"Bastila, you'll want to sit down."

Bastila looked up as Carth entered, and made her way to one of the briefing room's chairs. "What happened?"

"TSF just sent this on a back channel. It's the Hawk." Carth plugged the data pad into the briefing room's console, and the image flicked up onto the screen. A TSF officer saluted.

"Sir, Lieutenant Grenn is having me make this video while we search this freighter for you." Behind him stood a freighter, so familiar that Bastila reached across the table and grabbed Carth's forearm with a gasp.

"I know, I know."

The agent stepped aside and the silver and red hull of the Ebon Hawk loomed large behind him, the viewport windows glinting in the light and the ramp lowered. Bastila's nails dug into his arm as he paused it.

"Carth, it's T3!"

Carth squinted, and also pointed to the small, silver droid hanging upside down off the bottom of the ship, welding a strut. "You're right, it is! T3's okay!"

"The droid identified itself as T3-M4." The officers were heading up the ramp now, and the vid hovered on T3 for a moment. The droid turned his head and responded with a rude series of chirps that made both of them chuckle. "We couldn't get anything off its systems – has some major encryption in it. We're going to ask the Jedi for the appropriate keys."

"The Jedi?" Bastila asked, with a note of cautious hope in her voice. Carth shook his head.

"The Exile showed up with the Hawk and two other people. They've got all three of them in custody. Which is good, since Dodonna has us clearing this sector before we can head to Telos and get them." Bastila nodded.

"We're headed up the main ramp and we'll clear out the ship along the way. We aren't expecting any problems."

"Hopefully she hasn't trapped any of it."

"Hopefully."

The video headed left, into the starboard dorm. It looked untouched from the last time they saw it, save that the beds looked like they'd been tossed around. The agents found nothing and headed into the garage.

"Oh no, Bas." Carth paused and pointed to the screen. "It looks like the side got blown off."

"Anna's swoop is missing."

He swallowed. "Maybe she just took it with her when she left the ship? I told you what I saw – what she said."

Bastila shook her head. "I still can't imagine her leaving the ship."

"It sounded like she didn't have a choice."

"Looks like a garage here. Some swoop moorings." The camera panned closer to the damage. "Some odd looking repair work. Looks like the side of the ship got blasted out."

"What could have done that?" Bastila asked. Carth shook his head.

"Any ship larger than the Hawk?"

"Good point."

The video continued into the hall, then the engine room. "Looks like the port engine's been blown to hell."

"Look at the size of these, though. Bet this ship is pretty fast when you get it going."

"What would blow the engine like that?" Bastila asked.

"Direct blow from an ion cannon, maybe."

The video took them through to the all-but empty cargo hold.

"I don't know if that's a good or bad sign," Carth said.

"Good. The ship doesn't appear to have taken damage here, so Anna must have taken her supplies with her."

Carth nodded. "You're right, the garage took most of the damage."

The secured hold was standing open, and Bastila caught herself holding her breath as the TSF agent approached it.

"Looks like..." He rummaged through it. The first thing out had Carth grabbing for Bastila's arm. "Hey, Dax, c'mere. This look like a Jedi robe to you?"

"We got the ship off a Jedi, so, not surprising." The other agent took it from him, looking it over. "Looks too small to be hers, though."

"Who's is it, then?"

They looked it over. "Looks like it's got some embroidery. AK. Probably initials."

"It's hers, at least," Carth whispered.

"Huh. You sure it's not hers?"

"Nah, her name starts with a T. And she's way too tall for this."

"Chuck it in the evidence pile, I guess, Grenn will want to get that to the Admiral."

"It's only fair after she stole my jacket."

Despite herself, Bastila smiled.

The rest of it was empty, and the port dormitory was much the same as the other. The two agents headed into the main hold, which looked neglected, and peeked into the medbay. Still stocked.

"She didn't take Jolee's herbs," Bastila said.

"Might have been too much to carry."

This time, as the camera swung back into the hold, the contents of the storage compartment were obvious. Both gasped. The agents crept closer, for the first time seeming uneasy, until the room came into view. HK-47 stood, damaged and deactivated, in the hold, a gaping wound on his chest and the murderous light of his eyes dimmed.

"Oh, no," Bastila whispered. Carth leaned in closer to the screen.

"That's not good. She wouldn't damage him herself."

"Maybe she didn't. We don't know how the Exile found the Hawk. He may have already been damaged."

