Castles and Sand
(in which future waves are stirred.)
Present day...
A compliment, Onasi, is usually expected. Just pretend she's Revan or something. No, wait, actually, don't think of her as Revan. That's not Revan, you know she's not Revan--
"Are you sure you're single?" drew a short straw not even the Force could put back. Carth stumbled over himself in apology. "Of course you are. No wait, that came out completely wrong. I didn't mean to imply... I mean, I know Jedi don't, ah, form attachments, but you weren't Je-- uh, in the Order for years, I, I just wondered if maybe, well it would seem logical, that uh, well..."
"A Jedi rejected by the Force as well as the Council for genocide. Not exactly meet-the-folks material." Reni saved him from topping more turf upon his own grave, even if her method landed him completely aback.
"Except to a Mandalore, perhaps," she continued.
Oh. I get it. "Either you laugh or you cry" eh, Jolee? You should've tried harder to make me understand. We should all have tri--
An all-too-familiar snort sounded from behind her shoulder. Carth began to pay belated attention to the rest of her entourage, only to wish he hadn't; the idea that the black-and-silver getup might have been polished for the occasion was a profoundly disturbing one.
"Is that why you're dressed so-- ah, that is, er..." Yup, still suffering from chronic foot-in-mouth. A terminal case, Onasi, terminal.
"Dress" consisted of floor-length satina the blue of Ku'Bakai flares, with a neckline that flowed into a half-choker and legs cut to a skirt. The arms and back might have been bare, except for gauze billowing to elbow level. It was actually quite demure -- and economical, reported an Admiral's unwilling experience of gemweb and nanosilk concoctions.
"... un-Jedi-like?" Reni obliged with a second rescue, one self-conscious hand soothing imaginary creases. "It was Atton's idea, and Mira's execution."
The credited made a rude sound. "What she really means is, Mr. Loud-Mouth whined that he 'wouldn't wear a Jedi sack as a shroud', and I was the only one out of the lot with one speck of fashion sense."
"Er, right. You, uh, did a great job."
"Of not tearing my hair out, yeah."
An hour's observation enlightened Carth of the ingenuity behind so trifling a choice as wardrobe. Mira quested to shock nobles and hangers-on, whose properly scandalized expressions gave way to envy the instant she spun on to a next conquest. Mical embroiled himself in fast-paced discussions with high-ranked officers, all of whom seemed to hold him in some regard. Visas Marr acknowledged consolations and spoke with quiet gravity to well-known political figures. Bao-Dur kept busy fencing praise and rather generous offers from Fleet and planetary dignities alike. Atton flirted inveterately with a couple of giggling, glittergowned ladies -- who had earlier eyed his Admiral self like something out of Kashyyyk, no less.
Brown eyes slid reluctantly to the last and most easily located tally. Mandalore had played shadow to an ambulatory Reni throughout the evening, three-quarters of which Carth had spent dreading an imminence of "diplomatic incidents".
Never one for taking your own advice, were you, Ordo?
Other than that proverbial zinthorn amongst sasalea, the Exile couldn't have advertised "New Jedi" more clearly by having it blazed across a vidwall. Carth certainly could not imagine a more effective demonstration.
"Are you always this paranoid?"
The Admiral nearly spilled his drink. It contained not one gram of intoxicant, so surely he had not...? Or was one of the relaxed rules that on mental eavesdropping?
It seemed like just yesterday that he'd been informed of not only one, but five extras in the Jedi-slash-headache category.
"He's Mandalorian, not stupid. Don't think their 'code of honor' allows stabs in the back anyway."
Carth doled relief a bit of rein. "Mira! I, uh, I wasn't thinking about, of course I didn't think that. Though now that you mention it, does General Renani always... she lets him get away with a bit much, don't you think?"
The bounty-huntress shrugged, miraculously balancing a flute of liquid throughout the motion. The bubbles clinging to the sides of the transparent vessel barely shivered. Has to be a Jedi trick, frivolous use of the Force or no.
"Exile? What's the last ratch she didn't tempt to bite?" She grimaced upon hearing herself. "And get your male brain out of the gutter! You know what I mean."
Admiral Carth Onasi, who truly had not ventured anywhere along those lanes until prompted, found silence to be the better part of wisdom in the instance.
"But hey, don't worry. Even Kreia couldn't snap her out of it." Mira took a sip, only to make a face at the glassware. "Ugh. Gramps had more kick than this thing. What kind of sissy Fleet drink is it?"
"Vishay water. It's not supposed to have any 'kick'," Carth supplied absently; he was about as reassured by her statement as one might expect. "So, he hasn't said a word, huh? Then why is she taking him along and not the rest of y-- uh, uhm..."
