Atton had made himself a nice little barricade around the administration consoles. He was rather proud of it, in fact. He propped an advanced mining laser cannibalized from a destroyed droid up against the wall made of chairs and droid bits, and he peered through a peephole he'd made. Trista had yet to contact him again, and he hoped she hadn't gotten herself killed.
He snapped back to attention when two hooded, armored figures appeared from thin air, and his stomach sank.
If that was after Trista, they had a much bigger problem. If she'd been out of known space, she had no way of knowing what she was dealing with — even less than most Jedi had.
Atton leveled the mining laser, bulky and awkward, over the barricade and fired into one assassin's back. He snapped around as the shot flared off his shields.
"Fuck," Atton breathed, and fired again. This time, the first bolt flared off his shields again, but the second struck the man's face as he sprinted toward him.
The body jerked to the floor just as the other was about to vault over the barricade. Atton spun and fired twice, then caught the staff on the laser. His hand grabbed a piece of debris and blocked the next swing, bound the staff against it, jammed the laser into the man's sternum, and fired.
He closed his eyes and drew two slow breaths, wrestling back his adrenaline. More steps sounded to his left and he spun toward them, debris and laser at the ready. Trista skidded to a stop when she caught sight of him, and he lowered the weapon.
"It's me!"
"I know!" Atton pushed several of the chairs aside. Another woman, clad in a brown robe pulled low over her eyes, glided to a stop behind her. "What's going on? And who's that? Another Jedi? Did you guys start breeding when I wasn't looking?"
Trista motioned. "Kreia, Mr. Rand. Mr. Rand, Kreia. What happened?"
"They crawled out of that ship. Friends of yours, I take it."
She nudged a body with her toe and, judging by the tilt of the other woman's head, she wasn't pleased with her examination. "What are they?"
The robed woman finally spoke. "We do not have time for—"
"There is time, godsdamn it," Trista snapped, and he blinked. "I still can't see straight, my vision is blurry, I smell like kolto and ship fuel, everyone thinks I'm a Jedi, and I've had a very trying day. So someone tell me who the hell they are."
Atton glanced at Kreia, then back to Trista, mind already spinning out a thousand excuses why he knew. "They're assassins, trained to kill Jedi. It's bad news."
"I hope your talent for understatement is offset by your skill with a blaster."
"I'm also good at running and drinking, your majesty."
"Great." To Atton's surprise, Trista didn't seem inclined to question him. "All right, great. Assassins trained to kill Jedi. Fantastic. Good, fine, let's go." She turned to leave, then paused and shrugged out of his jacket. He took it back, and she smiled weakly. The expression didn't even come near her eyes, still as dead and lifelessly green as before. "Thank you. Sorry it smells like fuel."
He nodded, and the former Jedi started toward the airlock. Kreia nudged abody as they passed.
"It is a miracle you could slay two at once."
Atton glared at her. "They're trained to fight Jedi, not me." He resisted the urge to tell her he knew how they fought, and if she wanted a primer — flip the face of the +/-5, the total is 10/20. "At least we've got a clear run to the ship—"
Trista threw her arm out and stopped them dead. Standing between them and the airlock was a silvery droid, robustly built, a rifle cradled in its arms. Atton swore and stepped forward, half-shielding her body with his.
"Threat: Master, perhaps I was unclear the last time we spoke." The droid's speech was familiar, and Atton scowled. He'd never met one of these things in person, just seen them from afar, but he knew what it was. "I suggested you should shut down, stay put, and wait for rescue."
"No, you were clear. But after everyone you killed, I doubt 'rescue' is what you had in mind."
"Correction: I am not here to argue semantics, master, so I will simply inform you that you, and those recently corrected miners, are wrong."
"I don't need lectures on right and wrong from an assassin droid."
"Clarification: 'Assassin droid' is such a crude term, Master, reserved for durasteel drones uploaded with only the most archaic of kill-programs. The function I perform has been referred to as 'wanton slaughter.' I prefer—"
"I don't care," she interrupted. "Who sent you? Who's after me? And why?"
"Answer: It is beyond my programming to probe my clients' motivations, master. Suffice to say I am well-compensated, and you have been a difficult target to find."
"Obviously not difficult enough. Who hired you?"
"Chiding Answer: My programming does not allow me to reveal my employer, Master. However, I am free to say they are wealthy, and very interested in possessing the last of the Jedi."
