The Edge of Light and Dark

by LMSharp

Aithne Morrigan awoke in her underwear when the Sith began firing on the Endar Spire. KotOR1, Gray Female Revan, AU halfway through. Updated through Ch. 20.

17. Attachment Avoidance and Jedi Philosophy

Aithne slept like the dead all night, and when she rose the next morning, she felt slow and stupid in the way people only do who have had an excellent sleep after overexerting physically and emotionally the day before. She took her time at breakfast, eating alone and downing two cups of caffa as she considered her approach to the others. She still believed all of them would choose to accompany her and the other Jedi on the quest for the Star Maps, but she didn't want to seem as though she took their acceptance for granted.

Canderous would be going where Mandalorians most loved to be—into the heart of a war—but he would be going with his enemies and for his enemies' sake, which would create some inevitable tension in him. It wouldn't even come close to causing him to reject their request for his company and the use of Ebon Hawk, but it could prove problematic. Their usage of Ebon Hawk could also be problematic; the fact the ship was Canderous's could give him more power than anyone aboard would necessarily want him to have. He'd been unexpectedly gracious so far, which was to say that he hadn't made any objections or complaints about their living on his ship and the ship staying parked the last six weeks in a location which would have made it very difficult for him to find and hire another crew to get her flying again, and not to say that he'd been particularly welcoming or even friendly to anyone aboard. He seemed to have a certain level of respect for Aithne, though he still called her a name in Mando'a that meant "traitor" in the common use as much as it did "foreigner" or "outsider" in its literal definition. He also seemed to have some regard for Zaalbar, and oddly enough, for Mission, though he clearly viewed them more as temporary business associates than as friends. She thought he actually liked having Carth and Bastila around, but what that meant for Canderous was that he enjoyed picking fights with the pair of them: he held them both in obvious contempt, and both Carth and Bastila disliked him. Juhani could be more of the same and worse—the Mandalorians had been particularly brutal to the Cathar people, and the Jedi Knight's hot temper would probably present as an irresistible amusement to Ordo. Aithne didn't want Canderous using his ownership of Ebon Hawk to antagonize or gain an advantage over the others. She hoped he would view accompanying them as a trade and be accommodating—they needed transportation; and he needed a pilot, a good fight, and a place to go—but she couldn't be certain.

Zaalbar and Mission had already promised to go with her wherever she went, and for Mission, in addition, accompanying Aithne now would take her where she wanted to be—Tatooine was one of the four worlds they were to investigate for Star Maps, and the last word of Mission's brother was from Tatooine. Zaalbar should be gratified at the prospect of getting into some trouble; he was anxious every day for occasions to make good on his lifedebt, she knew, and felt restless and useless when she didn't need him. But Big Z would also be more aware than Mission of the danger Mission would be in on this assignment, and it might distract and worry him. Lifedebt or not, he was more protective of his best friend than he ever could be of Aithne. The weeks on Dantooine and the access to speeders, fresh air, and books from the Jedi Archives had also been really good for Mission. Aithne would have to make sure she got the same kind of care hopping around the galaxy after Star Maps.

Carth would find the assignment hardest. He'd be grateful to be moving again, Aithne knew, but he wouldn't like her being in charge any more than she did. It would set off all of his internal alarms. And while she thought he'd be happier flying Ebon Hawk than being assigned as an advisor on another cruiser, she also knew he preferred missions on the front lines to intelligence-gathering. What Carth Onasi really wanted was to go straight for Saul Karath, and their party would be aiming to avoid the attention of Karath or anyone like him at any cost. Onasi would do his duty, but he wasn't going to like it. Her instinct would be to make things easier for him, but he wouldn't like being coddled any more than she liked being rescued. She'd have to think on it.

Aithne finished her second cup of caffa and clapped her hands. She knew the noise would sound through the metallic corridors of Ebon Hawk. She called out then, "All hands, room to the right off the cockpit to talk about the What's Next of it all! Five minutes, please!"

The room off the corridor that led to the cockpit had probably been originally intended as a secondary astrogation or communications suite for use with a crew of professional spacers. There had been several inactive terminals inside that were, as far as Aithne and T3-M4 had been able to determine on the voyage from Taris, completely unnecessary for Ebon Hawk's functioning, though they might be helpful for multitasking if the pilot, copilot, and ship's captain were all busy. As such, after a conversation with Canderous, all but one of the terminals had been stripped out of the room and hawked to Aratech for extra credits. Mission sometimes trained on the final one, but all the other stools that had originally stood at the terminals had been sawn off and resoldered in a rectangle around a table Aithne had asked Mission and Zaalbar with finding one day. The table had been similarly soldered to the deck, and now, with the introduction of a few empty cargo containers from the hold around the table to serve as extra seats, Ebon Hawk had a proper dining room and briefing area. As the main hold only had a functional seating for two or three of them, this had come in handy for communal mealtimes. It had also, as Aithne had pointed out to Canderous, served as a decent upgrade for the ship if he ever got together a crew of bounty hunters or a crack merc team who needed to be given orders all at once but weren't much for the tech.

Mission—and surprisingly Bastila—had also found some hangings for the walls, so that the briefing room was currently the coziest room on the ship, though with a trophy horn from an albino kath hound now affixed to the wall in the portside dormitory and a plush iriaz and an orange silk pillowcase having recently appeared on Mission's bed in the starboard dorm, Aithne thought if they all stayed, it would only be a matter of time before Ebon Hawk made a full transition to a civ-class ship.

Aithne put their fruit bowl in the table's center, as well as the caff pot, some mugs, a wheel of cheese, and the cheese knife. She wanted to make the space as welcoming as possible. Then she sat—deliberately not at the head of the table, which might irk everyone but Mission and Zaalbar, but on one of the uncomfortable spare cargo crates set at the center of the long side of the table, where the seats all faced the open door.

Mission was the first to enter the room, still in the tank and leggings she'd picked up to wear to sleep, and without her usual headdress. She yawned, waved to Aithne, cut a slice of cheese for herself, and sat down with it a couple of seats down the table at the short end to Aithne's left. Zaalbar came in a little later, growled at the caff pot, and went out to go get water from their stores instead before returning and sitting next to Mission, diagonally to Aithne and near the door.

Bastila and Canderous arrived after that, both fully groomed and dressed. Canderous poured himself a mug of caffa and sat on the end of the table to Aithne's right, directly across from Mission, at the traditional head of the table. Bastila smiled at the fruit bowl and took a griza. She shined it on a corner of her tunic, smelled it, then sat down on Aithne's side of the table, in between Aithne and Mission. Teethree came in after that, rolling in and taking up position a little ways away from the table near the sole remaining terminal. As Juhani had not yet reported for duty and was due to join Aithne and Bastila later in the day, Carth made up the tail end of the party. Like Canderous, he stuck to caffa. He sat down to Aithne's immediate right.

"Well, we're here. What's going on?" Canderous grunted.

"I've got an assignment," Aithne answered, without beating around the bush, "and like I said earlier, we need to talk about the What's Next of it all."

"We're leaving Dantooine?" Mission asked.

"That," Aithne answered, "will depend on each of you. Our assignment—Bastila's and mine, as well as another Jedi, Juhani's, has a lot of unknowns right now, but one thing we do know is that it'll probably be dangerous. So. Here's the deal—yesterday morning, Bastila, Carth, and I went to some ancient ruins here on Dantooine. Bastila and I had shared a vision through the Force suggesting that Revan and Malak had once chosen to permanently depart the Jedi Order there for the secret of something called a Star Forge. The Jedi Council wanted us to investigate.

"We discovered an ancient Star Map there, along with intelligence that Revan and Malak indeed visited the ruin several years ago, looking for knowledge on the whereabouts and operation of the Star Forge. We do not know what the Star Forge is yet, but the evidence we do have suggests that it is an immensely powerful tool, weapon, or factory, and that Malak may even now be using it to help fuel the war against the Republic.

"The Jedi want the Star Forge found and ultimately destroyed, and making sure this happens is probably also in the best interests of the Republic. Unfortunately, the Star Map in the ruins here only had incomplete coordinates, though it did provide direction to four other planets—Kashyyyk, Korriban, Tatooine, and Manaan. The Council thinks if Bastila and I fly to these planets, we could find more Star Maps and more coordinates that could lead to the Star Forge. They think it could be a decisive blow in the war against Malak."

