"You never correct them."
Mal pauses mid-step and turns to Carth. He's got that look on his face.
"Excuse me?"
There's a slight jump in his shoulders like he hadn't meant to speak out loud. "When people call you Master Jedi. You never correct them."
"Does it matter?"
"Well, you don't want to mislead them. You've only been a Jedi for what, a month now? They need to know who they're really dealing with."
"Carth does have a point," Bastila nods.
Mal looks to Mission in disbelief. The teen shrugs. "I don't think people really care. Master, Padawan. Jedi, Sith. It's all the same to them." Zaalbar agrees in his thunderous tones.
"Which is why it's important to be clear and honest with the public. You now represent the entire Jedi Order. Everything you do reflects back on us all."
"Exactly," Carth smiles. "If they know you're not a Master, then your actions won't reflect as poorly."
Mal gasps bringing a hand to her chest in mock offense. "So little faith in me. Carth, I'm truly hurt."
"Yeah, I'm sure you're crushed."
"Fine, fine. If it's so important to you…" She stalks after the retreating back of the farmer. "Sir! Wait a minute." He glances over his shoulder, then back ahead. "Yes, you."
"What is it?"
Mal grins. "I wanted to let you know that I'm not a Jedi Master."
He glances down to the protruding lightsaber at her side. "You're not a Jedi?"
"Oh, I am a Jedi. But I'm only a mere Padawan, not a Master. There's a big difference in rank you see."
There's a long pause as Mal smiles even brighter in the face of his confused stare.
"Are you going to deal with those raiders or not?"
"Absolutely! I'll slaughter every last one of them."
"Good," he grumbles before walking away.
"And remember, I'm a Padawan!" Mal drops the smile and turns back to Carth, his face hidden in his hands. "How was that? Better?"
"You're going to send me to an early grave."
She bumps fists with a chuckling Mission. "Don't give up on me yet, old man."
Bastila hides a laugh in the clearing of her throat. "Yes, well, next time try not to use words like slaughter. We're Jedi, not butchers."
"Damn. Should I go try again?"
"No!" Bastila and Carth shout in unison as Mission squeals an excited, "Yes!"
Messing with them is almost too easy. Mal missed this. She missed all of them being together. It's strange how quickly a shared trauma can bind people. The events of Taris are still vivid, the adrenaline rush still fresh. Her life before the accident feels far away like a dream of a different person. Dangerous thinking. There's a lifetime of consequences in your wake and a thousand blasters around the galaxy with your name on them. Never forget.
"Violence should always be a last resort." Bastila's lecturing mood is in full swing. "We act in defense of those who need it, but if the conflict can be solved another way-"
"There is no other way," Canderous interjects. His body language is relaxed but his eyes are sharp. Mal suspects he's trying to start a fight on purpose. "Not with these washed-up Mandalorians. They'll shoot you on sight rather than talk."
"Then we'd be obligated to defend ourselves, but if there is a chance for peace then it's our duty to at least try."
"No wonder these farmers are desperate."
Carth quickens his pace to match Mal's. "Remind me why he's still here?"
"I think I'm supposed to be entertaining him."
"Excuse me?"
"Never mind. Hey look," she calls over her shoulder. "We're almost there."
"And why are we going to a cave when we should be getting ready to leave? You can't keep pushing it off. The sooner we start looking for the Star Forge, the better."
"I'm not pushing it off. We just have to set up first."
Carth sighs like he's preparing for the last day of his life. "I know I'm going to regret asking, but set up for what?"
"The surprise party for Vrook. He's turning 30."
"Really."
"Crazy, right? I guess a stick up the ass really ages a person."
"You're killing me babe."
Her gaze turns violent. "Call me babe again and I absolutely will."
The mouth of the cave looms dark ahead of them. An echoing drip and the occasional rustle of feet are the only sounds emanating from deep within. T3 lets out a series of low whistles.
"You said it buddy," Mission responds.
Mal waits for someone to provide more context as to what was actually said, but they silently wait for her next move. She sighs.
"Trust me, it's going to be worth it when we get there. Have I steered you wrong yet?"
A chorus of disagreement starts to form. Mal rolls her eyes, cuts them off with a "Here we go!" and leads the way inside. Darkness is a second home and her eyes quickly adjust. Despite the humidity, there's a chill draft that gives the air a crisp feeling. Stopping at the first split in the tunnel, she waits for the gentle tug to pull her in the right direction. Her companions are less graceful.
