MISSION
Mission spent the entire trip to Dantooine feeling like the galaxy's biggest fake. She knew luck was the only reason she'd lived through the glassing of Taris. If she hadn't known Zaalbar, if Aithne Moran hadn't been nice enough to say she could come along when Big Z swore his lifedebt, she would have been burned to a crisp or buried in the rubble with everyone she knew but her brother and Lena. Aithne and them didn't need her. Didn't want her, probably. No one ever did, really. But here she was, escaped from Taris by the skin of her teeth, just because she got lucky and Aithne Moran happened to be the nicest person she'd ever met. But when she thought of all the people who had lost their lives, she just about fell to pieces.
If it hadn't been for Aithne, Big Z, and Carth, Mission wasn't sure she would've made it. Not just off Taris, through everything afterward. Waking up seeing those buildings every night, thinking of Gadon and the Beks, of Jenn and Zaerdra and Cliope and everyone, and how blasted small and lonely and . . . and helpless she felt. Wondering what in the hell someone like her was supposed to do against powers that could destroy an entire planet, just like that. Breaking down crying what felt like every five minutes. She knew she owed the others more than that, that since she'd survived, since they'd saved her, she had to do something to earn it, to make sure it was worth it. Canderous thought she was some kind of ridiculous wimp, and Padawan Shan's pity was almost just as bad.
But Aithne, Big Z, and Carth were there for her. Every time she woke Aithne and Bastila up screaming bloody murder, Aithne was there, no matter how annoyed Bastila was. She was showing Mission astrogation, teaching her about some of the Rim Worlds she'd visited during her career as a scout. It helped pass the time when there wasn't anything but Taris to think about. She would stay up watching Teethree's same three holovids with Mission over and over and over until Mission fell asleep. She didn't tell Mission she was being stupid, or a baby, or anything like that.
Big Z made sure she ate. The first two days or so, she couldn't keep anything down. She kept vomiting everything they pushed at her. The processed protein they ate on Ebon Hawk was pretty nasty, unless Canderous cooked, but she'd eaten nastier stuff back on Taris when she was hungry. Now, she wasn't hungry. Big Z fed her anyway. He also helped her practice with the vibroblades and the fancier blasters they'd picked up with Aithne in the cargo hold, times she just had to hit something.
But Carth was the best. He really got it. What it was to lose your entire world, to be the one who walked away. He told her about Telos, about how it had felt for him after, the ways he had found to keep going. He told her about his neighbors and his friends, all the people he'd grown up with who had never made it out, and he listened to her talk about whole legions of people he didn't know just 'cause he knew she needed it. He didn't go on about how Taris was a bad world anymore; he just listened when Mission told him why she missed it. Then he'd teach her how to use a second blaster along with her first, or some math or something. He didn't ever tell her she was stupid for not knowing that stuff already, either. And with her head full of Aithne's astrogation and planet facts, Carth's math, and Teethree's holovids, sometimes it was easier to sleep at night. For a while, anyway.
Mission kept wondering what she was gonna do, though, to make her survival worthwhile, so Aithne never regretted taking her along with Big Z, and so she could make the Sith pay someday for Taris. She considered lying when they got to a Republic base, saying she was older so she could enlist as a soldier or something. She wanted to do something real for the fight, be more than just a kid hanging onto Aithne, some Taris street trash. Big Z would always be useful as extra muscle for Aithne, or even as a secondary scout. Mission needed to learn how to use the stuff she'd known on Taris to be as helpful, or learn enough new stuff it wouldn't matter.
She also wondered if maybe she could do anything, though, or if she really should just bail. She kept thinking about Griff. As they got closer and closer to Dantooine, Mission thought about him more and more, wondering if Aithne might help her find him now so that they could be a family again. It'd probably be a better idea than staying with Aithne, really. She could be a help to Griff now, she knew, even if she couldn't for Aithne or the Republic yet.
Big Z had a lifedebt now. Ebon Hawk was Canderous's, really, and once they made it to Dantooine, Mission was scared everyone was just gonna fall apart. Canderous would take the ship and do whatever. Bastila would go back to the Jedi. Carth would go back to the Republic. Aithne'd go with him, but to a different assignment maybe, or maybe she'd do some work with the Jedi. Bastila seemed to think Aithne's Force Sensitivity was really powerful and important. Whatever Aithne ended up doing, though, Big Z was sworn to go with her, and Mission was just . . . extra. She knew Aithne and everyone really just saw her as a kid. So why not try and find Griff? Except that she owed the Sith.
She really owed the Sith.
AITHNE
Mission was barely holding it together, and Aithne was in way over her head. Two days into the voyage to Dantooine, she and Zaalbar had finally got it to where the girl could keep food down. She'd finally slept a night through last night. But she was so . . . lost. She would be watching a holovid, or reading a datapad, and just start crying. Aithne didn't blame her, but the only one who really knew what Mission was going through was Carth. He was doing everything he could for Mission, and Aithne loved him more for it every day, but the time he'd have with her was running out, and it was taking a toll besides. She saw the way he looked after a talk with Mission. He was very literally taking on the girl's burdens, and no one, no one should have to carry the weight of two crushed worlds. No one should have to carry the weight of even one.
They were all struggling. Maybe not Ordo; he seemed to have already put the whole thing behind him. But Bastila had to wake up when Mission had a nightmare just like Aithne did. Sometimes Aithne felt weariness and sadness that wasn't her own coming off the Jedi. Bastila spent hours meditating every day, and she outright admitted it was as much to center herself and find inner peace as it was because she was a Jedi and meditating was just what they did. Zaalbar hurt so badly for Mission, sometimes Aithne could feel that too, and his helplessness that there wasn't a whole lot he could do for her. Aithne shared that feeling.
But Aithne was in over her head for other reasons. Every day toward Dantooine, she felt more and more that Bastila had plans for her. Whether that had been the case before the battle for Endar Spire or not, it certainly was now. Whenever Aithne wasn't with Mission, or tinkering with T3-M4, Bastila would try to catch her alone and strike up a conversation about Aithne's Force Sensitivity and the ways she felt or drew upon the Force—consciously or otherwise. She kept talking about how Aithne had been "meant to" do this, that, or the other, and what the Jedi would say about Aithne's "gifts." The woman had serious recruiter vibes to her, even though she kept mentioning Aithne's lack of training and her age in the same breaths as her power and ability.