Great, Carth. Wait till the Admiral gets word of your inspired handling of the Jedi emissary. It'll be indefinite KP duty for... oh, right, that's me in The Chair now.
"We aren't giving her any jagannath points for it, if that's what you think," Mira said sharply. Emerald eyes nearly vanished under a frown. Carth followed and found the migratory pattern of a certain species of rogue. "Some less than others," the huntress's voice continued, attention in absentia.
A minute or so of watching, then Carth's mouth continued the theme of the day. "Is he your, ah..."
"Atton?" The bounty-huntress sounded appalled, a reaction that did not coexist easily with her cultivated worldliness. "Stars no! Besides, he's all a-dweezel over the Exile." She made a derogatory sound, but did not pause tracking. "Him and every other male-or-a-half."
The Admiral felt unqualified to comment. "So, er, what are your plans now?"
"Huh? Plans? Oh, I dunno. Hang around the guys for a while, try to get Visas to lighten up, that sort of thing. Maybe sniff out some Jedi. That'll be later though."
The enterprising pilot put a satyn-fitted arm around the furiously blushing girl's shoulder, topping off with a grin that was salacious even from a distance. Mira thrust her glass out in a vague direction. "Listen, been fun and all, but somebody had better make sure the 'New Jedi' don't start out with a nice big scandal." -- and then was gone in a whirl of form-fitting elastex.
Carth was abruptly very glad that Mission had skipped the male-hunting phase, or at the very least spared him of clues. Self-preservation airlocked his mouth against raising the account with either young woman, but he did spare a moment to praise himself for having rescued abandoned drink plus underfoot carpet.
"Hey there, geezer."
The Admiral spun a second time, but this round's stupefaction was a pleasant one. "Mission! Whe-- how-- wha--"
If he lived to be Jolee's age -- before he passed, before he passed -- Carth suspected that he would never get used to seeking a bubbly blue imp only to confront an elegant young beauty. Post-Star-Forge Mission Vao was frailer/stronger in ache-ful ways, with a depth to her eyes that had swiftly placed the label "Kid" in realms of nostalgia.
Never be it said that Onasi optimism knew any bounds, however. "Hey, Kid. Is an old man too old for a public hug?"
"You big goof," Mission mumbled into his jacket a short minute later, while Carth surreptitiously mourned the extra inches he had again missed out on.
He nodded over lace-bound lekku and an onslaught of mist. "Bastila. You should have told me you were coming, but it is very good to see you. Very."
The Jedi's maturing was less physical than the Twi'lek's. Both pony-tails and umber uniform had apparently been retained, but clung to an air of disuse.
"Adm-- Carth. It is... good to see you, too." The cultured enunciation was almost teary, far from the impeccable Padawan who had tried to cram an over-burdened teen under Jedi indifference.
Mission finally disengaged, though without apparent eagerness to be rid of the one remaining arm about waist. "How have you been, geezer? And 'fine' isn't going to fly with me."
At times, Carth would do almost anything to bring back the carefree child who had persisted through the destruction of a planet. In the darkest of sleepless nights, he could almost admit that Revan's having left was perhaps the easiest scenario of and for them all.
"I've, I've been okay. It gets easier." Both women indulged the lie, because when it came down to it, what else could he possibly say?
There was nothing quite as empty as feeling that one's role had already been played.
Carth cleared his throat. "So, where have you been these two years, Bastila, Mission? I know it was bad, but you could have at least... when I heard about Katarr..."
"My presence was not required at that gathering." Translation: the Council had still been jumping at shadows one Padawan Shan had dipped toes in. "After," her voice faltered but pressed on, "the Masters decided that it was wisest for us to go into hiding, as you know. I am, I am sorry we could not send word."
"What she'll eventually get around to," Mission interjected usefully, "is that she came to Kashyyyk."
"What! She was there with you all the time, and you never told me?"
Guilt plus defiance was a combination the teens in Carth's experience had no compunctions in expressing. "It's not like I didn't want to. We couldn't risk B-- Zaalbar's folks."
The Wookiee was no longer "Big Z". Just like Morgana was no longer "Mora". Just like Dustil had almost permanently no longer been "Dus".
Carth nodded. There was nothing left to say. No-one left to blame. No vengeance left to extract, even. Only the slow wait for a "one day" when the universe might again seem a hospitable place.
"The carpets aren't all that interested in galactic news, but we did hear a little about Peragus. Telos. It must have been awful." The young voice was somber with an unfortunate empathy from having watched her own world burn.