"Great, fantastic. If that's all, get out of my way."
"Resignation: Very well, Master." The droid's rifle clicked. "If inflicting pain is the only means to resolve this matter, then you leave me no choice."
Atton grabbed and pulled her to the side as she pushed him, and the rifle blast went right past them. She was almost immediately gone, throwing her vibrosword into the droid's chassis as she sprinted forward. It didn't help much, just dented the metal. He grit his teeth and fired at the droid, the shots pinging off the droid's plating. The rifle spun towards him.
Trista rolled off her shoulder, grabbing her sword in one motion, and brought it down on the barrel of the gun. It dented. She swung back, a little wildly, and a shower of sparks came off the droid's arm.
He fired again right as she glanced back, then moved in with a blow direct to the droid's chassis. The rifle butt swung out and Trista barely dodged, rolling back off her shoulder to her feet. She glanced up again and took a few steps back, and he followed her look after firing one last time.
The bolt barely struck the droid before a pile of rock and metal, that must have weighed nearly a ton, dropped, missing Trista by less than a foot. The droid was nowhere to be seen, likely at the bottom of the crater decorating the floor. Atton glanced at Kreia warily.
"I cannot guarantee that it is destroyed." She moved past it toward the airlock. "But we should hurry, nonetheless."
He scowled and touched Trista's arm as he passed. "You all right?"
"Yeah." She sheathed her sword with a sigh. "But she's right, I don't think we have a lot of time."
#
"We've lost track of the Harbinger, sir."
Admiral Carth Onasi, fighting the urge to pace at his holoterminal, ran a discontented hand through his hair.
"Any reports on the situation?"
"None, sir. They sent a message that they'd picked up the freighter and that was it."
"Did they say anything about the freighter's contents?"
"Just a few droids and a body, sir."
His heart, previously beating hard in his chest, leapt into his throat.
"Any description on the body?"
"An older woman, that was it." 'Older.' It'd only been four years. Revan was only thirty-three. It couldn't be her, right? "And two astromech droids, only one functional, and a deactivated protocol model."
"Just one body? An old woman?"
"That was their last message. Her and a few bodies off the Sith ship. They were about to start autopsies."
"And that's when we lost touch?"
"Yes, sir."
He sighed. Dodonna would kill him if he lost a capital ship over Revan. "I'll alert Command. I want those ships located, Captain."
"Yes, sir." He saluted, and the image disappeared. Carth turned on his heel.
"Contact me if anything changes."
His communications officer saluted. "Right away, sir."
"I'll be in the conference room."
Carth retreated from the bridge without another word and slid his keycard into the door for the main briefing room. That had not been its true function for some time.
Instead, two people sat around the table. One, his son, sat reading through a datapad with his knees to his chest. Dustil looked up as he entered, one hand leaping to the blaster on the table before he recognized the visitor. Across the table from him sat a young woman, somewhere in her mid-twenties, with her head in her hands. To some, she might have looked asleep. But to a knowledgeable observer, Bastila Shan was definitely not.
"She all right?"
Dustil nodded. "Just meditating again."
"Any luck?"
"What did the Harbinger say?" Bastila interrupted, raising her head. A few smalls lines were forming at the corners of her eyes, aging her more than the almost year they'd been on his ship.
"We've lost contact with them."
Bastila almost stood, then sank back down dejectedly. "And the Hawk?"
"Their last transmission said they'd picked it up. Only occupants were three droids — I assume T3, HK, and something she picked up out there — and a body. Not hers," he added quickly. "Or, at least, I don't think it was. They said it was an old woman. I don't know if the Force can age someone, but I doubt they'd call Anna 'old.'"
Bastila nodded. "I can also still feel her. It's faint, but like she is moving further away."
"But still alive?" Bastila nodded. He sighed. "Thank the bloody stars. That's what worried me."
"And the Harbinger is just gone? I do not like that, Carth."
"Neither do I, if the Sith are involved."
"Do we know what sector?"
"I'm sending a smaller battle group to investigate."
"Perhaps I should go. I can take a small ship and—"
"No, Bas, we still don't know what's targeting Jedi. You leaving might put you at risk, and we need you. You might be the only Jedi left." She frowned. "Bas—"
"No, you are right, Carth. I just feel useless."
"I know."
"What about the Harbinger's passenger? Trista Morace? Any word on her?"