Aithne thought she wanted to get in on the war now, get in properly, after Taris. There were a lot of things she had to work out about how to do that. Mission was the largest and most obvious; the Republic could probably work out some sort of attaché or advisory role for Zaalbar to stay with Aithne, but Mission was too young for the Republic to legally hire even in a support role. That said, Aithne couldn't and wouldn't just leave her behind. Even if Aithne could afford what she'd need to put the girl into some sort of boarding situation, she couldn't morally conscience doing it after the kid had lost her entire planet. Money and connections to keep both Mission and Zaalbar with her would be an issue in any case.
But there was also the simple matter of transportation. There wasn't a Republic base on Dantooine: just the Jedi Enclave. Ebon Hawk was a stolen vessel in any event, but Aithne wasn't under any illusions that it was her stolen vessel, to fly wherever she wanted to in. If it was, there wouldn't be a problem. She could contract with the Republic as a freelancer and hire Mission and Zaalbar as crew herself. But the person onboard who had the best claim to be owner and captain of Ebon Hawk was Canderous Ordo. If he didn't consent to either give her and the others a ride to a world with a Republic base after this or to sell one to them, she'd probably be out almost all the credits she had left after buying T3-M4 to charter transport off Dantooine from someone else.
But one thing she didn't want was to get stuck in the Jedi Enclave, dealing with whatever the Jedi saw in her. She was still thinking about it ten days after Taris, when Carth finally announced over the shipwide comm that they were coming into orbit around Dantooine. Aithne headed up to the cockpit for a glimpse of the approach. She took up station in between Carth and Bastila in the pilot and copilot seats and looked down on a green, temperate world, with breathable air and friendly blue sky. They skimmed over grassy prairies, and a flock of birds flew away in panic. Then a compound of white stone walls came into view and a single docking platform large enough for a ship their size. Ebon Hawk came in to hover, then slowly lowered herself to rest.
Carth began powering down the ship, checking her status and fuel reserves. Bastila sat back in her seat, gazing out the front viewport. "Dantooine," she said. "It seems like a lifetime since I last set foot on her surface, though in truth it has only been a few months. We should be safe from Malak here, for now, at least."
Carth shot Bastila an incredulous look. "Safe?! You saw what his fleet did to Taris: there wasn't a building over two stories high left standing! They . . . they turned the planet into one big pile of rubble."
Bastila looked prim. "Even the Sith would think twice before attacking Dantooine," she answered. "There are many Jedi here, including several of the most powerful masters of the order. There is great strength within this place."
That sounded like arrogance to Aithne; Jedi or no Jedi, she hadn't spotted any cities or AD towers flying in. The Force was one thing, but it didn't look like Dantooine's Jedi Enclave had a big military presence to protect it. In the end, though, it didn't really matter. "Whether there is or not, we need to resupply and regroup," Aithne said. "You should report to your masters, and the rest of us need a chance to work out what happens next."
"The Jedi will surely let Ebon Hawk dock and resupply here," Bastila pressed. "And the academy is a place of mental and spiritual healing; something we could all use after what we've been through."
At this, Carth nodded. His eyes flicked to the back of the ship. "Maybe you're right. It isn't easy to witness the annihilation of an entire planet. I know Mission's taking it pretty hard."
Bastila shrugged. "She will find a way to come to terms with her grief. She is stronger than she appears. We just need to give her time."
Carth's face hardened, and Aithne raised her eyes and put her hands on her hips. "Wow, Bastila, let's wipe out everything and everyone you've ever known and see how you 'come to terms with your grief!' You don't come to terms with grief like that. Maybe you find a way to survive it, to keep going, but even that much is a feat of heroism, and you are never the same. You carry the scars forever, just like being shot through the spirit. You'd think the Jedi would know something about that."
She was speaking to Carth as much as to Bastila, telling him she finally understood even as she upbraided the Jedi for her callousness. Bastila seemed to sense this too. She half-turned to the pilot and colored slightly, as if remembering her company. "Forgive me. I spoke without thought or consideration."
Aithne shook her head, returning to Mission. "She's fourteen years old," she murmured. "She's just lost her entire history and her entire world. Everything and everyone she has in the galaxy is on this ship, most of us strangers she's known less than two weeks. She's wondering if she was an idiot back on Taris and knows it's just a fluke she survived, and that everyone she knew just died because of . . ." Aithne almost said 'you,' but hesitated, and changed her mind, "because of us. If she can bring herself not to hate us when her head's stopped spinning it'll almost be more than I'd expect, and getting her to trust she's safe with us, that we care about her and we'll make sure she's alright out here, that'll be something else altogether."
"I understand you feel some responsibility for the girl," Bastila said. "Perhaps we can set her up with a foster family here on Dantooine. Alternatively, a position in the Service Corps might not be inappropriate, under the circumstances. But there are larger concerns here than what will become of Mission Vao."
Aithne glared at Bastila. "Not to Mission Vao," she answered. "And not to me. Before even getting back in on this war, and I definitely am after Taris, I'm going to make sure Mission and Zaalbar are safe, provided for, and as happy as they can reasonably be. Preferably, and if at all possible, with me. I gave them both my word. Understand?"
Bastila regarded her for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "I do," she said finally. "Very well. I must go speak with the Jedi Council. I need their advice on . . . recent developments. After I have met with them, I will need you, Aithne, to meet me outside the ship."
"Why?" Aithne demanded, suspicious, but Bastila was already striding down the hallway toward the exit. In the distance, Aithne heard the ramp being lowered, and then Bastila was gone.
"What was that about?" Carth asked, leaving his chair to lean against it and face her.
"Oh, my stupid Force Sensitivity," Aithne said, "or whatever the Jedi brought me onboard Endar Spire to do in the first place. Bastila said I just fit the profile for a needed reconnaissance specialist on the crew. It made sense at the time, but I just . . . you're rubbing off on me, flyboy." She rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair, probably disordering it even more than usual.
"The Jedi have the resources to set you up with a small ship and the ability to hire a crew," Carth pointed out. "Could be a solution to your problem with Mission and Zaalbar."