His vocabulary seemed to have dwindled to nods, but that was at least one step up from consecutive faux passés. "Things were pretty shaky for a while back there, but I think we're better off than before, on the whole. It's the strangest thing, Vogga the Hutt being almost, well, fair in his deals. Nobody wants to look too closely under that bantha."
Bastila was staring at him with an intensity that threatened to invoke a blush. Upon noticing his notice of her notice, eyes immediately fell above a blush of her own. "Sorry. It's just that I haven't seen y-- haven't spoken to anyone other than a few Wookiees for so long." A fond glance bore unnecessary evidence as to how much the Jedi had changed. "And Mission, of course."
"Hey, now you know why there were ticks in Jolee's power converter."
Life had taught Carth that precious moments could only be held in memory, and imperfectly at that. It had not taught him how to let them pass with grace, but forced him to let them go regardless. "I, uh, I don't know if you've heard, but this Jedi came back and er, fixed, ah, things. And the Exile and, uh, Revan, well, they're kind of, uh--"
"We know," Bastila broke him off gently. Her whole demeanor shuttered close like in bygones.
Mission shrugged. "Bassy told me." Despite the lightness the sobriquet conveyed, her genetically graceful movements were just one shade off.
Carth was tired of having no response better than nods. "I, we should go meet her. Since you're here, you must have heard what she's planning. She'll be glad--"
"She knows we are here."
On hindsight, surprise was perhaps silly. "You've spoken to her?" Before me?
The negative swing of pigtails and lekku were in what could have been comical sync.
Jedi, and women. Or should that be 'women, and Jedi'?
"It is time," Bastila announced with stock Jedi melodrama.
Digesting a sigh, the Admiral turned on a well-worn heel.
interlude
"Run, Mission. Go, go!"
Sky without end. Water like fine, cold fizz. Clutches of whispery wind. Secretive, sage nods of trees. Sand, sand everywhere.
Mission Vao knew this place. She paid it homage every night, whether or not awareness slipped the tired reels of memory.
Run, Mission.
Mission Vao knew this voice. She knew the man who owned it, or thought she had up to the moment of their utterance.
Run.
Mission Vao was small and lithe, but not build to run away.
Carth Onasi apparently was. Mission watched through a shimmering film as she-who-was-not-Kaelynn gave chase, aborted chase, and turned on her blue self instead. Mission watched as words tripped out of her own idiot mouth. Mission watched as Zaalbar, poor conflicted Zaalbar who had not known better than to take a useless Twi'lek kid under wing, gutted said kid with blood-varnished ceremonial blade.
Ru--
"No!" she yelled to an uncaring universe. "No, this isn't how it happened!"
Sand. Trees. Wind. Water. Sky.
"Run, Mission. Go, go!"
"Don't you dare, Mister Commander Carth Onasi! We can't just stand by and do--"
Chocolate-over-orange was already gone, evidence of passage erasing under tumbling dun grains.
"You're all alone now, Mission."
Mission Vao had always been alone. But no, no she had not -- the thunder of a Wookiee bowcaster splattered terror upon her soul.
"Holy S-Smeberellich. Please, please no. Wha-- what have you d-d-done, you, you dumb carpet..."
/#Live well, cub.#/
Life was not large enough to contain her anguish.
"Force. Oh Mission, Mission, what have I done? I don't know what... Mission, please, don't... Za-- Zaalbar... Dear Force, I can't heal him. Why can't I... Mi--"
"Just, just give her some space, okay. Or wasn't that enough for you, Revan?"
Too late. What use that orange jacket now, when all that was right with the galaxy lay limp and, well, gone? What use the cradle of inept skinny arms?
"I, I don't know why I did that. I swear. C-C-Carth, I know you don't believe me, you shouldn't believe me, but I truly don't, I, it was like there was something c-compelling, oh Force what have I..."
"Darth Revan! Have you forgotten our mission? The Wookiee is irrelev--"
"Shut up! Just shut up shut up shut up!" Mission's throat was aflame, like that once she'd snuck a sip of Zaalbar's gorimn wine. The ensuing void was worth every twinge.
She had learned that peace never lasts. "Mis--"
"Frotz off, geezer. Go on. Run away again. That's what you always do, isn't it?"
"I, I wasn't abandoning you, Mission. I wanted to distr--"
"Distract Kae--Re-Revan? Protect me? That's always your excuse, isn't it? Isn't it! So go. I won't turn like Dustil did. You might as well not have come back. Just all of you go! I'll, I'll stay here with, with..."
"Darth Rev--"
She spouted. Another she blubbered. The he tried to placate. There might have been the hiss of lightsabers. There might have been threats, pleas, sludgenews tears. There might have been someone to eventually pry horribly cold clumps from circulation-cut limbs, or perhaps they had to do it the other way around.