Aithne took a deep breath, then continued. "They have also, for reasons which boil down to 'Battle Meditation is better in the copilot's seat, but you are also having visions of Star Maps,' elected to put me in command of this initiative, with Bastila as my partner and Juhani as advisory-support." Carth did focus in hard at that, as Aithne had known he would. From beside her, she felt his regard increase, the way his mind immediately went into overdrive. In her periphery, she saw him look away and frown into his caffa mug.

"Aithne Moran, in command!" Mission cheered. "You're gonna do great. It'll be just like it was back on Taris, you know? And hey, if we're going to Tatooine, maybe I can find Griff!"

"We gotta talk logistics before we get to sidequests, Mish," Aithne said. She looked past Carth to Canderous. "We could use a ship, Ordo," she told him. "You got us a nice one here, if you want to sign on for the duration. I got a desperate mission in need of some hands like yours, with pretty much a guarantee that the moment someone figures out Bastila's still alive or we're sniffing around for the Star Forge, a whole lot of Sith and bounty hunters are going to drop out of the sky trying to kill us. The Jedi will take on the cost of fuel and supplies for anywhere we need to go. The only downsides are you have to share your ship with a bunch of losers and barbarians and help them save the Republic. You in?"

Canderous laughed—a dangerous, anticipatory sound. "Am I in? Free food and worthy enemies to fight, with the bonus of getting to rub it in the faces of all you Republics and Jedi that you had to come to a Mando to end your war with Malak right. Sounds like the best deal I've made in years, Aruetii. You've got yourself a ship. I'll even call you 'captain.' I'm in."

"Oya!" Aithne said. She then placed her hands over her breast and bowed, smiling. "Vor'e, Canderous." She turned to Onasi. "Ebon Hawk needs a pilot. I know you were assigned to Bastila, not to me. She's coming with me, but if you need to check with the Republic to make sure everything's still good, we can wait half a day for your answer before we'll need to coordinate with Aratech or the Jedi enclave to see about bringing on another Jedi or an enclave attaché to pilot or hiring a freelance transport pilot. But we do need to arrange for a departure as soon as possible; the Council made it clear our mission is urgent."

For a long moment, Carth said nothing. Aithne could sense the conflict inside him—his distrust of the Jedi's decision to place her in command after a mere six weeks of training; his distaste for any type of covert mission when he wanted to head straight for the front lines and Karath; his dislike of flying a Mandalorian-owned ship, as much as he admired Ebon Hawk herself. "You and Bastila," he said then, "Canderous. Mission and Zaalbar?"

He looked at the two across the table questioningly.

/I have given my oath to follow Aithne Moran wherever she goes,/ Zaalbar answered.

Mission translated, "Yeah, we promised!" she added. "Besides, even if we weren't going to Tatooine and I wasn't looking for Griff there, if the Jedi say this mission could take down Malak, I want to be there! For everyone on Taris—and your homeworld, Carth—and everyone the Sith could still kill or conquer, we need to take that piece of poodoo down! I don't have a ship or a lightsaber or any powers with the Force, but I've got a couple blasters. I've got the other half of the cutest, best little astromech in space—" Teethree beeped happily at this— "and more skills every day I can use to help you guys against the Sith. I'm in!"

Aithne regarded the teenager for a long, long moment. "I'm gonna give you a work-study stipend or something," she decided. "I know the Jedi say I can't pay you like Zaalbar yet because of child labor laws in Republic space, but you are worth the credits, Mish. You'd be worth them for enthusiasm alone, even if you weren't a pro-level demolitionist and stealth op already."

"Damn right," Mission boasted, preening.

"Language, please," Aithne told her, turning back to Onasi. "Carth?"

"The other Jedi coming with us," he said, "Juhani. She's the one who almost turned to the Dark Side, wounded her master, then tried to kill us out in that ruin—the one inside the grove, not the one where we found the Star Map."

"Carth, if we held a grudge against everyone who ever tried to kill us . . ." Aithne joked, but seeing Onasi wasn't having it, she sighed. "She's not Dark Side, Carth. Not really. She never was. Her master deliberately provoked her to make a point. It worked a little too well, Juhani got scared, and from her perspective, we were trying to hunt down and kill her. It could've worked out that way, by the way. Now she's a knight with something to prove, and she wants to prove it with us. As far as I'm concerned, she's another Jedi with more experience than either Bastila or I have got. We need her. I'm not saying I'm not going to be watching out for her temper, but I'm not turning her away."

Aithne paused. "Hey, you said 'the other Jedi coming with us' just now."

Canderous snorted. "Just pick up on that now, did you?"

Aithne's heart lifted, and so did the right corner of her mouth. She couldn't help it. "You're in too?" she asked Carth.

Carth tapped his first three fingers on the rim of his mug before he answered. "The Republic gave me a mission," he answered finally. "The parameters aren't what I thought they'd be, but they haven't changed enough to change the assignment. I'll go. I'll see this through, Aithne. I promise."

Mission cheered again, and Bastila looked satisfied. "Very good," she said. "That's a ship and a full crew to man her—technicians, gunners, pilot, astromech, and three Jedi. We should spend the next few hours making sure we're well stocked and fueled for the journey. Have you decided on our first destination, Aithne?"

Aithne hesitated. Although she knew her decision was likely to be unpopular with the Twi'lek, she knew where she wanted to go. Aithne had been to Tatooine before on jobs with bounty hunters and the like. It was a brutal world—a scorching desert Rim planet under the control of the Hutts. A lot of the colonists or speculators who lived there were there because they'd ruined their lives everywhere else, and the aboriginals were violent and hostile to the colonists. Aithne didn't have high hopes for finding Griff Vao there, and if they managed it at all, she wasn't sure about Mission's ability to handle what they found yet. Griff could be in pretty bad shape, and he almost certainly was precisely what Lena had said he was. Mission wasn't ready for that. She needed a few more weeks at least to heal from Taris, to bond with the rest of the crew and make a safety net before learning her brother was long gone—or that he truly had abandoned her years before.

None of them were ready for Korriban—it was a Sith world, and if they went there and got caught, the Jedi and the Republic could lose out on all the information they wouldn't have had time to gather yet.

That left Kashyyyk or Manaan. Aithne's decision there came down to a single, frivolous fact: she didn't want to have to eat seafood again for another several weeks.

"I want to head to Kashyyyk," she said. "I feel like we're least likely to make waves there, and the more information we can get without setting off alarms, the better."

She'd expected Mission to protest, but instead, the girl retreated. She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. Her lekku twitched. Aithne met the teenager's eyes and raised her eyebrows, trying to convey without words that the two of them would talk later. Mission glared and lifted her chin, but then she gave a miniscule shrug and nod. She'd let Aithne explain later. Aithne'd earned that much credit with her.

But then she saw Big Z. Carth, Canderous, and Bastila had had no visible reaction to Aithne's announcement that they'd head to Kashyyyk first—to the three of them, one planet was as good as any other. But Big Z, like his best friend, seemed unhappy. Aithne sensed something hot and troubled around him. He stared at the table as though he was looking through it. Aithne frowned. Mission had indicated once that she thought something had happened in Zaalbar's past to make him leave the Wookiee homeworld. Zaalbar himself had refused to talk about it, but Aithne suddenly had a feeling that heading to Kashyyyk might not be as drama-free as she hoped. But she'd made her decision and told the entire crew. She couldn't back down now or risk losing face in her first five minutes as captain.

So instead, she handed out the assignments for takeoff resupply and the standard maintenance checks on Ebon Hawk before their departure then dismissed the meeting. The crew dispersed to handle their various tasks. Mission and Bastila were running errands to the enclave and the Aratech general store to requisition any final personal gear the crew needed before departure. Teethree would be running systems checks for hours. Carth was astrogating the most efficient course to Kashyyyk and calculating their needs for fuel, water, and food accordingly. He would pass those calculations on to Canderous, Zaalbar, and Aithne respectively. The three of them would be dealing with waste disposal this morning—both from the fresher's septic systems and the ship's compactor—and transporting the waste to the appropriate drops and recycling centers on Dantooine. Once they had done this, they would separate—Canderous to purchase the requisite fuel, plus enough extra for emergencies; Zaalbar for a fresh water supply usable in their fresher, in the kitchen area of the main hold, and for drinking purposes; and Aithne to pick up Juhani and the supplies of dried food and synthetic protein necessary for the journey.