Aithne nodded wearily. "I've thought of that," she admitted, "and it's probably the only reason I'll go in there to hear out whatever she wants that Council of hers to say. I just . . . I have a bad feeling about this. Bastila wants me for something, and I'm not sure it's something I'm overly inclined to give, especially to the Jedi. I don't like them, I've said. Don't like the way they operate. Don't like their rules, their mysticism, or the way their superiors keep all their secrets. I don't want to be some Jedi pawn. I'd rather go with you and sign up with the Republic on a more permanent, willing basis."
"Well, we could use more like you," Carth said. "I could try and contact some people, get you an in with special forces or our commando operations. Not sure if it would help you with your biggest problem, though."
"And I don't have the skills to just retire and stay put and make the kind of credits to support us all," Aithne muttered. She buried her face in her hands. "Did Bastila mention something about resupplying?" She laughed through her hands, more so she didn't start crying like Mission than anything else. "You think the Jedi stock alcohol? Because I could really use a drink."
"There's probably some rule about Jedi overindulging," Carth answered. "But they might stock a few drinks somewhere. You know, for medicinal purposes. Or to help teach them to resist temptation."
Aithne really laughed then. She moved her hands down to her cheeks and looked at the pilot. "I'm gonna miss you," she told him. "Your help with Mission, your guns in a firefight, the bad jokes, and that awful glaring Jacket of Doom." She reached out and brushed off one shoulder of the jacket as if for imaginary dust. For whatever reason, probably just to spite her, he'd actually repaired it after the damage it had taken on Taris.
"Hah!" Onasi answered. "Even the Jacket of Doom, huh? I . . . uh, it'll be strange, moving on to another assignment after all this. After everything we've been through, living out of each other's pockets all that time on Taris . . . seeing it get destroyed."
From this, Aithne gathered that Onasi would miss her too, but was trying to return to Professional Military Man now that things were drawing to a close. She smiled sadly. But then he surprised her again.
"You should give me a call sometime. Send me a wave through the holonet or . . . something. Tell me how everything works out for you, and Mission and Big Z. I'll leave you with my information. If you ever need anything, or want to catch up sometime on shore leave, or . . . after all this is over."
Aithne regarded him. She thought he meant it. "I should give you a call?" she asked. "That a fact, Major?"
He actually blushed. "Carth, please."
Aithne held out her hand, and he shook it. "Okay, then," Aithne said, inordinately pleased. A friendly Republic major would probably come in handy someday. Carth had already offered to help her out more than once. But even if he never did have anything or a connection to anything she needed, he really was worth it. For his own sake. "But let's not do the whole of the teary goodbye until we know when and how we're leaving Dantooine. You need to comm the Republic, and I better see what the Jedi have to say. Probably also be nice if we went and saw who it is Canderous needs to talk with about supplies."
Carth looked thoughtful. "You think the Mandalorian might need a pilot? I mean, from what I saw, he wasn't doing too well before you picked us up. Could be a good way to get to an outpost of the Republic. I mean, we could help him find someone else."
"Someone as prejudice-free as you are, maybe?" Aithne suggested, raising an eyebrow. "If you want him to let you fly him someplace with an actual military base, you might try calling him 'Canderous,' instead of 'Mandalorian.'"
"Right, like he calls you 'Outsider?'"
Aithne shrugged. "I provoke him, and I don't mind a few nicknames."
"No, you don't," Carth agreed. "Well, then . . . I'll see you around, beautiful."
Aithne smiled again. Never let it be said that the man did not know how to take a hint. She frowned as she turned away then, wondering when she'd come to enjoy him calling her "beautiful" for real, instead of as part of a game for an audience.
Bastila commed in an hour, and when she did, she actually asked for both Carth and Aithne. Aithne checked with Canderous before leaving Big Z and Mission on the ship, confirming that he had no immediate plans to ship out of system. He said, "Not without a pilot," which lent credence to Carth's theory that Ordo might be amenable to another deal, at least to a hub world where he could hire a guy. Aithne promised Big Z and Mission she'd be back soon, and then she and Carth went to meet Bastila.
The Padawan met them at the entrance to the enclave. "I have spoken briefly with the Council. They request an audience with Aithne. You may come if you wish, Carth, at least to the door that leads to the Council Chambers themselves. The Republic may desire a report when you return, but Aithne and I must go at once."
Carth seemed to stiffen, and his eyes met Aithne's. "An audience with the Jedi Council. That's pretty rare for someone who isn't even a Jedi. What's this about, Bastila?"
"I'm sorry, Carth, but I cannot tell you," Bastila answered. The response worried Aithne. Carth was a trusted friend to the Jedi; Bastila's reactions to him on Taris had proved that much. What did the Jedi want with Aithne that was confidential enough to keep him out? "All I ask is that you trust in the Force and the wisdom of the Council."
"You're asking a lot from the major," Aithne said, leaning back on one leg. "And this time, from me too."
Bastila wrung her hands together, and Carth hesitated. "I don't like being left out of the loop," he said. "But I don't think either of us want to get you in any trouble with the Jedi Masters."
"Depends on what her Jedi Masters want," Aithne muttered.
"Come," Bastila said, with a pleading look. "They are expecting us. I will lead you to the Council chambers."
Aithne looked at Carth one more time. He gestured her to go on. She sucked in a breath. For Mission and Big Z, she thought, then followed Bastila inside the Enclave proper's large double doors. "I feel like I'm walking into a nest full of kinrath," Aithne said under her breath to Carth.
The Jedi Enclave was pretty at least, Aithne thought as she walked through the halls after Bastila. Green pastures and trees were evenly spaced between picturesque stone walls. The ceilings were high and airy. It was a peaceful sort of place. In a short time, they'd arrived outside the Council Chambers.
Carth peered inside the room. "Bastila is shaking her head at me," he reported. "I think this is my stop. I guess I'm supposed to just wait here and report she took you into the Council for some secret conversation." He looked disgruntled.
"I'd rather you were in there too," Aithne said frankly. "Honestly, this whole setup gives me the creeps."
"Yeah, you and me both, sister," Carth agreed. "Still. They're waiting for you." He clapped her on the back, and with a last, doubtful look back at him, Aithne moved inside to find out what in the galaxy these people wanted.
Four very old, very male personages in robes waited there with Bastila. The red-skinned Twi'lek addressed her first. "Ah. So, you are the one who rescued Bastila."
His voice was kind, but the expectation in his eyes made her spine tingle. "I think we'd agreed to call that a mutual thing, actually," she said. "For the sake of her Jedi dignity and all that."