"It doesn't matter. None of it matters," she chanted. But if so, whose was that other voice that kept up the refrain "no, no, no"?
For the first time in a brief life, Mission Vao knew ennui.
end interlude
"Exile Renani."
"Jedi Bastila Shan." Dark head inclined with regalness that rivaled a certain formerly uppity Padawan. The Jedi locked invisible 'sabers for a while, then the Exile turned in a move that conceded nothing. "Miss Mission Vao...?"
Indigo eyes openly wide, pert mouth shut. Lekku bobbed in a passable nod.
One glimpse of the impassive examination subjecting the Twi'lek, and Carth put to rest all lingering fantasies of one sister being the other in disguise.
"Admiral Onasi. I hope we didn't forget to thank you for all the work behind this gathering. You have outdone yourselves, you and your crew."
So, it is to be formality on the menu, huh? Carth could play along. "Not necessary, General Renani. Just doing my job. You already know Bastila, I take it?"
They both ignored that history had already established the fact. There had to be a clue somewhere in her atypically explosive "They sent Bastila Shan?" of days past, since the present curt nod gave nothing away.
The second party was more sympathetic of Carth's sensitivities. "We were Initiates of the same class on Dantooine, and Padawans together for a while. Before--" Full lips snapped shut, compression leeching them of color.
An arched brow was the Exile's only response; Bastila was first to look away. Carth caught both the spasm of hands and the jerk of an already-stiff spine, as she rectified the same overlook he had earlier made.
"Filling your ranks with Mandalorians now, 'General'?" The ice-masked strain in her voice threw him back years in recall.
When did that rancor learn to blend into grass-painting? It was only fortunate that the others were too absorbed by individual and collective posturing to take notes on one Admiral's powers of observation.
"So, the little Princess still wants to play Field Commander."
The titled drew audible breath. "Ca--"
"That is Mandalore to you, Jedi."
"Oh? It is, is it?"
The situation was familiar, as was Carth's obliged response. "Uh, this is not a goo--"
"Need a spelling lesson to fill that pretty little head?"
"Tread lightly, 'Mandalore'. Some of us might not care to accommodate your charades."
"And here I thought Jedi were life-of-the-party people."
From the faint curve and definitive closure of the Exile's lips, backup from that quarter would be as dependable as a Krish trading partner. Her gathering flock, as per standard operating procedure, produced nothing more useful than mirrors of her attitude. Carth resigned himself. "Mand--"
"For one who professes disdain of Jedi, I have only to turn my head to find you in bed with one, 'Mandalore'."
"The Jedi are known for many things, but I don't remember the bedroom as being one of them."
Carth winced. "Bast--"
"Of course, if you would like to demonstrate..."
A giggle interrupted both Bastila's white-lipped, red-cheeked retort and Carth's clueless attempt at a salvage run. He snuck a peek left, but the Twi'lek remained fixated on the slightly-off replica of a woman who had touched them both. The Admiral's (still natural) cardiac pacemaker protested the feverish vividity in indigo eyes.
"Oh don't stop, this is too cute. You smilers ever think of applying to the Revwien?"
Mira was not decapitated on spot -- either proof of existence of Mandalorian humor, or of Jedi prowess of a more conventional sort. Carth didn't bother to pretend that luck'd had favorable contributions to spare.
At least the situation was contained--
"Carth Onasi. Admiralty hasn't managed to take you from The Show, I see."
"Ad-- Admiral Dodonna! Er... I've heard that it won't be just 'Admiral' for long, though."
The trim older woman waved a negligent hand. "Rumors, only, for which my hair is duly thankful."
"Wasn't there all that fuss between Kuat and Alderaan shipyards? I didn't hope you could make it."
Her eyes crinkled. "You aren't the first nor last Admiral to shirk parade duty, Carth. Or the type to stand about comparing gossip. Of course, my old protégé knows better than to try to pull a Gorgy-bird on me..."
"Uhm, of course I wasn't-- ahem. General Renani, you may recall Admiral Dodonna from when Rev-- from before. Admiral Dodonna, these are General Renani's latest companions." He proceeded around the half-circle, tucking away hope that the names tripping his mouth at least marginally resembled those in veracity. "And, ah, the Mandalore."
The other Admiral bypassed the lashed glances most awarded the silver armor. "You take great risk in so obviously confirming rumors, 'Mandalore'. And here, no less."
The accused stiffened proudly. "If the Republic is still foolish enough to go digging for enemies in bone-fields right now, the end it has coming might just happen in my lifetime."