They would all return, and Bastila would do the accounts, while Zaalbar and Aithne together did a final supply inventory and rationing for Carth's proposed trip to Kashyyyk. Carth and Teethree together would run preflight checks on the thrusters, engines, and hyperdrive, and they'd leave for the Wookiee homeworld. At some point, Aithne would need to write up a new chore rotation for the flight to Kashyyyk, including Juhani and covering cooking, cleaning, and plumbing duties for the course of their journey, but that could be handled after they were off the ground.

Things progressed more or less smoothly the rest of that morning and into early afternoon. The Jedi didn't want to provide everything Mission and Bastila asked for—the books and computer programs Carth and Aithne wanted for Mission, Canderous's requested liquor reserves and most of his requested arms, and some of Bastila's requested datapads and holocrons from the Archives were deemed nonessentials and denied by the quartermaster. There were difficulties supplying all of the lack from Aratech general, sometimes due to a lack of supply and sometimes to their own lack of funds from the Council-provided stipend for the journey to Kashyyyk. Teethree, according to Carth, complained of a catch in the hyperdrive and only having the time and materials for a quick and dirty fix, rather than something that would solve the problem permanently. And while cleaning the septic systems, Zaalbar turned the flow knob the wrong way at one point, resulting in a mess that required a quarter hour to clean and Aithne's insistence on the Wookiee having a shower, regardless of his protestations that it ill fit his dignity. But by an hour after lunch, Aithne was on her way back to the enclave to pick up the preordered food supplies and their final crew member.

She met Juhani by the barrels for transport to Ebon Hawk. The Cathar was dressed in a teal and orange warrior's jumpsuit and carried a small pack of her own personal belongings and effects. She bowed to Aithne as Aithne came into sight.

"Padawan, I am grateful you are allowing me to join your company after what I tried to do," she said.

Aithne shrugged. "Making friends with people who try to kill me saves me a lot of time and mess. Frankly, I'm glad to have someone along who isn't just out of Jedi daycare."

"It is unfortunate that the Order is spread too thin for you and Bastila to have the opportunity to spend your Padawan years in the field under the guidance of a master, as is tradition," Juhani agreed. "But Bastila's original master was killed in the attack on Revan, and she has not been chosen by another, though she also has not passed the trials to become a Jedi Knight. My own trials were . . . unconventional, to say the least. I fear your time as Padawan will be unconventional as well. But you and Bastila miss a great deal."

"I can understand that. Will you be willing to help us out from time to time?"

Juhani shrank back, trying to hide behind the barrel she was placing on the tractor. "I—I do not know if that is the best strategy," she said. "There is much I do not know; much I now realize I have yet to battle within myself. I hope to be a help to you—to make up for what I did, and to prove that I do have what it takes to walk within the Light. But to serve as an example? To two such as you and Bastila? I believe it is beyond me."

Aithne lifted the last barrel onto the tractor, then looked over at the taller woman. She could sense Juhani's apprehension, her fear she would fall again, and it was a little bit too familiar for her to joke about. "Relax, Juhani," she said instead. "I guess we'll all just do the best we can. And don't be too overawed of me or Bastila. Our placement on this assignment has more to do with freaky Force bonds and unpredictable visions than any innate talent either one of us possesses—also, the Council hopes the Sith will see a couple of Padawans as insignificant compared to Jedi Masters with half a dozen great battles under their belts. A little stupid, since Malak destroyed a whole planet trying to kill Bastila, but hey."

Juhani seemed to tense at that. Aithne paused, but when the Cathar said nothing, Aithne gestured for her to swing up into the tractor trailer bed. Juhani did so, and Aithne climbed into the tractor's driver's seat. She put the tractor in gear and started driving it back toward Ebon Hawk. "It might be good for you to get away from the enclave a while," Aithne told Juhani eventually. "I mean, we'll be bushwhacking through jungles, out on desert safaris, and trying not to get killed on a planet full of Sith, so you could hardly call it a vacation, but a change of scenery can sometimes be just as good."

She heard Juhani laugh a furry, nervous laugh. "Yes, I agree," she said. "Forgive me if I am quiet. I am still somewhat shaken."

Aithne understood. "Gotcha," she said. "We can talk when you're ready, and if you want to wait to meet the crew until you get settled in, that's fine too. Just help me unload when we get back to the ship, and you can wander off and do whatever you feel like doing. You'll be rooming with me, Bastila, and Mission, the Twi'lek you met earlier. Starboard-side dormitory. It's easy enough to find."

"Thank you," Juhani said, and they lapsed into silence, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable.

---

CARTH

Off with the Jedi, to claim intelligence that could turn the tide in the war against Malak and his Sith. Actually flying a ship—one of the fastest of her class in the galaxy—instead of sitting on her, useless, in some secret Jedi enclave on some backwater farming planet. Back in action, doing what he loved, instead of kicked upstairs to an advisory role. Carth knew he should be thrilled. Instead, he was antsier than ever.

The Jedi were acting in ways that seemed insane. Putting Bastila in charge of a cruiser had been bad enough—Battle Meditation or not, she was the equivalent of a rookie just out of flight academy, and she acted it too. Inexperienced, temperamental, prickly as all get out—she clearly had good intentions, but sometimes it could be a time and a half just to get her to listen. Maybe the Jedi knew that. From a military personnel perspective, putting Aithne in charge had to be better than Bastila or a Jedi who had almost killed her former master a few days ago—Jedi-approved trial or not, there was no way Juhani was ready yet to assume her own command, and Carth wasn't ready to trust her with one after what he'd seen. Aithne was older than both the others. She was stable, levelheaded, charming, and a damn good fighter. Even Canderous liked Aithne, and Canderous didn't like anybody. But from a rank and training perspective, from her placement in the Jedi Order, Aithne had graduated from being an apprentice two days ago. The Jedi were sending her out with no supervision, no mentor, and worse than that, they were putting her in charge of a mission so important it could change the outcome of the war. Why?

It was probably related to the reason they'd wanted Aithne in the first place, whatever that was. They were hiding something. Bastila was in on at least some of it, and she wasn't talking. Carth was pretty sure she'd lied outright once or twice. Aithne knew it too, but for some reason, she'd shut down recently. She used to . . . she used to tell him things.

Used to. Carth almost laughed at himself. Like they'd known one another forever. Their circumstances had forced a kind of intimacy—the crash on Taris, working together to get out, going through the destruction of the planet together. Living on Ebon Hawk together all this time. Hell, they were practically coparenting Mission, and conspiring together and with Big Z and the Jedi Archivist not to let the kid know it too much. But when Carth really thought about it, he realized he hardly knew Aithne Moran. Or—

That wasn't right. He knew her. The way she fought, the way she thought and felt, the way she picked at things that bothered her and joked when she felt exposed. How she could see through anybody in a matter of hours. How she liked to pretend she didn't care, that she was this calculating droid of a woman, but behind the logic and utilitarianism, she got desperate when she saw people hurting, needed people to touch her when she got scared, and went light-years out of her way to help others and keep her promises. What he didn't know was her favorite color, a lot about her past, or any reason she should actually tell him anything.

But he worried about her. She also scared the crap out of him—a couple different ways.

He was still thinking about it hours after the departure from Dantooine. Bastila had left the copilot's seat—he didn't actually need her, but she liked to feel she was important, and so far, there hadn't been a reason to kick her out whenever she wanted to come up and press a few buttons. The ship was on autopilot, now though, tunneling through hyperspace to an exit-and-turn point around an asteroid field they were due to hit in ten hours or so. It'd be days before they hit Kashyyyk—a long, boring ride. But in the meantime, the cockpit, minus Bastila, was a nice, quiet place to think.

Until Aithne herself walked up the hallway behind him. She tapped on the rim of the open door with her knuckles. "Knock-knock."

Carth swiveled his chair to look at her. She'd changed out of the Jedi robes a couple hours into the voyage into one of the shirts she'd had down on Taris—loose, white, and long sleeved—and a pair of her old scout pants. Her hair was down, her feet were bare, and she was gorgeous enough he wanted to shoot something.

"Wanted to check on you after this morning," she said. "Got the sense you aren't exactly thrilled to be here, whatever you agreed to."

"I knew enough this morning to know the Republic would want me to volunteer my services for this, as much for you as for Bastila at this point. I mean, you're clearly becoming a valuable asset to the Jedi. When I radioed in during preparations for departure to report, Admiral Dadonna just affirmed my decision. I'm a soldier of the Republic, and I'll do my duty. I also want . . . I want to help you. I guess I just don't like being left out of the loop."