She shot Bastila an apologetic glance, and the woman glared back at her. Aithne shrugged. She was nervous.
"It is appropriate that you are here," he said. "We have been discussing your rather special case. I am Zhar, a member of the Jedi Council. With me are Master Vrook," here he indicated a tall, thin, old man who was scowling at Aithne as if she were the reincarnation of Exar Kun or something. "Master Vandar," here Zhar indicated an impossible-to-read little green alien from a species Aithne wasn't familiar with, "and of course, the Chronicler of our Academy, Master Dorak." Lastly, Zhar gestured to a bald man that looked to be in his late forties or fifties. This man, Dorak, looked at her as if he had not yet made up his mind as to who or what she was or what he thought of her. "Padawan Bastila I am sure you are already familiar with," Zhar finished.
"Alright, we've met," Aithne said. "I suppose I should be honored and all that, but really, I just want to know what you mean by 'special case' and what you want from me."
"Bastila tells us you are strong in the Force," Zhar explained. "We are considering you for Jedi training."
So it was that. "Don't," Aithne told the Twi'lek plainly. "I have no wish to be a Jedi."
Zhar smiled, as if she could not possibly mean it. Most people jumped at the opportunity to join the order, Aithne bet. "Do not worry," he said. "I am confident in your ability to learn."
The sour-looking Vrook quickly cut in. "Master Zhar speaks out of turn perhaps. We need indisputable proof of your strong affinity to the Force before we would even consider you for training."
Bastila looked affronted. "Proof?" she demanded. "Surely the entire Council can feel the strength of the Force within this woman. And I have already related to you the events that took place on Taris . . ." She would have continued, but an unperturbed Vrook cut her off.
"Perhaps it was simple luck."
"We both know there is no luck," Zhar told Vrook. "There is only the Force. We all feel the power in Bastila's companion, though it is wild and untamed. Now that this power has begun to manifest itself, can we safely ignore it?"
Vrook was unconvinced. "The Jedi training is long and difficult, even when working with a young and open mind. Teaching a child is hard. How much harder will it be for an adult to learn the ways of the Jedi?"
"I agree," Aithne broke in, "and Bastila's said this. But, more to the point: I don't want to learn. I think you're all missing that little detail. I have a say in this. I'll look after my power in the Force on my own, thanks. If the Council would like to make use of my services as a freelancer, however . . ."
"You believe you are capable of navigating the path alone? Hah!" Vrook burst out. "Such pride! Such arrogance! This one is already on the path to the Dark Side," he told the others, gesturing at Aithne.
The little green man spoke up for the first time. "As are many who are not given proper training, Master Vrook," he said in a high, creaky voice. "Only through our guidance can we hope to lead those who have strayed back to the path of the light."
Aithne frowned at that. He was talking like she'd already been on some kind of path. She resented the implication that she was theirs to guide, and also that she in any way needed their help. She started to say so again, but the historian was speaking now. "Traditionally the Jedi do not accept adults for training," he said. "There are rare exceptions in the history of our Order, however, and you are a special case."
It was the second time they had said that, Aithne thought. What made her special? Why were the Jedi Council even considering this?
"I agree with Master Dorak," said the diminutive Master Vandar. "Many of our own pupils are leaving the Jedi Order to follow the Sith teachings. We need recruits to stand against Malak! With Revan dead—"
Vrook cut him off with a heated gesture. "Are you certain Revan is truly dead?" he demanded. "What if we undertake to train this one, and the Dark Lord should return?"
Aithne started, focusing abruptly on Bastila. "What does he mean?" she asked. "Revan's dead. You were there when Revan died; I saw it back on Taris!"
Master Vandar's mouth tightened. He shot what could have been described as an annoyed look at Master Vrook, if members of the mighty Jedi Council were allowed to feel such trivial emotions as annoyance. "We should discuss this matter more fully in private," he said to Master Vrook, completely ignoring Aithne's questions. "Bastila, you and your companion must go. This is a matter for the Council alone."
Bastila bowed. "As you wish, Master Vandar. We shall return to Ebon Hawk and leave you to your deliberations." Her voice was loud, and final. Aithne glared at her, trying to knock with her mind, but Bastila's walls were up and as thick as Aithne'd ever felt them. Bastila beckoned to Aithne furiously, and fuming, Aithne followed her.
Major Carth Onasi had a streak of rebellion in him. Apparently, he'd tired of waiting at the door like a good boy and gone off to explore or do something otherwise more useful with his time. Aithne approved, but his disappearance didn't put her in a better frame of mind when Padawan Bastila Shan began hissing at her as they walked back through the corridors toward the ship. "Aithne Moran, what were you thinking, speaking to the Council in that manner?" Bastila demanded.
Aithne stopped up short. They were in the courtyard now, in front of Ebon Hawk. "Honestly?" she asked. "Asking my questions in plain speech, speaking my desires in the same? If you can tell me in what way I was actively disrespectful, I'll apologize. The fact is, they are your masters, not mine, and if anyone was disrespectful back there, it was the Jedi. They didn't listen. You're not listening either, Bastila! I will work with the Jedi. I would love to work with the Jedi. Doing so could give me certain opportunities I won't have in the Republic army proper. I will not become a Jedi."
"It could be the only way to harness your—"
Aithne was finished. She must've glared hard enough that Bastila saw it, because the girl stopped talking. "Crap," Aithne told her. "I did just fine on Taris without any Jedi training. Carth and I did better than you did on Taris without any Jedi training, though I acknowledge and thank you for any help you gave us with your Battle Meditation in escaping Endar Spire and in the attack upon the Sith base. Let's be honest, Bas, the reason you and your people want me in the Order is to control me, because, for some reason you aren't telling me, that's important.
"Now, I haven't worked out just what that reason is," Aithne admitted. "I can't see what military or strategic advantage the Jedi hope to gain from spending time and resources just to put me on their rosters and under their command. But I can tell you, whatever it is, I'm not having it. I've told you the terms on which I'll work with you. You can go tell your Council: it's freelance, as I am, with Mission and Zaalbar, or nothing. And honestly, even under those circumstances, you'd do well to consider telling me what you're not; why I'm so special; and why even though most of them want me, at least one of those Jedi Masters thinks training me could be a calamity on par with the return of Darth Revan, Lord of the Sith. Just for sake of transparency and trust between colleagues."
