued. When you were renegades from an Order running towards a Fleet disillusioned of said Order, you took what little grace you received.
Thunk!
The First Twin came to a sharp stop in the precise center of the room. Hyperspace-lines framed stark jet hair in a halo as pale as the face in which black orbs blazed.
"Enough. Self-pity isn't going to make us anything but Mandalorian laughingstock, if they even deign to notice us. What we need are plans, tactics. Show them what it really takes to triumph against overwhelming odds."
The Ugnaught slumped deeper into his chair (no small feat with its ergonomically unsound design), giving an impression of having buried chin in belly. "Pretty words, but we are Jedi, not warmongers. We studied diplomacy and political structure, not Fleet maneuvers. Perhaps the Council was right. It was rash--"
"Inaction is what got the Republic into this mess in the first place!" Heated words, but tone steady with well-reasoned conviction. "The Mandalorians saw stagnation, complacency, a fruit so ripe that rot would have done the job for them in a couple centuries' time. The only way we can win this war is if we start taking offense, not just let ourselves be pushed further and further back defending blows."
All had gathered. Sentients always did when First spoke. One of the three Twi'lek nervously arranged and rearranged green lekku behind ear-cones. "He's gotta point. We dunno nothing 'bout strat'gy, even if th' mighties are gonna listen to a buncha Padawans playin' hooky or a buncha Knights with robes innich th' color hasna even dried."
The other green Twi'lek, a distinct familial resemblance though older and endowed with a set of said freshly-dyed robes, picked up with barely a pause. "Best case issat they'll stick us in da frontlines if they don't just spank 'n send us home. Ten Jedi ain't gonna win no war, no matter how many 'sabers we swing."
"One person can turn a tide with the right tools in the right places." First remained aloof of degenerating morale, and seemed to shine with something more substantial than starlight. One palm opened -- half-supplication, half-reassurance. "Jedi are not to be wasted on the frontlines if I can help it. We can be invaluable in strike teams, that is true, but as leaders, not foot-soldiers. There may only be ten of us right now, but we will show the Admiralty that ten Jedi can be far more valuable than ten Destroyers."
The Cathar's ears tracked First's position. "It will take time, this study of warfare. Time the Mandalorians will not grant." A deceptively lazy swish of tail. "You are the only one with formal education in military arts, and even your knowledge is only theoretical."
A slight inclination of dark head. "That is true," First admitted, "but not for long. As for your lack of knowledge, we can share."
Confusion tainted the air. The Human male whose long frame had been sprawled across two inadequately sized seats perked, hands moving down from behind shaved head. "What do you have in mind?"
"'Mind' is precisely the idea."
The First Twin shifted only very slightly, yet found target with unerring precision.
The Second Twin balked, hand fisting inside voluminous sleeves before conscious thought corrected. "No."
"Hey, care to enlighten us mortals?"
First removed the pressuring stare and gazed at the one of two remaining Humans who had spoken. "We link minds, and I will share what I know. With everyone's consent, of course."
A plethora of uncomfortable noises filled the air. Consensus might not be reached this day, nor the next, nor the one after, but all knew the inevitable. First was First of not just the Twins.
"I will not consent. The depth of connection you're asking for... it's, it is wrong."
First faced Second once again. Eight pairs of eyes played an audience shocked by the staging of an atypical confrontation.
"That is the Council speaking. That is only what they told you because they were afraid. Afraid of the potential of such a Connection between Jedi."
"And with good reason! We are not infallible. We are not perfect. What if one should be tempted? What will happen to the other nine?"
"I am not speaking of a permanent connection. None of us here are Sith."
"No connection is so easily severed, especially not one of this magnitude. It would at the very least be a violation of the most sacred privacy, that of the mind."
"I am not speaking of an exchange of soul-secrets either, just knowledge. As for a little loss of privacy, we all knew coming in that war requires sacrifice."
"Knowledge should be taught, never 'given' in the way you propose. The knowledge in your mind is constructed upon your assumptions, your patterns of thought. Each person must form their own understandings."
"Then by your own logic it is my privacy that will be violated, not any of yours! It is a sacrifice I am willing to make for all our sakes."
Second could only shake in mutely inarticulate protest.
"Aw, c'mon," the younger green braved the tense silence. "It canna be all that bad, if it's just for a 'lil while and I s'pose, well, lim'ted. Ya could just, I dunno, keep ev'rythin' else out f'r us. I know ya can."
"You ask the impossible," Second said flatly. "It is like, like wanting to swim and yet not get wet."
"It may be uncomfortable for us all," the bald male spoke up with a respectful nod towards First, "but surely worth it for an end to the Mandalorian threat. A Jedi's life is sacrifice."
Second could feel the tides turn. "You know not what you're asking," came out a desperate whisper. There existed things that should, could never be yielded. "I will not do it, at any rate."
Accumulated fear and the latest personal dilemmas now had target. First spoke with cold disappointment. "Then you doom us all."
"You can still teach us the 'old fashioned' way. The wiser way."
"Have you not been listening?" As if Second were a child rather than the same (if not all that substantial) age. "There is no time. In fact, as soon as we reach Fleet headquarters I plan to getting something done about the grossly-neglected Arkanis sector, since nobody seems to think that Tatooine needs defending even though it lies along a hyperspace route to several key worlds! I won't have time to hold tutorial sessions."
The Cathar rose on silent feet. "I share your fears," he addressed Second, "but I also see now how under-prepared we all are, but one. If personally difficult acts are required to make our disobedience of the Council meaningful, then I am willing for the galaxy's sake. I believe everyone here is in agreement."
Except for you, went unspoken but not unheard.
"We don't all need to be master tacticians. We shouldn't even try, when our talents lie elsewhere," Second all but begged. "We just need to learn the language of war, understand what is going on, and direct our efforts appropriately."