Aithne sank into the copilot's chair and swiveled around to face him, leaning forward and bracing herself on her knees. "Here we go," she murmured. "I told Bastila you wouldn't wait long." She paused, then laughed. "Still. Not even forty-eight hours from the ruins? You're a little bit pushy, Carth. Didn't your mama ever tell you the girls don't like it when you're needy?"

The joking tone just irritated Carth. "You came up here," he pointed out shortly. "Look, I know you told me to step off, that you aren't ready to talk about it, that you don't know enough yet, but I just—things aren't adding up for me, and until I get some answers, I don't know I'll be comfortable here. I'll do my duty, but I won't—I'm not going to be able to turn this off, Aithne."

Aithne looked at him for a long time over her clasped hands. "I know," she said finally, and he got the sense that she did. He relaxed a little, as she went on. "Unfortunately, I don't have all of the answers for you. I'd like to do the next best thing and promise that if I did, I'd share, but honestly, I don't know if I would. I don't know the nature of what all it is Bastila and the Jedi Council aren't telling me. All I have right now are a whole lot of questions, some observations, some guesses, and at least as much anxiety as you have."

Aithne's frankness was a little refreshing, even if she didn't have the answers. It was good to hear that he wasn't the only one being left out of the loop—though, on the other hand, it was disturbing. If Aithne wasn't in on what the Jedi wanted from her either—well, he liked the idea of Aithne as an intelligence asset much less than the idea of her as an intelligence operative. He knew she wasn't happy about this either: she'd been as upset as he'd ever seen her yesterday, though now he saw she'd diverted his attention from it, thanking him for helping out with Mission until Mission and Big Z themselves had shown up and made further private conversation impossible. But he could sense that same apprehension she'd shown out on the plains—really, almost dread—in her now, and this time, he decided he wasn't going to be put off.

He leaned forward. "Let's start with the questions then, compare our observations, and see if we can't work together to work this out."

The right corner of Aithne's mouth turned up. "And if we really hate what we find out?"

"Better to know what the he—just what the Jedi want with you," Carth answered, correcting himself at the last minute—Aithne didn't often make an issue of it and sometimes even used it herself, but she didn't like profanity. "If there's something . . . if there's something horrible hanging over us, it's probably better to be prepared."

He saw the moment she decided to trust him. She leaned back in her chair, moving her hands forward on her knees and breathing deep, and Carth took a breath of his own. She'd have been perfectly justified in holding back; he'd been reticent enough about his own life, and he was prying into matters that could turn out to be much more sensitive and dangerous.

"Alright," she said, "Point one and probably most crucial: The Jedi say my bond with Bastila was forged on Taris, in the scuffle after the swoop race. But I know that's a lie. I—" she hesitated. "I'd been dreaming about her for weeks before that. Had no idea who she was before the race, but the dreams themselves—I now realize they were of her confrontation with Darth Revan a year back. I didn't get Revan's name in the dream or any context for what I was dreaming until we did meet, just . . . flashes of Bastila's face and lightsaber on the ship. Pain and anger and betrayal. They were . . . they were nightmares."

Carth remembered Aithne thrashing around in her sleep on Taris and wondered if he'd seen her have one of these nightmares. His mind started working. "That doesn't make any sense," he said. "How could you be dreaming about Bastila before you even met her?"

"And that's the resulting question," Aithne agreed. "There are Force-wielders gifted with precognition, of course—people who have visions or impressions of the future, or just realize someone or something will be important or that there are certain vulnerabilities or hinge points around a person or moment in time. But this is different. I didn't dream of Bastila in my future. I dreamed of Bastila in Revan's past."

"Revan's past?" Carth echoed, surprised.

"That's point two," Aithne said. "Every supposed Force-filled dream or vision I've had has been about Revan. The dreams of Bastila on Revan's ship from a year ago, the vision of Revan in the Dantooine ruins. Bastila isn't always there, but Revan is. What's more, I experience the visions from Revan's point of view. That's why I didn't realize the dreams I'd been having were of Bastila's confrontation with Revan until I met Bastila. A few minutes after we met, I got what I can only describe as a full flashback to that day—Bastila's face, as usual, her in a fighting stance on the deck of a warship, ready to battle. But this time, I realized I was seeing the scene from the perspective of her opponent. Then, Bastila spoke and called me Revan. And the vision didn't end with Bastila defeating Revan—or me-as-Revan. It ended with someone else firing on the ship, and Revan or me-as-Revan in pain, feeling a sense of shock and betrayal, and Bastila looking down at the scene.

"In the vision of the ruins, same thing. The vision wasn't of Revan and Malak. It was of the ruins, and Malak, and I was Revan, doing what Revan did and thinking Revan's thoughts. If Bastila and I really had the exact same vision, we might've both been Revan that time. But still—Revan's past, not the future, and more like . . . like a memory than anything else."

Carth's mind whirred like a hyperdrive engine. "That's why you said what you said when we landed on Dantooine. You said it probably sounded really conceited, but you've been having visions where . . . where you're Darth Revan all this time." He stared at Aithne, trying to see her with a red lightsaber, a big black cloak, and a Mandalorian mask. Suddenly, all her anxiety made a lot of sense. He wondered if he'd be managing sane if he were her. "I can't imagine how that must feel for you."

"Disorienting, to say the least," Aithne said. "For one, I don't know why it's happening. The best explanation I can come up with for the dreams of what happened last year is that Bastila's somehow conflated me with Revan in her mind and put me in Revan's place in her own memories, but—"

"—But if that's true, how could she have done that before you met?" Carth finished, following. "And what's the explanation for the vision you two had of the ruins, where she wasn't even a part of what happened?" He was starting to understand why Aithne might not want to look too deep into this.

But she continued, nodding. "Point three, Vrook Lamar's reservations when taking me on for training—that if they did, the Dark Lord Revan might somehow return. Have no idea what that means, but I feel it's worth consideration. Point four, Zhar Lestin's confirmation, when I asked, that there's a certain similarity between my ability and presence in the Force—my Force signature—and Revan's, and between our personalities as well, or at least my personality and the personality Revan had as a Padawan and young Knight, before the Mandalorian Wars." Aithne shrugged. "Probably irrelevant to me as such, but possibly not to the way the masters who knew Revan see and approach me. Or Bastila, because she was trained by those masters.

"Point five, and now we move from facts and into what I've just observed—Bastila gets very evasive when I approach the origins or nature of the Force bond between us. Point six—I believe she is also lying when she claims I was recruited onto Endar Spire by the Jedi simply because my skillset matched a need for recon personnel in the crew and I happened to be the closest qualified operative. Point seven, if the Jedi feared my falling to the Dark Side, empowering me by training me to use the Force was a bad strategic move. They did it anyway."

"Point eight, you're pretty advanced for someone with only six weeks of training," Carth added. "I mean, you defeated Juhani, and she's a Jedi Knight."

He hadn't expected Aithne to react to this; she'd drawn numerous parallels between herself and the most dangerous Sith Lord in decades, the person who'd destroyed Telos and corrupted half the Republic armada. Or suggested the Jedi or the Force did, anyway. But when he brought up something else that had confused him the past couple of months, she paused, and there was a new tension in the air.

"If you're implying I might have trained as a Jedi before, or with an ex-Jedi or Sith, I haven't," she said after a moment. "A lot of what they taught me at the enclave just seemed to . . . make sense, I guess. Not that I can convince you if you don't want to believe me."

Carth tried to make her understand. "You can't blame a guy for wondering," he said. "I mean, you're pretty good with that lightsaber. I'm pretty sure you're better than Bastila and you know it, whatever you said to make her feel better when the three of us were talking about it. And the way you talk sometimes—it's . . . it's hard to believe a . . . a scout could see all that, would think like that."

Aithne's face was a study. "The way I talk . . . how? Give an example."

"Well, about the Mandalorians, or the quality and quantity of the gear the Sith and Republic give their soldiers," Carth explained, listing off things that had struck him from the moment they'd met. "About battle strategies or . . . there's a lot, actually. You say you were a scout, but sometimes it's like you think like a general or a senator. You don't talk like one, but—I don't know. I mean, you knew Malak was going to bombard Taris before the first shots fell."

"So did you," Aithne pointed out, folding her arms.

He was getting into worse and worse trouble. He'd offended her now, but somehow, he couldn't stop. He felt like he was on the cusp of something. "Yeah, because of you, and because you saw it first."