"Are you claiming that the Mandalorians seek peaceful coexistence?"
"Isn't that what you wanted from the start? Or were all those 'peace envoys' and offers to coil-tack us just ploys after all?"
The glare shifted to the Exile and slipped on incredulity. "And you, you are allied with this... being?"
Whose people you threw away all before in order to fight? Carth heard, not through ears.
Black eyes sidled to an oddly intense byplay, that ended with cool statement of fact. "The Mandalore will make no plans against the Republic during my lifetime. Or his."
She can't possibly promise that, he thought, but the challenge came from the other Admiral's mouth.
"That's it? That is good enough for you?"
The orbs re-centered on the older woman, who to her credit did not so much as blink. "The most dangerous fighters are those without a goal, Admiral."
"The Mandalorian Wars came to pass precisely because his kind" -- brown eyes arrowed in the relevant direction -- "found 'purpose' in attempting to usurp the Republic!"
The Exile angled slightly to bring Bastila back into view. "Did they. What would the Mandalore have done with a galaxy to tend?"
"Beaten it into shape, at the least."
Bastila, Carth observed, started out grateful for the save from lack of answer, but shared his perturbation by the direction which thanks was due.
"Truly, Mandalore? Whom amongst your Clan-leaders would have been first to give up battle for the tedium of patrolling planets, sectors?"
A busy silence followed. The man must have finally grown to befit his age, for -- to Carth's immense surprise -- he merely issued a sharp nod.
Then again, the Admiral had seen play many a formal duel, Mandalorian or otherwise.
"We might not have cared about who 'owns' the galaxy, but you of all people should know better than to accuse us of being aimless rabble. No matter what some are, now."
"It would be a fool's conceit. But I stand by that the Mandalore did not have a goal behind starting the War. You sought battle for the sake of improving yourselves, never more or less than that. That is what made you so dangerous, so incomprehensible -- you had effectively nothing at stake."
Carth glanced dubiously at the emissary in blatant armor. "You think that with regrouping in mind, they won't fall back to old habits of raping and pillaging whatever they want?"
The Exile's line-of-sight remained immutable. "I believe both our sides have much to teach the other. One that existence without trial is meaningless. One that there are more meaningful quests than carnage."
"The Mandalorians I knew would never have stopped to listen to reason. Even though they have been forced to parley for some time, you think that enough tolerance could have been absorbed into their philosophy?" Having made his usual splash by speaking up at all, the Iridonian shook his head. "It is... ambitious. The number of unknowns boggle me, General. I only hope you are right."
"It is not so inconceivable, Bao-Dur. The Mandalore of today are, as never in our lifetimes and perhaps many before, open to change. Under the right leaders..."
Catching the tail end of Admiral Dodonna's long glance, Carth had only a shrug to offer. His definition of "impossible" had undergone many revisions in the last decade. Moreover, this scene seemed to have but two main characters, with neither of their names making the slots.
Unfortunately, "I don't like it" didn't tend to make much of an impression on the way the Paza'ak drew.
"Too much faith in the opponent's altruism," Mandalore pronounced after a prolonged hiatus. "Too much confidence in the sway of a few."
The Exile's line-of-sight still never deviated. "There is no faith involved. I have seen the current Mandalore act. More importantly, I have seen his followers act."
"You are so confident that you understand him?" Bastila exclaimed with the spark Carth had forgotten to tally as one of the things he missed. "You don't even know his name!"
"The name you're born with isn't always the one you live, sweets. Shouldn't you be something of an expert on that?"
The rogue earned a ill-concealed quirk from the Exile, but the face-off remained otherwise unheeding of audience. Carth couldn't quite pin down how the spotlight had shifted between one eye-blink and the next.
Bastila reverted to haughty. "And who might you be to speak on such matters, 'Padawan Rand'?"
"Doesn't Jedification give a man some leave to put on airs?"
"Gee," Mira jumped in with a mock slap of her forehead. "So that's how you got the whole giggle-parade Bith-eyed over 'Atton Rand, hotshot'."
The grin only grew. "Don't worry, sister, plenty to go around. Thought they might be a bit more interested in 'saber' techniques, so that you know."
Bastila, who had up to that point appeared as dazed as Carth felt, flashed from blush to frown in a micro. "I had doubts when I heard that Exile Renani had taken on... students. More, that she presumed you were the ones to rebuild the Order. Surely your 'Master' has not been so remiss as to not instruct you on the dangers--"
"Of having a heart in your chest? Oops, must've slipped her highness's mind. Together with the rest of the endless preaching and Jedi-don'ts, thank Fortuna."