He shook his head. "The last I knew, she was safe on board the Harbinger."
"Great." Bastila threw up a hand and rested her forehead back in her other. "Great! As if this is not bad enough... whatever is hunting Jedi likely found her."
Carth frowned. "You still think someone lured her out?"
"I share a Force bond with Revan, Carth, I would hope some conspiracy-making abilities transferred."
"Fair point."
"This must be a sign of whatever destroyed the Order — I doubt it was the Hawk that drew them there." Her voice was quiet, almost contemplative. "Few remember the name of the vessel we used during the war, and many of them are dead."
Carth settled at the table with a sigh. "This Trista Morace — the Exile — what do you know about her?"
Bastila shook her head and rested it in her hands again. Dustil cleared his throat. "Uh, she was one of Revan's top generals in the Mandalorian Wars. There's some debate about whether she or Malak was more important."
"How so?"
"Malak was Revan's heir apparent, so to speak, but Morace had a bigger influence on her." Carth nodded, and he continued. "She gave the final order at Malachor—"
"I thought—"
"Many people did, but, it was Morace. Revan was delayed out of system. She was the only Revanchist to go back to the Jedi, was exiled, and disappeared. That and a physical description is all I've got."
"The Order does not keep familial records," Bastila interjected. "But Morace is also Revan's only known blood relative. They were brought to the Temple together, but I do not know the circumstances save that Morace is older by two years. My family had not surrendered me to the Jedi myself. Honestly, I am not sure I had been born."
"Then..." Carth looked between them. "Why didn't she leave with Revan at the end of the war?"
"I do not know, but she returned to the Jedi willingly. Any records were inaccessible at the Temple, even more so now that Atris took any information of value with her."
Carth frowned. He and Bastila had taken a clandestine trip back to the Jedi Temple once, when he'd been on leave. It was the only encounter they'd had with whatever was hunting the Jedi — but, he suspected they hadn't expected him to be there. Or for them to invite Mission, both for old time's sake and Bastila's suspicion that their enemies were watching the Temple.
"Any leads on other Jedi?"
She shook her head. "Mission was going to check with Zaalbar, but her last message said Kashyyyk was not answering. She's going there in a couple months. If Jolee is alive, I'd bet he returned to the Shadowlands, but I don't know that I want confirmation on an open channel."
"Mission has our back line."
"I know. I just... worry. If Zaalbar's village is sheltering him again, I'm afraid they might draw the hunters too. As for Juhani and Belaya, I do not know where they may have gone. One of your agents said they were not on Cathar as I assumed, and outside of that, well. I do not know."
Carth nodded and stood. "Let me know if you get anything else, on anyone. I'll let you know what my people find about the Harbinger. We can't lose the Jedi, not if what Anna thought was true."
"I know, Carth, I am doing my best."
"I know, I'm sorry." He sighed. "Dodonna will have my head for this."
#
Trista wasn't sure what she'd expected aboard the Harbinger. An army, perhaps. Some sign of the ship she'd been on. Anything.
But not a dead silence save for the creak of metal underfoot, or the ache in the surrounding air, like visiting a ruin once occupied by thousands. It didn't take the Force to know this vessel was empty.
"I sense no one on board."
And yet, Kreia used it anyway. All right.
"You sense no one? Sense any assassins sneaking up behind us this time?"
"Silence, fool. Everyone here has been slain, but there are no signs of battle. This ship suffered assassins of a different sort."
Atton huffed and adjusted his jacket.
"The ones Mr. Rand ran into, I assume."
"I fear you are correct. We should be on our guard."
Behind her, Atton's jacket rustled as he ran a hand through his hair. "You two are supposed to be Jedi? You're the worst Jedi I've ever met! We were better off in the facility."
Trista took a few steps forward to the first intersection, glancing down the halls as if she expected answers. "Maybe you'd like it back in your cell."
"Maybe I would! At least I was safe there."
"Until the assassins pulled down your field and took care of you."
She glanced back just in time to catch his scowl.
"No, we cannot go back," Kreia said. "And if the droid you spoke to was correct, we cannot reach the hangar — be silent, I need to think."
"Wait," Atton hissed, taking a few steps toward Trista. "How did she know about—"
"I said silence."
He looked at her, and Trista could only shrug.
"I can save you the trouble, Kreia. There's a fuel tube that extended when this vessel docked. It should loop around to the hangar."