Carth frowned. "If we could just get a closer look at him—"

"See if Grenn can hold him for you?"

He nodded. "I don't know that I'd want to fix him without Anna around. He's volatile, at best."

"Hey, Lorne." Their attention returned to the video as Dax held up a datapad, pulling it out of a charging port on the holotable. "Got a datapad here."

"What's on it?"

Agent Dax turned it on. "Looks like a message. Hey, the Admiral's name is on here."

"Admiral Onasi?"

Dax nodded. "Yeah. Says to get this either to him or the Jedi Temple."

"Well, we're not doing the latter. Any idea what's on it?"

Dax pursed her lips. "Not sure. There's some hefty file sizes on here though. Another one for Bastila Shan. Hey, you don't think..."

Both agents paused for a moment.

"Nah. Galaxy's too big for that."

"Yeah, yeah, fair point."

"Tell Grenn to get us that as soon as we land," Bastila said.

"Adding it to the list."

Of the rest of the video, only one thing stood out – as the TSF agents poked around the navicomputer, they discovered it was voice-locked.

"Definitely her," Carth murmured, leaning back in his chair. Bastila echoed it with a sigh.

"She knew we would try to follow her."

He sighed and scrubbed the side of his face, then stood. "I've got to get back to the bridge. Keep the recording, see if you can find anything on it."

"I will let you know if I see anything."

#

"Tris?"

She groaned in reply, not daring to open her eyes. She felt dead. Was she? No, that wasn't possible – there wouldn't be feeling. Then where was she? She couldn't feel... there was a void somewhere inside her, empty and hollow.

Painfully hollow.

"Tris, I know you're awake."

She forced her eyes open to a gray ceiling above her, and her head fell to the side toward the speaker. Revan sat in a chair next to her, maskless, and smiled when their eyes met. But it didn't reach her eyes – stopped somewhere right at the corners of her mouth, like it wasn't willing to follow.

"Finally. You've been out for days."

"What happened?" The voice she heard was unfamiliar, even as it was hers.

"I could ask you the same thing." Revan reached out and grasped her hand where it lay limp on the cot. "The bridge crew said you collapsed. The medlab says you almost died."

Almost... died? Or worse...

"Revs," she breathed. "I don't think I can feel it. The Force." Her sister was quiet for a moment before looking away, her gray eyes catching on something at the far end of the lab. "You... you didn't expect this, did you?"

Revan's head whipped back around, sending loose tendrils of fiery hair waving around her face. "How dare you accuse me of that? As if I would put you in outright danger – what, because we don't agree?"

"You have before!" Her tone might have been harsher than merited. "This wouldn't be the first, Revanna! Or did you forget about Dxun this fast?"

"Don't take that tone with me."

"Or what?"

"Just because you're older—"

"Is that what this is, Revs? I disagree with you and you—" Her throat closed in, bound by emotion, and Trista jerked her gaze up to the ceiling.

"Tris, stop. You're not feeling well." Revan's fingers trailed across her forehead, brushing strands of blond hair back. "If I'd known what this would do, I wouldn't have asked you to be there. I would have sent you away. We're the only family we have."

"Don't pull that card with me. Not right now." Revan sighed. "And you've got Alek, anyway. Or... Malak, or whatever. Seems he's more important than me these days."

She pursed her lips but, for once, it seemed she wouldn't rise to the bait. Trista turned her gaze back to the ceiling as the two sat in silence for a moment.

"We should go back," she said. "To the Jedi. They can help you before you go too far." And maybe they can help me, she thought, clinging to the idea like a last bastion of hope. Of sanity.

Revan scoffed. "And do what? Get put on trial?"

Trista lay in silence for another moment, separating out the rampant thoughts as they threatened to overwhelm her. "They let us join the war, they cannot try us for that."

"There's nothing wrong with me. With any of us."

"You haven't been yourself for months."

The metal chair creaked under her. "The Jedi are weak, arrogant, and judgmental, and they would have let the Rim fall had we not pushed the issue. You saw it yourself."

"Then what else is there to do? Where else will you go?"

"Alek and I are taking part of the fleet into the Unknown Regions. Something was behind the Mandalorians, and I intend to find it."

"Revs—"

"Don't." Her tone took a hard, sharp turn. The one she used on their subordinates when they questioned her orders. One she'd almost never used on her. "We decided after the battle."