Full lips all but vanished. "Of all the irresponsible, inc--"
"Save your breath, Jedi. And you, quit trying to rub the 'nice lady' up." This from the possessor of a pair of emerald lasers.
"Why, Mir, if your eyes weren't already green..."
Ignoring him with a deliberate turn of shoulder, the bounty-huntress addressed Bastila, and not without compassion. "It's like this. Your Jedi Order lived inside your own pretty little bubble of 'right' and 'wrong' and 'Light' and 'Dark', wailing off to momma Force every time the 'speeder goes off-course. You're just not built to understand how the rest of the galaxy copes."
"We are. We've lived, not just thought about life. We don't automatically blame the 'Dark side' for bad choices. We don't automatically think the Force has all the answers. Master Renani saw that. She understands that we are what the galaxy needs. Not some tribe of monks who have to consult the almighties on the precise amount of compassion appropriate to feel for a stranded gizka."
The other woman's features grew a thundercloud. "The Force is not a mere tool like your blasters, bounty-hunter. With power--"
"That's just the kind of thing I'm talking about! You're all so arrogant about having more 'power' than the rest of the mortals, so busy agonizing over whether this use or that is 'justified'. Has it ever occurred to you that it might simply not be the case? That with or without the Force, the Jedi don't on the whole have more or less 'power' than any other group might?"
"I used to think that," Carth interjected. "But there's no denying that the Jedi, Sith, whatever, have had the largest impacts on the galaxy. Like Revan, before or after..."
"Those are examples of our age," a new voice answered. "It is an unfortunately easy trap, to think that because none can be as directly traced back to as much joy or suffering, that it must always be so."
The Disciple, Carth recalled, was a historian of some repute.
"Look, didn't mean to argue with you." Carth was pleasantly surprised to be included in Mira's address, a courtesy most Jedi omitted. "All I'm saying is, the old Jedi Order obviously had some major problems. The Exile claims we're the whiff of planetary air it needs, and by some miracle, we kinda agree."
Carth's impression was that there was no "kinda" about it. Otherwise would not have boded well.
Bastila folded her arms. "Then why is she not staying w-- here, seeing as she has this 'reformation' all planned out?"
The other doled out the "haven't you been listening" look that was the staple of Mission's generation. "What do you take us for, chakks? You think we wouldn't have smelled a Weequay if all she wanted was to remake Jedi in her image? Or isn't one Atris enough for you?"
The latter had been -- and to his knowledge, still was -- Bastila's friend. Carth winced on her behalf, then changed the grimace to one for himself and settled in for the long haul. At least there was no danger of rilling, even if his head began winding up into a spin that could be charged to nothing as pleasant as imbibition.
"Great blockade run, Carth," Admiral Dodonna murmured in a private moment ignored by the Jedi-Mandalore-almost-Jedi debate team. He shuffled from the praise, like he would not have cared to had it been from any other of his now-daily acquaintances. "Haven't seen the likes of them since the Mandalorian War. Quite different from Renani's Elite though, aren't they?"
Rhetorical, of course, but he nodded anyway. "They make optimism appealing."
Two eyebrows raised. Carth had opened his mouth to clarify when it occurred to him that he wasn't even sure who "they" encompassed.
"That is good to hear." Having let him off the hook, Admiral Dodonna turned to study their subjects. "An impressive set, I agree, especially the 'set' part. And the Moment's Redoubt of our returned General's army...?"
It was a reference to which few held privy, hearkening back to when Revan had been a mere Jedi oddity raving about some threat only she perceived (she, not the Force, but her, a kid of at most sixteen). Everyone had greater concerns, greatest of which were the Mayagil and sister sectors, where Mandalorian raids had all but choked off the Hydian Way and Rimma trade route. Centuries ago, the Core Worlds and Colonies had deemed worthy certain tradeoffs of self-sufficiency in return for "culture". Now, they slowly but surely suffocated.
The entire Fleet bathed, breathed, and bedded chronic anxiety; none could seem to manage to catch anything but mine-salted debris. Add to that all the fruitless attempts to seed combat personnel in freighters, and one had a Fleet on the edge of panic and/or clean-house dictates.
Incredibly, it had been a "real" common freighter's crew that had landed the Republic a first break. The Moment's Redoubt was an old Barloz-class, piloted by a couple burnt-out veterans who had taken on some dubious passengers as last resort. The Mandalorians found them and their borderline-legal goods easy prey, and offered magnanimously quick executions in reward for the minimum of fuss.
The pilot, a one-eyed, former sharpshooter, had surprised himself most of all by challenging their leader to blaster-duel, rather than march docilely to a slightly-faster-than-self-planned demise.