Aithne turned on her heel and strode away. Bastila caught her wrist, stopping her. Aithne almost threw her, but when she turned back to the younger woman, the Jedi looked like she was about ready to cry. "Aithne," she said, in a strangled voice. "None of this was my idea, believe me. If it were up to me, I . . ." she took a deep breath, seemed to dismiss what she had been about to say, and started again. "As you say, I am beholden to the Jedi Council. I am honor-bound to keep what confidences they command me to keep."
She took another deep breath. "It is true as well, you did do well on Taris, though I believe you owe more to my Battle Meditation and your own connection to the Force than you may think. But please consider how much more you might do with the talents and discipline we could teach you. You have the strength within you, perhaps, not merely to wield a lightsaber but to become a true asset in the war against Malak, someone more valuable than entire platoons of rank-and-file Republic soldiers. You could be one of those with the ability to ensure no child ever has to see another Taris or Telos. Consider that that is what we see when we look at you, and consider what we see when we imagine that power turned to the Dark Side through neglect or lack of knowledge!
"Furthermore," Bastila finished, her voice growing stronger and more passionate, "I believe our fates in this war are bound together, that you proved that when you saved me from the Vulkars. You can feel the connection between us, Aithne! I refuse to believe that it is . . . purposeless. There is something we two are meant to do for this war, and I will see it done because I cannot see another Taris or Telos. If you cannot understand any of the rest of it, you must see that much!"
Aithne jerked her wrist free of the Jedi. She rubbed it, staring down at the girl. Bastila sounded . . . desperate. As if she, the Battle Meditation-wielding darling of the Republic war effort, truly believed she needed Aithne if she was going to succeed here. And she did, too. Aithne could feel it, because there was some weird mystical Force connection, except it dated back to before the swoop race, because Aithne had been dreaming about Bastila before then. If she were really honest with herself, that, as much as anything else, was what had her uncomfortable with joining the Jedi Order. She didn't understand what it was with her and Bastila. That was a responsibility she didn't want and hadn't chosen, and from that little if it were up to me, even though she'd been a lot better about shielding her emotions since the balcony back on Taris, Bastila still didn't even like her all the time!
The fact that Bastila might not like Aithne, though, really only strengthened her case. She was asking Aithne to join the Jedi Order, to partner with her in some nonspecific great endeavor to defeat the Sith and end the war, even though she wasn't sure about Aithne herself. And despite her pride—one of Bastila Shan's most notable features—by doing so, by admitting to all the value the Jedi might see in Aithne as well as the potential threat she posed, she was also admitting her own insufficiency.
"You don't lack for guts, do you, Shan?" Aithne commented. She frowned. The odd combination of anger, weariness, admiration, and sympathy she felt for the Jedi right now was familiar. It was . . . it was the way that Bastila had imagined Revan felt for her in those last moments. She turned away, disturbed. "I—I'll think about it. That's all I can promise. And Mission and Zaalbar are nonnegotiable."
"I understand," Bastila said. "I will return to the Enclave, and I will reiterate your preferences as well. Until later, Aithne Moran." She bowed, and walked away.
CARTH
"I . . . I understand, Admiral," Carth said, feeling his stomach sink as Saul and the war slipped away over the horizon, at least for the foreseeable future.
"We're counting on you, Major," Forn Dadonna told him from her position over Ebon Hawk's holocommunications panel in the center of the main hold. "I'll be expecting regular reports on your position and upon Padawan Shan's engagements. Make sure you keep us informed."
"Will do, ma'am. Signing off."
He cut the connection and slouched into the nearest chair. He ran a hand through his hair. Republic liaison to the Jedi Council. It wasn't exactly the assignment he'd been hoping for when he reported back after Endar Spire. He'd had enough of babysitting Padawan Shan, and besides, he had a feeling she'd be staying away from the front for a while. He got that the Republic wanted to keep an eye on her and her Battle Meditation, but making him the liaison seemed a waste of his skills and experience. And tucked away in some little Jedi base on an agrarian planet just wasn't where he needed to be.
Probably came down to resources. It was more time- and cost-effective to order Carth to stay where he was at instead of allocating another soldier to come out here and charging a ship to take them. The Republic was already stretched too thin, in terms of men and ships. They needed everyone in the field exactly where they were. They needed Carth, too, but they also needed someone to track Bastila, and here he was, conveniently in place where there wasn't a damn thing else he could do to be useful.
Here, he was about as much good as an academy hall monitor, and he'd already seen that was about the role he'd be given around the enclave. It had stung, that little headshake of Bastila's, saying that despite everything he'd done on Taris, when it came to whatever game she and the Jedi were playing with Aithne, he was just going to have to settle for the bench. He'd left that little hall and all the staring Jedi Knights within the first two minutes to radio the Republic.
He heard steps on the boarding ramp outside—one person, alone. Wasn't heavy enough for Canderous, though the Mandalorian was out somewhere talking with someone about supplies, and Mission and Zaalbar were still onboard, back in the portside dormitory. Carth stood and walked to face the rampward hallway.
It was Aithne, back from the Jedi Council. She looked tired, and about as upset as he was. "There's a face," he said. "Want to tell me what happened?"
"Huh. Could say the same thing to you," Aithne answered, glancing at him. "You look like someone just put you in the corner or reminded you to eat all your synth dinner."
"Hah. 'Bout what happened, really. I radioed in to Admiral Dadonna. I'm grounded until such time as Bastila leaves the planet. I'm to negotiate with the Jedi to be made her permanent attaché. 'Official liaison to the Council,' the admiral called it. But what it boils down to is I don't fight and I don't fly unless Padawan Shan does."
Aithne whistled. "Tough break for a man like you. I get it. If it helps, I get the sense I'll be hanging out with Bastila for the foreseeable future too, and I'll be grateful for the company."
She obviously meant it, but for some reason, he wasn't as gratified to hear it as he would've been a week and a half ago when he'd thought she just wanted to get rid of him, or just this morning when he'd known they'd . . . they'd turned some kind of corner, but thought they were about to go their separate ways. He'd been reluctant to say goodbye, and he'd meant it when he'd said he hoped they could stay in touch and maybe see each other again. But working with Aithne Moran in close quarters for the next several weeks or months? That was different. Carth could see that getting complicated, and he didn't have the time or space for complicated with where his life was headed.