But Aithne's expression now was something in between annoyance and disgust. "Okay," she said, in a voice that had gone cold and clipped. "So, in your mind, I'm another question that needs to be answered here: 'How is it that what Aithne Moran says she is and what she can do don't match up? Is she lying about her past? Is she a Sith plant into the Order? Or just a lifelong underachiever who always saw more wrong with the galaxy than she was willing to work to fix?'"

Carth recognized some of the uglier rumors that had floated around the Jedi enclave about the origins of Aithne's abilities. "No! I mean, kind of, but it's more like an idle—that isn't how I mean it. I'm not trying to insult you. All I'm saying is that . . . you're a complicated woman, and part of me is still trying to figure you out."

The atmosphere changed completely for the second time. "I'm complicated," Aithne repeated. "And you want to figure me out." Her arms came down to rest on her thighs, and she leaned forward again, peering at him. Then she laughed, a low, throaty chuckle that did things to his stomach.

He didn't know what he'd said, but it had apparently thrown the brewing argument right off the burner, and now, suddenly, they were in a completely different conversation. There was a different tension in the air, Aithne's jaw and shoulders had relaxed, and her eyes were sparkling. Something in that look set his hair on end like he'd stepped into a room with a reactor, his throat closed up, and he swallowed.

A smile flickered at the corners of Aithne's mouth. "Carth, you ever want to just put our collective paranoia up on the shelf for a minute, put all the questions and anxiety off until tomorrow, and just do it?"

The question, pitched lower and softer than her usual voice, seemed to come out of nowhere. Carth's eyes caught on her quarter smile, the fullness of her lips, the way they curved and teased, and then there it was, sizzling between them and plain as the noses on both their faces and the heat flooding down in his gut through his thighs—everything about Aithne Moran that he'd been trying to shove into a drawer since Taris. Carth shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. "You mean . . . you and me?"

A lot of people liked blue or green eyes better, Carth thought, but right now, it was hard to imagine how blue or green eyes could carry off the heat and intelligence of Aithne's golden brown. Her lashes were black, and pretty long too, for someone who wasn't wearing any cosmetics or extensions that he could see. "No strings, no Jedi-unapproved 'attachment,' no complications," she confirmed. "Just two friends, holding each other against the dark—because I'm lonely, you're lonely, and all this is insane. Because I could use a minute to relax, and you definitely could."

Her pupils were expanding. Carth had only just managed to tear his gaze away from her lips to focus on her eyes, but now those weren't safe either. They were too big and brown, and it was too obvious, looking at her, that she meant what she was saying. None of her was safe. He could just about stay professional when she was covered in blood and sweat, with her hair frizzing out of her braids or bun, or when she was in Jedi robes—though he never forgot how gorgeous she was underneath. But now, with her hair freshly washed, it tumbled in thick, rich curls around her shoulders. She was close enough that he could just about count the sprinkling of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She smelled like soap, and she was leaning forward so he could get just a glimpse of her cleavage down the neckline of her shirt. He didn't think she meant to—the shirt itself was pretty modest. She was just that well-endowed, enough to kill a man with her curves before she ever switched on her lightsaber, and offering—oh, damn . . .

She wasn't anything like Morgana, really—Morgana had been a small, dark woman. Everything about her had been neat and precise—beautiful, but in a way she kept for her closest friends. And for him. Aithne wasn't exactly holovid actress beautiful either. Everything about her was too much, from the height to the curves to the curls to the spirit she had inside, from right out there on the surface to deeper than he thought almost anyone would be able to go. But it'd been a balancing act for weeks, trying to pretend like he didn't want her anyway, and failing more than half the time.

But she'd been pretty . . . she'd been pretty vocal about not wanting him, and that saved him. He cleared his throat and shifted again. "I . . . uh, but you said—"

Aithne interrupted him. "I know what I said. I stand by it. You're way too complicated to take on every day, or in any serious, permanent, or quasi-permanent way. But—" she shrugged and gave him a little, self-conscious smile.

Carth nodded, feeling like he was about to be the galaxy's biggest idiot. "But," he repeated, with emphasis.

It was all he had to say. She froze. For a moment, she didn't say anything, then she nodded. "That irrational but. Yours or mine?"

Carth felt a stabbing pain somewhere in his chest, and his hindbrain was screaming at him that he hadn't been with a woman in years, let alone had an opportunity like this, that he damn well could use a minute to relax and if he turned this down now, there was no guarantee Aithne would ever be interested again. Probably she'd hate him. "Does it . . . does it really matter?" he asked.

Aithne searched his face. "I guess not," she said. Her cheeks went pink, and she leaned back in her chair again, this time pulling her knees up into it so her whole body was curled up, closed off. "I—I'm sorry. If that was out of line."

She was embarrassed. "No!" Carth hastened to tell her. "No! And I'd love to, Aithne, I just—" he couldn't help a laugh, strained and broken. "I would love to, and I'm grateful and . . . and flattered beyond measure. I, uh, a woman like you . . . a chance like that doesn't come around every day, and I, uh, I want you bad enough it hurts sometimes. Have ever since you took that first shower back on Taris."

"Me too," Aithne murmured, eyes downcast. "It's idiotic. Tried to get myself to stop, told myself 'he's not interested, he's too professional for that kind of stupidity,' and there's the Jacket of Doom and all—except I fixated on that so much trying to stop myself that horrible thing's actually turned into a turn-on—and you're a mess, you're just a mess, and I know it's probably 85 percent our circumstances—"

"No," Carth said again. "I told you before: if I'd met you on shore leave somewhere, minus living together for weeks, the shared trauma, and all the Sith trying to kill us, I'd've . . . I'd've still thought you're one of the smartest, most desirable women I've ever met." The words were pouring out of his mouth, but he was just so desperate for her not to withdraw, not to think he was rejecting her for anything but two or three damn good reasons, even if just now those reasons didn't seem like enough, not nearly enough . . ."Back when I was first assigned to stay with Bastila, I was upset not just because I want to get back to the front but because things were already hard enough with you, and I have been trying to stay professional. I needed some distance, and it didn't look like I was going to get it. But that's just it—if . . . if you think I'm a mess, and that any attraction you've been feeling is idiotic, and I've been trying to stay professional, and not . . . not just to be professional, I don't think either one of us should compromise."

Aithne smiled again. This time the smile was a little bit sad. She got it. "I'd be 'giving into passion,' whether or not I let myself attach," she summarized. "And you're not ready for anything, whether it's because of the family you lost on Telos or because part of you would still be wondering if I was trying to seduce you in order to lure you into a false sense of security. Okay."

"That and . . . and if anything happened with the two of us, I'd . . . I'd want you to attach," Carth admitted, mirroring her smile, a little guilty, a little sad. "I mean, I'd hope you would. That we would find some way to work past 'complicated' and just—do it. Everything. With you a Jedi now, I'm not sure that's ever going to happen. From everything . . . from everything you've said, I'm not sure it would have even if you never trained with the Jedi."

Aithne closed her eyes, and guilt and regret were written across her entire face for a moment. Then she said, "I wouldn't have wanted it to, and that's enough. I'm sorry."

Carth shook his head again. "Don't be. And don't be sorry for . . . for asking, either. I mean it: I'm flattered. I hope . . . I hope this won't change anything between us. I'd hate it if you felt we couldn't talk anymore, or like I was embarrassed, or judging you, or anything but honored and half hating and kicking myself for turning you down."

Aithne made a face and jumped up out of the chair. "Oh, stop," she said. "If we're going to be boring and sensible adults about this, might as well get on with it. You don't need to let me down quite that easy."

Damn it, she was going to run. He couldn't let it happen. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd stood and seized her hand. "Aithne—" Her entire face went red. Her every muscle had gone tense, but she didn't jerk away. Carth stared at her. He had to convince her, had to make her understand he wasn't insulting her. Without crossing any boundaries, he just had to let her know how much he wanted to. Heart pounding, he stepped closer to her, until there was just a few centimeters between them. He wanted to close that distance, but he didn't—not completely. He just reached up and touched her cheek, cupping it in his hand. He ran his thumb across her cheekbone. Her skin was soft, but he could feel her blush. He let his thumb skim down over that damned full mouth, a little open now as she stared back at him. His stomach clenched again, and his hindbrain screamed at him louder than ever. "I'm not," he insisted.