"Ow."
"Hey, that's my foot."
"Sorry."
"Aaaarrrgg."
"I said sorry!"
"Maybe we should hold hands."
"Absolutely not."
"Can't we just use a lightsaber to, you know, light the way?"
"You want us to use our sacred weapons and symbols of the Jedi Order as flashlights?"
"Actually," Mal cuts into the chaos. "That's not a bad idea."
Her hand falls to her waist in practiced ease, the handle of the lightsaber already a familiar weight in her palm. The green glow illuminates her face and glitters along the cave walls. There's an attraction to the color, a sense of the secrets of the universe hidden in its vibrance if one could only look close enough. Mal pulls her eyes away and waits for the spots in her vision to fade into the dimly lit faces of her companions.
"Come on. It's not far."
They don't make it further than ten steps when they hear the first screech.
"What was that?" Carth whispers.
"Kinrath. Weapons out, we're close."
"You brought us to a Kinrath cave?"
"You're welcome."
Another shrill call vibrates the air before a swarm of jagged limbs bursts through the darkness. Mal smiles at the symphony of unsheathed blades, cocked blasters, and the gentle hiss of Bastila's lightsaber.
They're hers now. She can't pinpoint when exactly this way of thinking began. Sometime between their absence during Jedi training and the announcement of her "all-important" mission. There's a new one waiting for her on the ship, Juhani, but that's a minefield of feelings she hasn't touched yet.
It's been a long time since Mal's felt the comfort of a crew. Not that she trusts them. No, that privilege has been stripped raw by him. But their support, their belief, their admiration possibly. She wants it all and ties it together with the hope that they'll be capable enough to survive. Please this time, let them survive.
The life expectancy of Mal's followers is disastrous to say the least. Starting with those who took her in as a child and taught her what it meant to survive in a harsh world. The first ones to draw the line in the dirt between good and… well, whatever's left over after the good is gone. The first to be caught in Death's crooked fingers. Every single one of them except Mal. But this time will be different. She's stronger now, has the Force of all things in her arsenal. She will not let them leave her so easily.
She watches Mission cut through the leg of the last Kinrath before burying her blade in its neck. It dies in a scrambling bleeding mess. The strong survive, the weak do not. Mal lets the blade of her lightsaber retreat, blanketing them in darkness once again.
"Hey-"
"Wait," she cautions. Their surroundings fall deeper into obscurity before a far-off glow seeps through. "There."
They follow her with bated breath. An appreciative gasp leaves a few lips as the narrow tunnel expands into a true cavern covered from ground to ceiling by hundreds of colorful crystals. They protrude in angular shapes, some smaller than Mal's hand, other's twice her height.
"This is a crystal cave! Like the ones used in our lightsabers." Bastila spins around in awe like a child in a shop of wonders. "It's beautiful."
Mal watches her with a soft smile. "We should all take one."
Mission narrows her eyes at Mal. "We don't all have lightsabers."
"You don't want a crystal?"
"I didn't say that," she grumbles and hurries off with Zaalbar on her heels.
"There are eggs here." Carth points his blaster to what looks like a cluster of rocks. Mal shifts and their surfaces take a metallic sheen, the rough edges smoothing into a round shape.
"Leave them be." She meets his skeptical gaze. "They're like guard dogs or a trial-by-combat. You know, only the worthy may enter."
He shrugs. "If you say so."
They part like water against the shore spreading along the edges of the cave before meeting on the other side. There's a handful of crystals shoved in Mal's pocket, but one she cradles in her hands. Its silvery glow seems to pulse with the beat of her own heart. She's not the only one enamored. Her companions are riveted, eyes downcast and faces lit by the gentle glow of their crystals. Even T3 holds a small purple shard in a metallic grip.
They're hers. Yes, for whatever reason they're choosing to follow her on this suicide mission of scavenger hunts and Star Maps. Find the secret of the Star Forge or be tracked down and killed by the Sith. Not much of a choice and she can only procrastinate making it for so long. The enterprise is doomed to fail. Mal knows it deep in her heart, but these people? No matter what else may happen, these people will live. No more slipping through as those left behind are crushed. She takes in their faces, their presence, their collective silence. This is what she needed. One last easy task, one final dance to bring them a little closer together. She feels something deep inside shift then settle.
Let the curse be broken. Let life prevail.
Let us all survive this mess.