So Carth passed over the implied compliment, moving to the meat of what Aithne'd said. "So, the Council want you to stay with Bastila?"
"I'm not sure if they do or not, but Bastila wants me to stay with Bastila," Aithne answered. "Says our fates are bound together or some Jedi crap like that. Wish I could write it off completely, but I can't say I can." She pressed her hand up to her head and shook her head sideways, like she was trying to get water out of her ears, then grimaced. "Most of the Council want to train me as a Jedi. They're low on recruits, and apparently I've got the juice to make it potentially worth it even if I am old. They kept calling me a 'special case.' But I get the sense it works both ways, that training me could be as bad of an idea for them as it could be a good one. One of the masters, Master Vrook, kept talking like I was sure to go all Sith on them, and then . . ." Aithne hesitated, "Then he said something very strange about Revan maybe not being dead."
Carth was as mystified as she was. "But killing Revan is what Bastila's famous for, aside from her Battle Meditation," he said.
"I think it may be metaphoric?" Aithne said, more like a question than a statement. "Like Master Vrook at least sees the same power or arrogance or whatever in me that existed in Darth Revan. And I don't think he's the only one. Some of the memories Bastila's spilled over into my head . . . I think that's the way she sees me too. For both good and bad values of 'Revan.' Vanguard of the Republic Armada material, hero of the Mandalorian Wars material. Also Dark Side extraordinaire material; resurrector of the Sith material; corrupter of tens of thousands, boot-on-the-Republic's-throat material. Last best hope and possible coming doom all at once. I probably sound absolutely insanity-level conceited to say all that, and it's crazy, I know it's crazy, but . . ." Aithne trailed off and shook her head. "It's just crazy," she finished. "Sorry, I'm ranting."
"No, it helps," Carth told her, fascinated. He looked Aithne up and down. "I mean, you're good, and I understand you might be gifted, but Revan? You think?"
"I don't," Aithne said. "I think it's crazy. I just think they think so. Or I think I think they do." She sat down in one of the chairs, and Carth sat opposite her. Aithne laced her fingers together and looked down at them. "I think they're really desperate," she said, voice quiet. "And without wanting to take unfair advantage, or pretend to be something I'm not, if they want me to try to be their hero, it could give me the kind of leverage that I need."
"For Mission and Zaalbar, you mean."
Aithne nodded, eyes distant. "Anyway, after Master Vrook asked if Darth Revan was really dead, the whole lot of them got upset. They kicked me and Bastila out. That was about it."
"But if they make you a formal offer, you're thinking you might take it." Carth tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice. If Aithne did, the way she was making things sound, he might be stuck on Dantooine for years.
Her eyes focused on him, and her mouth turned down. "I don't know," she said. "I'm going to think about it."
BASTILA
Bastila had hoped the Council would allow her to stay in a cell up at the enclave. It would calm Aithne's paranoia, and perhaps putting some physical distance between them would allow Bastila to strengthen the wall she had built within her mind to keep Aithne from resonating empathically across their Force bond, and even catching some of the telepathic bleedover from Bastila's memories and thought processes. The bond had already proven an advantage when it came to convincing Aithne that their destinies were linked, and it had also allowed Bastila some insight into Aithne's own mind, but the access Aithne had had into Bastila's mind on occasion was far too dangerous.
But, as expected, when she had delivered her secondary report upon Aithne's response to her audience with the Council and repeated wishes regarding the terms of their business relationship, the Council had ordered her to return to Ebon Hawk, to remain close to Aithne. You'd think if they thought Bastila's bond with the woman so important, they might rely on the insights it provided her regarding Aithne's precarious state of mind, but no—the Council didn't see how too much closeness could give the entire game away. Aithne already had her suspicions, aroused in part through the influence of Carth Onasi. Bastila had at first been grateful for such an experienced pilot and soldier of the Republic to accompany them on Taris, but she was beginning to see ways in which his unexpected rapport with Aithne Moran could prove problematic. There was a certain irony in it, but of course she could not tell either of them of it.
Bastila passed the Mandalorian on her way into Ebon Hawk. Somewhat to her surprise, he didn't ask her purpose aboard or try to hinder her boarding, simply nodded and sneered and went on with his negotiations with the Aratech suppliers outside.
Mission and Zaalbar were in the main hold, playing pazaak. The girl's face was drawn but calm, for now at least. There was another problem, Bastila thought, though to Mission's credit, she believed the girl was more conscious of the challenges she posed than Carth was. It was not that she begrudged the girl a place of safety and stability after all she had been through. She did not even altogether disapprove of the way Aithne had taken up responsibility for the girl's wellbeing or for her own part in upholding the Wookiee's lifedebt. It showed a promising streak of honor and conscientiousness that none of them had entirely expected in Aithne Moran. Bastila, for one, had been encouraged to find it. However, Aithne was also demonstrating her stubbornness in her insistence on retaining the Twi'lek teenager, along with the Wookiee who had sworn a lifedebt to her. It was unclear whether she was also demonstrating a propensity to attachment that could be unhealthy. After all, providing for both the girl and the Wookiee was not at all practical for Aithne and presented significant hurdles for her to overcome. It wouldn't have been unreasonable for Aithne to conclude that Mission at the least might be better off in an alternative situation. If Aithne's insistence on keeping the girl was born of a sense of responsibility for her fate, it would be one thing. If it had its roots in affection, in fear for Mission's future, or an unreasonable pride that no one else could provide so well for the girl . . . Well. That would be another.
Bastila made her way to the empty portside dormitory. Crossing her legs upon the deck, she placed her hands upon her knees and closed her eyes. The metal deck of Ebon Hawk was hard and cold, but Bastila had trained to numb herself to such sensory details. She slowed her breathing, closed her eyes, and reached out with the Force. She was just beginning to search out her surroundings with her feelings when a veritable nimbus of Force energy came into the space.
Bastila resisted the impulse to hiss in on her next breath. The raw power, as ever, was nearly overwhelming, especially when encountered this way, but the confusion, anxiety, and apprehension emanating from Aithne Moran at the moment was staggering on its own account. Bastila opened her eyes.
"Bastila. I didn't expect to see you here again so soon," Aithne said.
"The enclave is rather inundated with in-residence Jedi and visitors from across the planet at the moment," Bastila lied. "They have hoped you might be good enough to continue quartering me on Ebon Hawk until our business is concluded."