The three lowlifes were fastest to recover from the surprise of his having won, considerably less picky about "honor" than their Mandalorian counterparts, and worked quickly with their own skins at stake.
It wasn't until weeks later that Saul Karath let on to one Captain Carth Onasi that Republic Intelligence had been "grooming" war-veterans for months. What was a trading run, or two, to those who had lived with and been forcibly divorced from adrenaline?
As things happened, a week short of two months after they had whittled the raiders down to manageable proportions, Revan proved herself quite the superlative prophet -- and much else.
But that was another story.
One Admiral Carth Onasi pulled himself from the tentacles of nostalgia, and topped it off with some discreet attempts to rectify negligence of his charge. It wasn't like Mission Vao could be found before she would be found, anyway.
"Atton." He came to the conclusion as he spoke it: "Atton Rand."
"The pilot?" Admiral Dodonna gave a rare show of surprise. "Why would you think that?"
Carth shook the thoughts in his head into place. "There's something about him. Reminds me about... I'm not sure." He forced a smile. "Besides, isn't it always the one that seems least suspect?"
The woman reflected his dubiousness, but did not push.
And he -- poor idiot who had once thought hearts could be guarded -- he missed the one who would have.
/#What do you think you're doing, you mindless oaf!#/
/#Look, you said 'heat them up', I'm heating them up...#/
/#The side dish, not the dessert, genius! Have you ever had piping hot fizz-pudding?#/
/#Considering that pit worms get better feed th--#/
/#What?#/
/#I said, it was the only cold thing around, so what did you expect, woman?#/
/#Obviously a handsome, intelligent man--#/
/#Who could live with having his brains blasted out through his ears?#/
The clanking turned chilly, though the cadence never deviated.
/#Zif, this is a bit much, hmm? Why the devros crystal and fancy fare? The General you and I knew will happily munch anything set before her. Plus some that hasn't been. Getting unnecessarily worked up--#/
/#Worked up? Worked up? And who was that rushing about earlier to straighten the furniture, which by the way--#/
Two involuntary eavesdroppers exchanged a fifth set of glances. Deciding that no such thing as "after domestic dispute" was within finite forecast, the female gave a one-shoulder shrug and raised a hand to the door-signal.
A distinct pause ensued, then the portal slid open with a hurry that should not have been possible of standard ship circuits. In the through stood a Zabrak couple in civilian wear and freshly-slicked hair.
"General Renani!" chorused voices on opposite ends of the scale. "Bao-Dur," the lower continued. "Come in, come in."
For an embarrassingly long while Reni found words impossible, and when that subsided they came forth more huskily than intended. /#You never used to stand me on ceremony, Doz-Halk, Krag-Mak.#/
Husband gave wife a triumphant nudge. /#Told you the General wouldn't care if her meal came in eight courses or two. Of course, if you were to feed her the same sludge as you make me...#/
/#Hah. The 'same sludge' you managed to grow a paunch on, old man? Quit scaring the kids. Come closer and let me have a look at you, General. The eyes aren't what they were.#/
Things swung abruptly to easy. Having never considered herself a "General" in the military sense, the only distance Reni pretended to was that intrinsic to her makeup. Fortunately the Zabrak couple were by nature ebullient, and had a decade's worth of adventures to relate and dig for in return.
The mood only touched on "serious" twice. Initially, while Krag-Mak coaxed out gales of laughter (or the equivalent from his display-reticent guests), Doz-Halk progressed deeper into silence. Concerned over the disparity with fond recall, Reni had phrased what she hoped was a discreet query.
/#We should have found you,#/ the Loristian Zabrak blurted out. /#When the Jedi finally let it be known that they'd exiled you, we should have gone looking.#/
Equally startled and touched, Reni only managed to shake her head. /#I never expected you to. Any of you.#/
/#The Mandalorians were no longer a threat. If it had been any of us that the Fleet treated so, you know you would have.#/
Bao-Dur would not meet her eyes. /#It wasn't the same,#/ Reni tried again. /#You all had responsibilities to the Fleet, to your families. I had already forsaken mine--#/
/#For a cause you thought was worthy. We all believed in you, but we all sat on our behinds and did nothing!#/
Bao-Dur still would not meet her eyes. Reni attempted a different tack. /#My Exile was self-imposed, mostly. I wasn't of any use to anyone, least of all myself. It was fo--#/
/#Not for the best,#/ Krag-Mak dissented firmly. /#The wife's right. You are family, and families don't leave their own floating in space. You were as much our responsibility as we were yours, General.#/
Reni fidgeted bashfully, the warmth in her gut beyond a meal as excellently Doz-Halk as any in memory. /#Th--thank you. It is, that, that means incredibly much... But if you will not accept that not the slightest blame is yours, at least let me forgive you. I came to no lasting harm. I, I would say that I learned much of myself.#/
/#That will never satisfy me,#/ Doz-Halk said bluntly/#but if you can let the past lie, then so must we. It is good to have you back, General. We will not allow the same to happen again, so mind you before you go swooping off on another insane quest.#/
Reni grinned. /#It can't be that insane, if Bao-Dur was willing to sign up.#/
Two heads -- make that three -- turned to each other and then back at her. The distinct lack of conviction was duly noted.