His voice came out strangled and hoarse. He felt her shiver all over as he moved away, and her eyes darkened even more. They flicked down to his mouth, then away. But then she nodded, several times. "Alright then," she breathed. "Exercise in self-denial and restraint. The Jedi will be proud. I'll just log—this whole thing—" she gestured between them, "with all the other things driving me crazy."

Carth laughed again. "Yeah, you and me both, sister." He ran his hands through his hair and sat down in the pilot's seat. He turned away as she started heading down the corridor, then turned back to her. "The Jacket of Doom?" he asked. "Really?"

She laughed too, a rueful sound, and looked him over once in a way he didn't hate, even if they weren't doing anything about it. "Like you wouldn't believe." She tipped him an ironic salute and left.

It took him ten minutes of cursing himself, wishing he'd said something different and knowing he couldn't have today without betraying himself and probably getting her in trouble with the Jedi besides before he realized she'd distracted him again, turned him right off from tracing out all the questions about what was going on with the Jedi and her dreams about Darth Revan. She'd even brought up he might think that, he realized—part of you will still wonder if I'm seducing you to lure you into a false sense of security, she'd said, or something like that. Was it consciousness or a double bluff?

Damn it, had she propositioned him just to get him off balance and away from the stuff she didn't want to talk about? And if he'd taken her up on it, would she have . . . would she have slept with him to keep him quiet? He didn't think so, hoped he knew her better than that, but . . .

Poison suspicion coiled around his ribcage. He couldn't be sure. There was no way to know. He thought she was attracted to him; he didn't think she'd been faking that. But she'd said more than once she didn't want to act on it. Was she now willing to use the fact he was attracted to her and she knew it just to distract him?

---

AITHNE

She'd misstepped. She'd misstepped badly. Aithne left the cockpit of Ebon Hawk wanting to burn up into a crisp and die, and pretty sure that the fact that she wasn't was just further evidence that there wasn't any justice in the galaxy.

She could feel Carth over the fledgling Force bond she still hadn't put together the guts to tell him about—that he'd kill her when she did tell him about. She hadn't had any idea he liked her that much, but he was so hot and bothered right now that she was positive it wouldn't even be fair to be alone with him anytime in the next five days, even if she wasn't too thoroughly mortified to seek him out. Force, if she'd just turned her head that last second, pressed her lips against his palm—

She could break him. She could really break him. She might've already done it, because she knew well enough he'd get past lust and discombobulation soon and move right back into worse paranoia than ever, because she'd left him there after he'd turned her down. She'd done it because she had to get out, and she couldn't go back now, but he wouldn't see it that way. He'd come right back to them being in the middle of a conversation about all the things wrong on their mission and her saying something that threw that tram right off the tracks. And maybe she had been trying to put him off, just a little, but she was scared, and she was scared of the same things he was, but he made her less scared, and she'd just wanted—she'd just wanted him to hold her. Something simple, easy, and hot enough to shut everything else out. Just for tonight.

Except it was wrong, because that wasn't what Carth wanted, and she hadn't even considered that when she'd made her proposition.

Her face was still hot, that last blush in the cockpit with Carth written all over it for anyone and their droid to see. She wanted to go to bed, but there was no privacy there. No privacy anywhere, really, except the med bay or the cargo hold. Aithne chose the med bay: it was closer. She strode inside and shut and sealed the door behind her. She braced herself on the cot, staring at the bulkhead.

She'd told him multiple times he was complicated; that she thought anything between them was artificial, a product of their circumstances; that she wanted him to step off. She thought he was cute, nice, easy to talk to, yes. She couldn't help liking him, couldn't help trusting him, however he felt about her, but she'd been wary of anything else since they first started talking on Taris. She'd been protesting a little too loudly and a little too much, and he'd been listening.

Except he did want her, as badly as she wanted him and worse. He knew it was a bad idea. He was normally a professional, he still obviously had a lot of loyalty to whatever family he'd lost on Telos, even if he hadn't told her about them in any detail, but he wanted her anyway. All of her, and not just her body.

I'd want you to attach.

By the Force, she'd felt so small when he'd said that. Selfish and petty and cowardly. Steering clear of any emotional entanglement with a man with problems like Onasi had was just basic good sense—Aithne was nothing if not sensible—and yet . . . he was worth the damn in damn complicated. He was so worth the damn, especially if he wanted it. He deserved someone who could be enthusiastic about all of him. Someone who could commit to more than liking him and wanting to scratch a quick and dirty itch on the floor or against a bulkhead in one of the rare places on Ebon Hawk that people could be alone. Carth deserved someone who would think about what he wanted before outright asking him to do it. He was honest and trustworthy, which was rare enough, but he was also good, kind, and generous, with a brain that worked under a full head of hair, and a body he kept in shape. He was basically a space whale: so unusual he might as well be mythic. And she'd made him feel like that wasn't enough. Why? Because of his past? None of that was his fault.

Force, he was going to hate her in the morning. She could already feel the consternation, panic, and lust she'd stirred up back there hardening into suspicion up in the cockpit. She groaned.

So, of course, that was when Bastila knocked on the door. She could sense it was Bastila, even before the Jedi girl called out. "Aithne? Aithne, are you well?"

Her shields were in complete disarray, Aithne realized, starting to panic. She'd let them drop completely, and there was Bastila on the other side of their bond, beaming concern and alarm into her head. A wave of relief she hadn't slept with Carth swept over her—if his rejecting her had done this, she could only imagine what it would have been like if he'd taken her up on her offer. She didn't want to end up in some weird, psychic threesome!

She took a deep breath in and started building her shields up once again. Only when she'd managed it did she open the door to let Bastila into the med bay. "Haven't turned to the Dark Side in the past twelve hours, if that's what you want to know," she said.

Bastila's eyes were fixed on her face. "I did not believe that you had done so," she said, "but the intensity of the shame and guilt I felt from you just now indicates you are nonetheless deeply disturbed. What is it that you feel you have done? Is there anything I can do?"

Aithne laughed. "You're probably the last person who can help me right now, Bas."

Bastila stepped inside. She shut the door behind her again. "Is it Carth?" she asked. "Have the two of you had a . . . confrontation?"

"That your best guess, or did you get it from my head?" Aithne asked.

As upset as she was, she did notice that Bastila actually looked relieved. "I've been aware for some time that matters are . . . precarious between you and Carth Onasi," she said. "Unresolved, with reservations on both sides, but a dangerously mutual attraction, and one that goes beyond mere physical components. It is not something that requires a Force bond to see, though the fact that until tonight, you kept your feelings about him tightly under guard has been a clue in its own right, as I believe I have mentioned. I had hoped that both of you would be mature enough to set your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. Tell me: do you feel guilty now for rejecting him, or—"

Bastila was digging at their bond over the link. Aithne gave an enormous psychic shove, and Bastila actually staggered back about a meter. Aithne had accidentally shoved her physically with the Force as well. Aithne stood up from her place against the cot and reached out to Bastila. "That was an accident," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm still a little worked up. I need time to collect myself by myself, not your snooping inside my head, even if you're doing it out of friendship or simple curiosity."

Bastila was quiet for a moment. She looked shaken, but also like she got it. "I understand. I apologize. That was an invasion of your privacy. I have never had such a strong psychic connection with another Jedi. I would not have expected I would be tempted to abuse it, and yet . . ."

She spread her hands, then let them fall to her sides. Aithne sighed. "It's power, to be able to know, to feel, what someone else is feeling, rather than just guess and muddle along without the extra help. I've definitely taken advantage of our bond from time to time to get a sense of things you wouldn't tell me otherwise."

"But to force an intimacy that hasn't been freely given is to steal it," Bastila finished, though she'd turned even paler for a moment. "We both must be more conscientious. Will you accept my apology for just now?" She extended her hand, and Aithne took it.

"Yeah. Don't do it again. And again—I'm sorry for pushing you. And for the bleedover that got you here. Can't have been very pleasant."

"In truth, it wasn't," Bastila admitted. She looked up, seemed to gnaw on her tongue a moment, then added, "There is a reason the Jedi discourage emotional entanglements. They can impair rational thought, lead to outbursts of uncontrolled emotion. The Jedi aspire to be above such things."

Aithne thought of Juhani in the ruins, Bastila's own discomfiture after the swoop race, and the excuses she'd made for the Jedi Council. "And are we?" she asked.

Bastila gestured to the cot. "Shall we?" she suggested. Aithne shrugged and sat down next to Bastila like the infirmary cot was a sofa. "It can be one of the hardest lessons to learn," Bastila told her. "I myself have never struggled with sexual or romantic attachment—or never yet—but I struggled a great deal as a child, when my family first gave me up to the Order."