"That'll be up to Canderous, I guess," Aithne said, "but I think I heard him say he wanted to stay here a few days at least, to hunt for a few trophy beasts to sell elsewhere and maybe a new pilot from among the locals or Aratech workers. I don't think he minds the rest of us squatting in his ship, at least for now. Were you—you were meditating. Should I head someplace else, seeing as we have actual rooms where we can be alone now?"
Bastila sensed an opportunity. "That's not necessary," she replied. "Actually, would you care to join me?"
Aithne gave her a nervous smile. "Meditation won't turn me into a Jedi, will it?" The words were wry and joking, but Bastila could sense some real nervousness behind the request. She also sensed a sudden, near-desperate craving for spiritual rest, and all at once, her invitation wasn't merely about opening Aithne's mind and habits to the idea of feeling and wielding the Force. Bastila felt compassion for Aithne. It stood to reason that the other woman could use some peace.
"No," Bastila answered, "but it may help you to clear your mind. I sense much confusion and anger within you."
Aithne sat down beside her, crossing her legs. She closed her eyes, but after a moment when her spirit did little more than flounder, she opened them again. "So . . . what do I do?" she asked.
"Here," Bastila told her. "Close your eyes again. I'm going to reach out to you through the Force. You may feel my presence in your mind once again, and in a more deliberate way than on Taris. Don't be afraid: I will not examine any thought or emotion you do not wish me to see, but I may be able to help you sort through some of the fear and confusion you are feeling. Now. Try and clear your mind of all thoughts."
Entering Aithne's mind was as simple as opening an unlocked door, indeed, it was a great deal simpler to commune with Aithne in this way than it had ever been to commune thus with any other Jedi. Bastila felt and acknowledged her own worry over this and put it aside to deal with later. Right now, Aithne was the important one.
Bastila could not read the thoughts of other Jedi as such; such articulate, verbal telepathy had never been one of her gifts, though she had heard of Jedi who did possess the skill. Rather, she felt Aithne's thoughts as a rise and fall of impulses within the Living Force, sequences of images and impressions generally too quick for her to follow to their sources or significations, as tides of emotion that she could speculate upon but just as easily misattribute completely.
Still, she sensed enough to understand the energy and restlessness of the other woman's mind, the vitality and voracity of it. Aithne was attempting to follow her instructions, to let her thoughts spiral upward and away, but even as Bastila felt the effort, she also sensed one wayward tendril of thought extending back toward the main hold. Aithne's anxiety surged, mingled with worry, affection, protectiveness, and a helpless sense of unpreparedness and inadequacy. Insufficiency, and a burning desire to be sufficient, not from pride or possessiveness but from a strong sense of compassion.
"You are thinking of Mission," Bastila said. "Right now, in this moment, you must let her go. What must be done for her will become apparent in its time, but your fear for her can only paralyze you in the here and now. Do you understand?"
Aithne's thoughts swirled and crystallized, refocusing now on Bastila herself. A surge of defensiveness, and then a rapid sequence of what could be cogitation, planning . . .
"I say no more than could be apparent to anyone who's paid attention to you the past several days. Do you deny it?" Bastila asked. When Aithne's defensiveness settled and she said nothing, Bastila nodded. "Very well, then. Let us continue."
Aithne's thoughts began to drift upward once again, but they did not cease. After a time, new images began to flash over the connection. These Bastila recognized: a city in flames, Sith cruisers raining blaster fire down upon the skyline of Taris. Deep sorrow surged in Aithne, and also an ugly, vengeful hate. But Bastila had been expecting these; she dealt with them many times daily herself.
"Do not dwell on Taris either," Bastila instructed. "Malak is irrelevant here. He cannot hurt you, and you are powerless to hurt him, and so in this moment, your hatred for him is doing more damage to you than it is to him. Push it aside."
Bastila felt a twinge of guilt, saying that Aithne's hatred for Malak was doing more damage to Aithne than to him in this moment. The Jedi teachings would have her say hatred did more damage to the hater than the hated in every moment, that it was a futile and self-destructive emotion that led only to the Dark Side. Perhaps this was true, but right now, Bastila was finding a difficult time dismissing hatred for the perpetrator of the destruction of Taris in all circumstances. If the Jedi Masters wanted to correct Aithne at a later date, they could do so.
So as Bastila sensed Aithne distracted, wrestling with her feelings for Malak, trying to dismiss or deal with the hatred she felt for the Sith, she attempted to push a thought through into Aithne's mind, an awareness of how it felt to do this, of the power there was in an openness to the Force, and some sense of Bastila's own memories of past meditation.
Aithne's thoughts focused on her once again as she did so. Bastila received an impression of both annoyance and amusement, then a single word, as clear as if the woman had spoken it out loud: Clumsy.
For an instant, Bastila was so startled she backed away from the connection. She barely remembered to erect her shields before she gave way to fury with herself. She must never forget what power this woman had. Push too hard, or too quickly, and Aithne would learn more from Bastila's own efforts than any of them were prepared to have her know, and Aithne would not hesitate to make use of what she learned. Teaching Aithne Moran was best left to the masters; assisting her was all that Bastila was equipped to do. Oh, arrogance had always been Bastila's largest failing as a Jedi. She would have to be careful not to let it break her with this one, for she knew the most obvious failure in her mission with Aithne was not the only one that she could make.
Indeed, she felt Aithne's presence on the other side of her mental shields this very moment, gentle queries and a far less gentle, sharp, and avid curiosity. Bastila quieted her emotions, emptied her mind, and let her shields come down partially.
"You surprised me just then," she explained, careful to speak only the truth. "I did not expect you to sense my taking a more active hand in assisting you. I apologize, Aithne, I was curious to see if I could use our bond in another way to promote your understanding of this exercise."
She felt Aithne's understanding of this; the other woman would understand overreaching in an excess of intellectual curiosity. And it seemed that Aithne had indeed learned something from the thoughts Bastila had sent to her along their connection; Bastila now felt her consciously attempting to send her awareness out through the Force.