The other awkwardness took place after both effort and evidence of dining had been erased, a chore awarded to the visitors only under protest.
"About the matter we spoke of to Bao-Dur. You have given it thought?" A throwback to old times, Basic had always to them delineated "business".
Reni hesitated, though there had never been any question of her having paid attention. "Doubting allies has never gone easily with me, Krag-Mak."
"We know. It can be a good thing, provided you pick them carefully." The older man breathed through teeth. His wife continued in lieu. "We just don't want to see a Malak to your Revan, General."
It seemed that the room darkened, though the holo-fire blazed as merrily on as ever. Reni answered with a smaller sigh of her own. "I know, and thank you. I am looking into the matter, I promise. But there must be another explanation."
The Loristians pursed lips in tandem, but made no further attempt to sway her.
By unspoken consensus, no more shop-talk entered the evening.
Despite no involvement with spirits of any chemical sort, it was an almost-giddy Reni who left. She took with her a rare contentment, promises of future visits, and a reluctance to step outside the threshold. Bao-Dur was detained for a few more minutes while she savored the aftertaste of good food and finer company. He re-emerged with a bulky, much-wrapped package.
Long. Fatter on the bottom. A rifle? Surely not. Can't be a droid. A probe? Whatever for?
Needle as she might, her friend would only smile and shake his horns.
interlude
"You were once a difficult man to track down, Surgeon."
"Haven't you heard? I'm revalued credit these days."
"It's the location, not the chip, that dictates value."
"Yeah well, as teary as this does not make me, how about a point around here?"
"It has come to our attention that you will soon have cause to entertain... employment options."
"Would that be a Multi thing, or the royal plural?"
"You were once measured amongst the best, Surgeon. You cannot pretend contentment being the drudge you are now."
"Isn't that what all the greats are supposed to want, deep down? A couple ten-thousand ares, a warmed bed, umgullian blobs, a swoop on the side?"
"All mere tokens to your account, when you make the wise decision."
"No, wait, don't tell me. Weekly consults, house calls every few, and if I'm a really, really good boy, new toys as they come?"
"You have the essentials. Although it is to be mostly consults. For now."
"Sorry. Not interested."
"It is not wise to schedule decisions before hearing the price, Surgeon."
"'Reformed', remember? 'Cause if I have to explain, your Basic needs serious work."
"You are familiar with the Shadow-Spoor line of freighters? No? Well, suppose that there is a certain small company, 'family business', if you will. Though in the usual course, such a creature is a transient phenomenon, forgotten between one generation and the next."
"Say, could you point me to where you got that voice modulator? Or maybe you're not organic, 'cause there's no way an organic could come off so monotone."
"It so happens that this entity has persisted for a good portion of the Republic itself, thanks to certain connections and a, shall we say, select market."
"Thanks for the economics lesson. Can I go now? I'm a busy man, the nag nags, you know how it is."
"Your schedule is packed, I am sure. It might however interest you that there has recently been a commission for one of the SS by a very particular customer. One who has since been rendered... unable to fulfill the contract."
"Oh, my bleeding heart."
"Hypothetically, there would be an opening for a transfer of ownership of the Empyrean Mobius right about now, provided that this company is satisfied that there will be no repeat of, ah, disappointing transactions."
"Let me guess, that'll just be a lifetime or two of bondage, up front. No biggie."
"Actually, investors have negotiated for it to be part of start-up assets, should the right entrepreneur be found. One that would not require more than a few months' repayment, the timing of which is crucial, of course. A token of confidence, one might say."
"Oh I'm sure 'they' can be the best of friends."
"That they can."
"What, do I have to cue you in on the 'but worst of...' part?"
"I am not a thug; neither are my employers. I am here to present an arrangement and point out various incentives which will ideally recruit you to our ranks. Enforced labor is so very crude. And ultimately worthless."
"So, I can just walk away, and this 'conversation' will just have been one too many chili dumplings at lunch."
"A meal one of your skills would no doubt make swift recovery from, Surgeon."
"Works for me. I'm headed straight out that door. See?"