Aithne looked away. The practical reasons behind why the Jedi took their apprentices away from their families when they were young were easy to understand. Ability with the Force had strong locative and hereditary components, but sectarianism, dynasties, and family blood feuds had devastated the galaxy and the Order in past millennia. It was also easier to indoctrinate a small child than an adult or adolescent—and Jedi indoctrination did have theoretical benefits in keeping more Force wielders from becoming mystical, superpowered abominations capable of wreaking havoc wherever they went in pursuit of whatever they wanted. You still got Exar Kuns, Revans, Malaks, and Mandalorian Wars—but she could see it wasn't constant chaos. Still, she thought ripping kids away from their parents and homeworlds had to be one of the coldest, worst things the supposedly good-guy Jedi Order did.

"Where were you from?" she asked.

"Talravin," Bastila answered, naming one of the Core worlds. "My family is still there, the last that I heard. I have had little contact with them, as it is discouraged. I was not on good terms with all of them, but I missed my father terribly for a very long time."

"Who weren't you on good terms with?" Aithne asked.

Bastila shifted and stiffened beside her. "I was not on good terms with my mother," she answered, and Aithne could hear the hardness in her voice. "I was only a little girl when I left, but I was old enough to resent her and the way she treated my father. She pushed my father into treasure-hunting. I spent all my young life on ships traveling from one false lead to the next. She whittled away my father's entire fortune, and I hated her for it."

"Hatred?" Aithne asked, raising her eyebrows.

"Yes, well, I was not a Jedi at the time," Bastila said. "And it illustrates my point: relationships with family members are fraught with powerful emotions. Such extremes are to be avoided. Anger and hate are the worst, but even love can lead to folly. I think my mother was relieved to give me to the Jedi, but my father was heartbroken."

"And you never tried to get in touch with him again?" Aithne asked.

For a long moment, Bastila didn't answer. Then she said, "A child is too young to understand the sacrifices that must be made. It is better if children have no contact with their family once they are removed. My letters never reached my father. Once I was older, I realized the wisdom of this policy. A Jedi must do what is needed, personal desires notwithstanding. Love can only obscure and confuse the matter." She looked over at Aithne, studying her face. "And, though I do have limited experience, I believe what is true in familial relationships holds true in romantic ones as well. It may be painful now—to have to refuse a man you wish you could accept . . ." she hesitated. "Or, perhaps, to be refused," she added, making Aithne grimace. Was it really that obvious? "But you will find it is ultimately for the best."

"I'm not sure if you'll believe me," Aithne said after a moment, "but I wasn't trying to step all over Jedi tradition my first day out from the enclave." She made another face. "I wanted to act within what's generally permissible, if . . . not necessarily recommended. Trying to address the bantha on the ship without—it doesn't matter."

"I see," Bastila said. She said nothing else, but Aithne could sense her discomfort through the air and through their bond. The Jedi didn't ban sex, and in fact many of them occasionally engaged in the odd casual liaison. Sexual release had several stress-relieving benefits that were helpful to individuals encouraged to work through their anger and frustration, and some species outright needed it for health reasons. It was just marriage and procreation that was poo-pooed by the Order, and even that hadn't always been the case according to the archives. But several Jedi philosophers posited that carnal passions too easily led to emotional ones, and that the higher an individual could rise above them, the closer they would be to true enlightenment and the heart of the Light Side—an all-encompassing compassion and empathy for others that had nothing to do with the pleasures of the flesh. It was the prevailing teaching among the Order these days, with sex more often viewed as a practical concession to weakness and imperfection than anything else. Aithne'd got the spiel from Vrook, Dorak, and a few of the others these past weeks, and it would have been what Bastila had grown up with. Considering she and the Council already thought Aithne was weak, Bastila would be very uneasy with the idea of Aithne playing with any sexy fire.

"I don't think you do see," Aithne sighed. "You're probably thinking I wanted some sort of Jedi-acceptable tension release, but that I'm not trained enough to handle that kind of compromise. You're probably right, on both counts, but I can tell you, sitting here, I'm not feeling guilty or ashamed of wanting to sex up Carth Onasi. A bit relieved I didn't, because if you felt him rejecting me, you might've felt my—"

"Please don't go there," Bastila broke in, turning scarlet, obviously as mortified by the idea of a psychic threesome as Aithne herself had been.

Aithne smiled ruefully. At least she could enjoy Bas's embarrassment. "Yeah. I'm gonna work on my shields," she promised. She pointed toward the cockpit. "But my point was in the conversation we just had up there, I realized holding back to no-strings-attached, at least for me, has a lot more to do with fear and selfishness than any Jedi-like restraint. And had nothing at all to do with Jedi-like compassion or empathy for Carth and what he wants."

Bastila was silent. Aithne could feel her confusion through the Force. The younger woman swung her legs under the medical cot, staring down at the floor. "I—I think I see your meaning. You mean to say that the motives behind our choices have as much significance as the choices themselves. That a person may do everything according to the teachings and precepts of our Order—yet fail if the reasons behind their actions are not pure and honorable. It is a good thing to keep in mind. But Aithne—" she looked up. "I cannot feel that following the ways and traditions of the Order is not most often the best way to avoid temptation. Perhaps you should be more mindful of your feelings, but flouting convention is surely the more dangerous path."

Aithne grimaced again. "Don't worry. Carth didn't want to flout convention with me tonight, and after tonight, he's not likely to anytime soon. Or ever." She could sense him now—anger, fear, and humiliation had almost entirely replaced his earlier lust and consternation. Like she'd thought he would after she'd left, he thought she'd been manipulating him, and she wouldn't have the nerve to sort things out for days.

Bastila pursed her lips. "You shouldn't sell yourself short. You can have . . . you can have quite the impact. Even without wanting to kiss you, I have felt it. You've the Mandalorian's respect, the devotion of Mission and Zaalbar. Juhani says but little, and much of it is your praise. From the moment we all united on Taris, it's been clear Carth admires you."

"Kind of you to say so, seeing as you'd rather he didn't."

"I would much rather he didn't," Bastila agreed. "We cannot afford the distraction. I believe our fate will eventually drive us into a confrontation with the Dark Lord, and I would like nothing interfering with your resolve or focus that day. I remember how hard it was when I first faced Revan."

Aithne looked sharply over at Bastila, her dreams and that one vivid flashback on Taris flooding back to her mind. "Did you know Revan?" she asked. "Before Revan became the Dark Lord, put on that mask on Cathar, or people even started calling her the Revanchist? What was she called before?"

Bastila shook her head. "I was a mere apprentice at the time. Not only had my Battle Meditation not yet manifested itself, I had yet to construct my first lightsaber. I was far more interested in one-upping the other younglings at my lessons than I was in affairs upon the Rim or in the doings of Jedi far too young to ever take me on as a Padawan. When the schism occurred, of course I became interested in Revan—one of the youngest Jedi Knights in history, stubborn and powerful enough to defy the entire Jedi Council and lead dozens, hundreds, after her on a grand crusade to help the helpless. I was too young to see how reckless, how foolish it was, and fortunate only that I was also too young to join her. But by then, people already only called her the Revanchist. By the time I was chosen by a master, my Battle Meditation had manifested itself, and my master had begun taking me out into the field, it was Darth Revan, and even many of the younger Jedi had begun to forget Darth Revan was a human woman behind the mask. Revan was such a terrific figure, so iconic—yet I was crushed when she turned to the Dark Side."

Aithne hesitated. "Bas—what happened the day you faced her?" she asked. She couldn't bring herself to look at Bastila.

"Because of my Battle Meditation, my master and I were chosen to go with the strike team that boarded her ship," Bastila said. "Our mission was to capture the Dark Lord and not to kill her, and the Council believed my Battle Meditation offered us the best possible chance." Bastila went silent. "Even so, for a moment, I felt sure we would fail. One of Revan's Dark Jedi guards cut down Master Ines, though he died himself doing so. I—In point of fact, by the time we stood before Revan, there were only three of us remaining, and both of the others were wounded. Completely spent. Yet I knew it was the will of the Force I press on, do everything I could to bring in the Dark Lord. In the end, I never got the chance."

Aithne remembered the impact, the pain from her dream, the feeling of betrayal, of self-castigation that Revan hadn't seen it coming. "Malak," she murmured.