And now they ran into a new difficulty, for as Aithne's consciousness expanded through Ebon Hawk, it encountered that of Carth Onasi. The pilot did have the only presence aboard Ebon Hawk a rudimentary Force user would note when first practicing this exercise; the spirits of Mission, Zaalbar, and Canderous Ordo were fainter within the Living Force, more difficult to detect. But Carth's mere presence in the Force was not what Aithne responded to now. She not only appear to recognize him, she reacted, and all at once, Aithne erected her own shields, and Bastila was barred from pursuing whatever line of thought or train of emotion she followed. A Jedi Knight could not have blocked out Bastila better.
"Good," Bastila observed, letting a trace of her disapproval show in her voice. "That is precisely what you must do if you wish to keep me away from something you do not wish me to see. However, be aware that what you choose to conceal can be as revealing as if you had shared it. If I hadn't known there was an uncomfortable ambiguity in your feelings for Carth Onasi before, I could hardly fail to notice it now, now could I?"
She felt a flash of real anger from Aithne, but Aithne did not break the connection. She did speak aloud: "If I say it's off limits, Bas, it stays off limits. I'm not done deciding what I think and feel there yet. You don't get to tell me."
"Fair enough," Bastila agreed. "But if it's a distraction, or is contributing to your anxiety, best let go your conflicting feelings for Carth Onasi, as well as your anger at me for mentioning them. Release all distractions, fears, or anxieties. Release all resentment. Clear your mind."
Aithne's shields remained for nearly a minute, but then, they lowered, and Bastila felt the other woman's mind open up like long-withered flower being stroked by the first rays of sunlight after a frost. Once again, Aithne's consciousness expanded, moving past Carth in the cockpit now and out onto the grasses of the Dantooine plain. Bastila's mind went with her, and together, they meditated. They felt the brush of a brith's wing as it stroked through the atmosphere. They felt the joy of the kath hound as it ran, unhindered and unchallenged, free as any creature alive.
Then, like an athlete in a foot or swimming race after warm-up, Aithne's consciousness returned to the Jedi enclave, and this time, Bastila felt her touch the minds and emotions of far more than the ones she was most familiar with—Bastila and Carth aboard Ebon Hawk. She sensed Jedi consciousnesses, moving through the enclave, felt at least some notion of the fears and loves they tried so hard to set aside in line with the Codes of the Jedi Order. Bastila shrank back from her connection to Aithne then, embarrassed, not to mention ashamed, at the hypocrisy of her fellow Jedi.
To her surprise, Aithne followed her. They opened their eyes and looked at one another, breaking the meditation. "Did I intrude on the others?" Aithne asked, concerned.
Bastila hesitated. "No; the thoughts and emotions you perceived were only on the surface. Observing them in this way is akin to observing the interplay of emotions on a person's face or beneath their words in public—no more than any might discover, if they have the sense for it and the wit to interpret what they find. But . . . Jedi are not meant to hold on to their emotions at all. I wonder what you must think of us."
Aithne seemed to think this facet of things unimportant, a small mercy. "The way I see it, the emotions a person experiences aren't necessarily emotions they hold on to, right?" she reasoned. "Even a Jedi can't banish all feelings from their mind, can they? You aren't droids. So, you might feel joy in lightsaber combat like those brith and kath hounds feel joy in flying or running. You might feel angry or afraid when you're threatened—or hatred toward someone who's committed an atrocity. The feelings are just part of life, part of the Force. It's what you choose to do with them afterward that makes a person Light Side or Dark Side, right?"
The idea, though awkwardly phrased, wasn't too far off from teachings Bastila had heard from her own masters as a youngling or read in the Jedi Archives. "Yes," she admitted, "that is the general idea, though I would not have expected one so new to the art of meditation or the ways of the Jedi to grasp it."
Aithne shrugged. "I'm a fast learner. Now, are you too overwhelmed by my perspicacity to continue, or would you like to try again?"
The levity and arrogance of the statement was frustrating, but the intent behind it an effectual jibe. Bastila stared at the woman across from her, the faint smile of challenge upon her lips, and felt Aithne's eagerness to sense the wider galaxy again in this way, and to do so with Bastila herself.
She found herself agreeing, to her surprise. "Very well." She was perhaps not so surprised when, this time, once Aithne had quieted her mind and stretched out with her feelings, she reached out across their bond. Part of Bastila quailed to feel the entirety of that vast, wild mind trained upon her, upon their connection and its significance. She was forced to forget the feeling almost immediately, lest Aithne trace it to its source. She was forced to empty her mind as she had never done before, leaving it quiescent, empty. Instead, she focused on the feeling of the deck beneath her buttocks, the cold hardness of the flooring, the freshness of air drawn in from the planet of Dantooine, rather than recycled by the ship's life support systems. She recited the Jedi Code inside her mind and began one of the youngling meditations upon its meaning, recalling to her memory not merely the words but the very look of the datapad screen upon which she had first viewed them.
Only when she felt Aithne's attention move on from her to applying some of those meditative principles in her own practice did she dare to let her mind reconnect with Aithne's in any active capacity. "Yes," she said, bringing her shields up once again. "You have the sense of it now. I'm going to withdraw, and we shall practice individually, though side by side."
She did not withdraw, however, or not completely. Rather, passively, she tried to wrap her consciousness around Aithne's, as Aithne had wrapped the Jedi of the enclave within hers, touching Aithne's surface thoughts and emotions, reading her Force signature.
She wanted to know what this woman was, was really, behind the stories, behind the mission. And within the hurricane of the Force swirling around Aithne Moran, what Bastila did see troubled her, more because in and of itself, none of it was what even the most stringent Jedi Masters could call evil. Oh, the capacity was there, certainly, but side by side with that capacity and at times inextricable from it was just as much capacity for great good. And that was the danger of the woman, Bastila thought: the paradox she represented, lifted beyond and away from the similar paradoxes presented by every other living thing in the galaxy by the profundity of her giftings. To ignore the threat she represented in an admiration of her virtues was to become vulnerable; to forget those virtues for fear of the threat was to make a perhaps unnecessary enemy, almost to write a self-fulfilling prophecy. But the edge between light and dark was sharp and subtle, and it was all too easy to cut one's feet walking the line.
So do not, Bastila thought to herself, and embraced one of the simpler meanings of meditation. She left Aithne alone to be what she was and what she would, and elected to do the same, returning simply to the pattern of her breathing, the wave of the prairie grasses in the wind, the beat of the brith wings. Where the edge of light and dark did not exist, just the wholeness of the Force. And as she did, along their bond, she felt Aithne Moran's mind finally settle into peace.