"Look, that's insane. And I don't want to cast another shadow on this bright plan but, even if you reached the hangar, you need the asteroid drift charts to leave. Unless you want the shortest recorded flight out of Peragus ever, that is."
"This ship docked, did it not?" Kreia mused. "They must possess the drift charts."
"They'd be on the bridge and, on a ship crawling with assassins... that's the biggest problem I see."
"The bridge isn't far," Trista said. "It should be right around the corner. We'll head there, grab their charts, and make our way to engineering. Violently, if need be."
Atton shrugged and drew his blaster. "If this is the best way off this station? Fine. But I've got a bad feeling about this."
They made their way to the bridge, and Trista tapped open the door. Almost immediately she gagged, wheeling back as the stench of death and decay struck. Bodies were strewn across the bridge, each in a similar state of decay. She drew her shirt over her nose as her eyes watered, and looked up. Atton was already doing the same.
"That's... rank."
"I'll just run in and grab them."
"You know where they are?" She nodded, and he motioned. "I'll watch your back."
Trista took a deep breath of air from the hall and rushed forward, stepping over bodies in stride and fighting to not breathe in. She stepped over the captain's body and punched the console, shoving her found datapad in the slot to get the data. As soon as it chimed, she jerked it out and sprinted back. Atton slammed the door shut behind her.
"I need a shower," Trista panted.
"No arguments here."
She glared at him as she straightened. "All right. Codes, check. Let's make our way to engineering."
"Lead the way. I'll watch our backs."
Trista nodded and started down the hallway, pausing at the intersection. To her right a door was clacking repeatedly in its track, which meant that route was impassable.
"This way."
The other door led into a briefing room. Clear, of both bodies and assailants. Trista moved towards the next door, which would route around the broken one, but glanced back to see Kreia hovering around the console.
"What is it?"
"Perhaps the logs will give us insight into what happened here."
Trista sighed and headed back to the console. Atton made a face at her, and she just shook her head and hit play. The image of the captain appeared over the table, in perfect parade rest, and Trista almost frowned. His voice was the first familiar thing she'd heard in hours.
"We picked up a distress signal and are sending a message to the Republic for permission to investigate."
"That was us, attempting to rescue you," Kreia said.
"What if I hadn't needed it when you got here?"
"You did, and that is what is important."
"We have also transmitted the damaged vessel's ID signature to the Republic. According to the message, it's being pursued by Sith forces."
"Was that true?"
"True enough."
"We have no match for the vessel in our databanks, but the profile indicates it's a stock freighter. We'll know for sure when we arrive, and if the signal is genuine or fake. I am moving all personnel into battle positions for the moment, just to be safe." Something dinged on the recording, and the captain glanced down with a confused expression and pressed a button. "Uh, Admiral. Sir, we wanted to check with you before diverting course from Telos. There—"
"I am aware of the situation, Captain." The image shimmered to that of another man, his uniform bearing a Fleet Admiral insignia and enough metal to build an entire cruiser. A sidearm was strapped to his side, almost out of place with an Admiral's normal peacetime uniform. "You have permission to divert. If there is a Sith presence, I want it found. The ID signature on the freighter — you're sure it was correct?"
"Yes, sir. We did not have the vessel listed in our databanks. Was there a match?"
The reaction was subtle — subtle enough that Trista was sure the captain had missed it. Just a hitch in the voice, a quick glance to the side. Whatever the match was, it hadn't been in the databanks. "There was. And if you find any trace of that vessel, even wreckage, I want it. Understood?"
"Uh, yes, sir."
"After you've investigated, resume course to Telos. It is of utmost importance that your passenger reach Citadel Station. I will meet you there. And—" He glanced to the side, and something quiet came through. Mumbling, too low to hear through the connection. "—and while investigating the presence, make sure the ship is at stations. If there are Sith, they won't take kindly to you."
"Of course, sir."
"Good. Contact me for debriefing once you've investigated. Admiral Onasi out."
The image flickered back to the captain one last time, and he sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if the right hand of the Republic knows what the left is doing."
Trista paused the recording, perhaps more forcefully than expected. "Are we done here?" The woman was standing still, a half-smile toying over her lips. "Something amusing?"
"Later, perhaps. We should proceed."
Trista sighed and shut the console down, then headed for the door with a glance back. Atton was mid-eye-roll.
Figures, she muttered, and they left the briefing room in a final, eternal silence.