"You are right," placated First. "But the fact remains that the Fleet will not risk the wrath of the Council in order to baby-sit a bunch of half-baked Jedi who might one day be useful if they progress past crèche school!"
"Mebbe this' what the Force int'nded yer talent for. Mebbe its why it gave it to ya."
The Talent, a Gift? None had moved, but Second felt increasingly boxed in. "I won't Link us all. It's not safe. It's not right."
There exist things that should, could never be yielded... but often, all too often, necessity requires compromise.
"But, but you could 'give' your knowledge to me. I at least have some practice separating out your thoughts. I will try summarizing it for the others while you work on securing a place in the Fleet."
Vaguely guilty relief from some, ambivalence from others. First was uncharacteristically silent, characteristically unreadable beyond what First projected.
Second sighed, shrugged. "At worst, one master tactician and one half-baked pretender should make better offering than just the one."
It was done, as is often the case, in an (at least outwardly) anticlimactic session. A one-way exchange, or so the Second Twin thought.
Or told herself.
end interlude
"You don't know the extent of what you're asking. For me to find Revan that way, her fully shielded... it is not like shooting a message pod or even opening a comm channel. Sacrifice is necessary, but there are some I simply cannot make."
Silence-augmented disapproval radiated from the Zabrak. Even if he were to disregard it, Carth doubted if any amount of "face your fear" speeches could change the Exile's mind or undress that "one instance" she'd hinted sans elaboration.
The warm meal sat like rocks in his gullet. "It is your prerogative, I suppose." Hand ran through hair before mind remembered the reality of food-grease. Having already committed, he figured he might as well complete the motion. "Alright, then. If you're so determined to find Revan by more... conventional means, why won't you consider the Fleet's help?"
"It is as I told you: I cannot hunt Revan to appease anybody's sense of justice."
"That's what I don't get! Nobody's going to prosecute Kaelynn or Revan -- she received a full pardon from the Republic. Or would have if she'd stayed long enough to accept it," he muttered the last sotto voce.
"Do you really believe that?" It was Bao-Dur who finally spoke.
"That's what they promised us," Carth said, a little too quickly to come off non-defensive.
Obsidian eyes blinked down in intensity bare seconds before the Admiral succumbed to fingering his collar. "Not prosecute, perhaps. But persecute?"
It took seconds to process the difference. "Now wait a minute, we're not the Sith! We, well the Jedi, certainly, believe in reforming pri-- ah, cr--, ehm."
"Prisoners? Criminals? Former Dark Lords?"
Carth wisely gave up a lost cause, seeing as he had been so overwhelmingly convincing in his own conviction.
His silence was apparently misinterpreted, for the Exile continued. "War is an affair that demands sides; people can't fight behind blurry lines. And often," -- a long breath -- "often it is after a war, when the fight is against pain and loss and wounds that might take forever to heal, that a visible enemy is most required."
"I know that." Affront seeped into his voice. "I've been working at rebuilding Telos for years, remember? But I, we would have protected her! That hasn't changed."
"I'm not saying you wouldn't have, or will not should it come to that in some future. But tell me, why do you think Dark Lord Revan wore a mask?"
He narrowed suspicious eyes at the diversion. "Huh. Never thought much about it. Isn't it just a Sith thing?"
"The red lightsabers, the black garb -- all calculated for a specific response, fear." Amber eyes stared keenly at the Exile as the Admiral fought not to stare at their owner. "You think Revan had a deeper reason for concealing her identity."
"Suspicions only, at this point." She spread her hands palms up, flashed apology Carth's way. "It is worse than foolish to try untangling any one of Revan's webs without full information and more."
"I've already agreed to tell you as much as I know. Could you at least pretend to do the same?"
"Telling you my half-baked ideas would only taint your perspective, and having all perspectives can mean the difference between success and failure."
Double (triple?) the number of decades, flip alto to bass, and the resemblance to a certain cranky old Jedi was... eerie. Carth had never felt the Force, but knew something of where Jedi believed they went after death. Besides, all hairs on the back of his neck were stiff at attention.
The Exile sighed upon pick-up of his mulishness. "Very well. Tell me this, then. How did the Republic and Jedi Council decide to spin Revan's return?"
Distance may breed fondness, but Carth had yet to grow any for think-it-yourself bush-beatings in the (now quite literal) spirit of one Jolee Bindo. "I told you. Kaelynn would have been treated like the hero she is." Impatience melted into wistfulness. "Heh. The idea of all those ceremonies and public appearances must have scared her as much as it did me, because she took off after the first one."
If Bao-Dur arrived any faster than he, Carth was too blindsided by epiphany to notice. "No," both voice and head shook. "You can't think... I, I don't buy it."
Silence.
"You, you do think." Protest emerged as a humorless bark. "Nobody ever accused Darth Revan of being short-sighted, eh. Plotting return to the same galaxy she tried her damnable best to destroy... I can't, can't believe it."
Silence is often more effective than words.
"I guess the publicity really messed up her plans, huh. But, but why?" He was not proud of how his voice rose at the last, a child's plea for reassurance that the universe was, in fact, a safe, sane place.
"Guesses on Revan's plans and motivations are only that, Carth, guesses." Reni hesitated; he couldn't find it in himself to blame her for pausing to wonder if he was up to what she next said. "Just don't be so quick to accept the 'Darth' that Revan planned for all to see. That was the Council's folly."
Somewhere between daze and dread he woke gradually to the fact that discussion had somehow turned to Republic-Jedi relations. The uncomfortable symbiosis. The unavoidable "what now" in the wake of its severance.
Carth Onasi truly disliked the Jedi Council...
"Hey, wait a minute! I just agreed to, what?"