Bastila nodded. "He had sensed our presence aboard Revan's vessel, or perhaps had a report from his own bridge staff. He turned on his master, firing upon the ship while we were still onboard. It was his desire to kill us and his master both. Thankfully, we narrowly escaped the vessel as it exploded."

"But not before you watched her die," Aithne murmured. She felt Bastila's surprise within the Force. "The flashback on Taris, when we first met," she explained. "That was what I saw. You, right when Malak fired on that flagship, looking down at Revan, watching her die."

"It's—one of my more intense memories," Bastila said. "It is never far from my mind, particularly when unsettled. That, as much as a scarcity of masters, is why I have yet to be reassigned as a Padawan Learner to someone else. Master Ines was killed, and I—the Jedi do not believe in killing their prisoners. No one deserves execution, no matter what their crimes. Seeing Revan on the deck of her burning vessel—she and Malak were great Jedi once, heroes in every sense of the word. It has proven impossible to forget—how far those heroes may fall, and the end to which it can lead."

"You pitied her," Aithne realized, awestruck. "Even after her guards killed your master, you were sorry to see her die. You're still sorry she died." Bastila Shan was a much nicer person than she was, Aithne thought. She didn't seem it; she was so prim and officious, but when when Aithne imagined her on that ship, with her de facto Jedi parent dead behind her, looking at a traitor to the Order who'd corrupted Force knew how many Jedi and Republics and killed a million others, and feeling pity . . . she couldn't fathom that kind of compassion.

Bastila looked both pained and embarrassed. "Please. We really shouldn't speak of this anymore. The memory of my confrontation with Revan, of Master Ines's death—and of the others—is . . . painful. I should . . . I should go."

She stood, and Aithne looked up at her, concerned. "Seems I can't do anything right tonight," she said. "Go, if you need to. I'm sorry."

Bastila shook her head. "It's nothing. I'm sorry—for everything." She practically fled the med bay, and Aithne flopped over on the cot, staring at the bulkhead. Her first day as captain of Ebon Hawk was going swimmingly, and she hadn't even tried talking to Mission yet.

---

She caught the Twi'lek on her own the next day, looking up communication protocols in the briefing room after breakfast. "Mission. I was hoping we could talk."

The girl swiveled on her stool. "Yeah?" she said. "You want to explain why we're leaving my brother on that dust ball, Tatooine?"

Aithne leaned up against the table. "Aside from the fact he chose to go there and might still want to be there?" she asked.

Mission blushed, and her lekku twitched, but she raised her chin and folded her arms. "That doesn't mean we can't look him up. I got the feeling you don't even want to, Aithne. I'm not saying I'm gonna leave you or anything. He left me! I'm staying with Big Z, and I want to fight the Sith, but come on! Griff's my brother!"

"And he left you," Aithne retorted. "You were nine years old—"

"Ten," Mission snapped.

"Right, because that's so much better. Ten years old, and he went off with his girlfriend and left you alone with every perv, user, criminal, and gang member in the Lower City. Frankly, I don't care if it was Griff's idea or Lena's, it was indefensible. Twi'lek ten is just the same as a human ten, and it was too young. You can look out for yourself now, most of the time. You shouldn't have to, but you can. How well were you doing then?"

Mission looked furious. "I did alright! Griff taught me what I needed to know. I never starved or nothing. I steered clear of the spice runners and trash like the Vulkars. I didn't get raped. I never had to think about selling myself into slavery, and I was smart enough to avoid the losers who'd try to make me a slave anyways, which means I did a little better than a Jedi down there. I never even got beaten up too bad, so there!"

"Believe it or not, most girls your age don't consider dodging starvation, rape, addiction, and slavery to be 'doing alright,'" Aithne said grimly. "Any of it could have happened. Your brother left you to it, and part of you knows it. Forgive me if I don't think flying off to face that is the best thing for you right after Taris."

Mission's eyes were shining with angry tears. "He knew I'd be okay," she said rebelliously. "He must have. He wouldn't've—he wouldn't just—"

Aithne raised her eyebrow at the girl. Mission's chin wobbled. Her lekku thrashed. "You believe Lena!" she accused Aithne. "Everything she said about my brother! He was going to come back for me! He was! Even if it was his idea to leave me behind, it wouldn't've been permanent! He probably was just trying to skip out on his debts when he left Taris and wanted to trick the creditors by leaving me behind for a while. I'm sure he meant to come back! He promised! It's just that things didn't work out how he planned!"

"And what if you're wrong about that?" Aithne challenged her. "Or we find out he's long gone from Tatooine, and we can't find any record of where he went? From what Lena said, it sounded like she and Griff have been broken up for a while."

Mission swallowed. A tear fell down her cheek, then another. "I have to find him," she whispered. "Aithne—I gotta know, one way or the other. Look, what if you're right? What if you and Lena are both right? I been idolizing him all this time, maybe ignoring some of his faults, but he raised me. What if . . . what if that's all I am too?"

Aithne reached out and seized the girl's hands. "It's not!" she ground out. "Mission, you ran through a pit full of rhakghouls screaming at the top of your lungs for someone to help your best friend. You asked everyone you could think of and even begged a couple of near strangers for help. Then you followed him right into a life debt and a war rather than abandon him. You're one of the bravest and most loyal people I've ever known. You are so much more than your brother."

Mission rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands. "I knew you and Carth would help me," she said. "I knew you guys wouldn't let those Gamorreans sell no one into slavery. I knew you two would risk your lives rather than let something like that happen, right from the start. You're good, both of you. I never expected you to do all you done for us, though. Saving us from the Sith on Taris, getting Big Z a salary so the life debt ain't ever anything like slavery, all the stuff you guys are teaching me. If I ever do leave you guys—I—I'll be able to do anything, and there won't be no staying in flophouses or skifting newbies at pazaak either. I could—I could make some big money, and legal, and don't you think I don't know it, Aithne Moran! Be more than any Twi'lek from Taris's Lower City I ever met. I—I know I don't really deserve it."

Aithne was so angry at a world who'd let this girl believe she didn't deserve consideration, wasn't good enough for an education, that she had to cheat and scrounge just to survive and that was fine. She could half believe anger led to the Dark Side, because she half wanted to burn down Taris all over again, and kill Griff Vao for good measure.

"You deserve a life," she said. "Everyone does. A life where they don't have to worry about slavers or drug runners or gang wars, where they're going to sleep next or what they're going to eat next. A life with dignity, where they can learn what they need to make a decent living within the confines of laws designed to look out for them, instead of laws that make victims of people like them. And everyone deserves to have at least one person they can count on to make sure they get that life. None of that is anything you should have to be grateful for."

Mission looked up at her. She'd stopped crying, but her gray eyes were still haunted. "Yeah, but you don't understand, Aithne—life isn't like that, not for almost anybody, and especially not for me and Big Z, before you and Carth showed up. So we do have to be grateful. That's why Big Z swore you that lifedebt, and that's why I did too, sort of. Almost as much as me not wanting to leave him. When people like us find people like you, we have to hold on with both hands—or claws. Whatever. I ain't never leaving you, or not for years and years. But I have to find Griff too, even if he did abandon me. Can you—can you try to understand that, just a little?"

Her eyes were enormous, her face somber and pleading. Aithne sighed. "Can you understand why I don't want to look for him right now?" she countered, as gently as she could.

Mission sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve. "I guess," she said. "I'm still crying every five minutes and yelling at you whenever Griff comes up—you! I guess I get that you might not want to head to Tatooine right now. I couldn't . . . I might not be a lot of help finding that Star Map thing. Maybe I need a little more time to think."

"That's all I want for you, Mish," Aithne told the girl. "A little more time to settle, to prepare for whatever we could find out on Tatooine. I want you to be ready when we finally do start looking for Griff."

Mission hesitated. "Okay," she said. "I don't like it. But I get it, you know?" Her lekku twitched, and she folded her arms around herself, then unfolded them. "Can I—could I get a—" she broke off, but Aithne knew what she wanted. She stood, crossed the distance to Mission, and folded the girl into her arms. Mission clung to her, burying her face in Aithne's shoulder for a long moment. Mission didn't like to admit she liked hugs, that she needed anybody, but she was fourteen years old, and she'd been toughing it out longer than any kid should have to, going through things no kid should go through. Aithne felt Mission shudder against her twice, then the Twi'lek pulled away, smiling shakily.

"So. What are you working on today?" Aithne asked her.