"Revs, we need help. We need to go back to Coruscant."

"No. You may get off easy, but I can only imagine what Atris and Vrook have in mind for me." She spat the names with more vitriol than ever. "They know nothing outside the Temple. I won't let them dictate what our next move is."

"They know enough."

"Enough to let the galaxy burn in front of them, maybe."

"Revan, please." She looked back at her sister, tears burning in her eyes. "Whatever you think you're chasing, let it go. Take it to the Council and see what—"

"No.' Revan stood, swinging her robe out from under her. "Tris, come with us when we leave. We need you – I need you. We can figure out what's happened together."

For the briefest moment, just a heartbeat, she had already agreed. But the emptiness in her chest was overwhelming, the feeling of loss, of vacancy, of death was too much. Wherever they planned to go, she couldn't follow. And she couldn't stop them.

"No. I can't. I need to find out what's—" She swallowed. "What's wrong with me. From the people that might know."

Revan shrugged, unclipping her mask from her belt. "Suit yourself, Tris. You want to go back to them? That's up to you." She pulled the mask on and turned back for the door, and Trista looked away for a moment.

"Then you are a liability."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Revan turn back. The robes had shifted, shimmering into the black and copper-armored figure she'd seen images of a few times over the years, her sister's iconic mask settled in the void under the robes. She shoved herself back for the side of the hospital bed as lightning sparked on the dark-gloved fingertips, and Trista fell to the floor with a heavy, painful thud—

"Tris! Tris, wake up."

She shot upright, sending Atton reeling back to avoid her forehead. Her hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist before her vision cleared, and she let go. "Sorry. Are you all right?"

Atton eyed her as he got to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. "Yeah, fine. What the hell was that?"

Trista turned away and scrubbed her hands down her face. "Nothing, just a… dream." She stared at the door for a moment, then sighed. "Wish I could take a walk or something, that'd be great."

"We could always fight our way out."

"Absolutely not." Kreia's voice was sharp and left little room for argument, and Atton scowled back at her.

"I wasn't serious."

Trista sank back down on her bed. "Not now." She heard Atton walk back to his bed, likely glaring at Kreia the whole way, and tucked herself back into a ball under her sheets as she faced the window. Her eyes traced the path of shuttles as they crossed the windows, and kept an eye on the clock that blinked 0600 above it.

This was why she didn't sleep unless she was exhausted or drinking.

#

Several hours later the comm started its incessant beeping again, and Trista climbed out of bed. Atton glanced at her from the window – she wasn't sure if he was counting shuttle patterns, or trying to figure out if they could escape with a bedsheet ladder without dying in vacuum. Something told her she shouldn't ask. Instead, she sighed and answered the hail.

"What?"

On the screen in front of her was a protocol droid, the blue screen rendering his color silver and brown, who responded with a confused click. Trista sighed. "I was expecting the TSF. Hello."

"I apologize, Mistress, I am B-4D4, administrative assistant for Czerka Corporation's Citadel Station branch."

"Figures," she mumbled. Czerka had probably found out the Ithorians had reached her, and needed to even the field.

Still a Jedi, even if she wasn't.

"I am attempting to connect you with Executive Officer Jana Lorso. May I put you through?"

"What's she want?"

"I do not know. I am simply her assistant."

Trista pinched the bridge of her nose. "Fine."

"Thank you. I will connect you now. Good day." The droid's image wavered, replaced by that of a middle-aged woman, dark-haired, with diamond-shaped tattoos arching over her eyebrows and down her hairline. She placed them immediately – there'd been enough Mirialans in the Jedi that, even ten years later, one was unmistakable.

"Thank you for accepting my call, Jedi. As my assistant no doubt informed you, I am Jana Lorso."

"Yes. Hello." For a moment she almost thought about correcting her address. Something about her made her uncomfortable, whether it was the Force or gut born of years on the Rim, and Trista asserted herself. "I'm not a Jedi. Why are you contacting me?"

"Very well. Hopefully you will still be of some use." Bingo. Her brows twitched lower. "I understand you have been approached by the Ithorians."

"Yes. Yesterday."

"As I was told. Doubtlessly they attempted to obtain your assistance through imposed guilt and veiled threats—"

"I remember neither. Either make your point, or I'll hang up."

"Very well, I did not wish to discuss the Exchange or Ithorians anyway." A "veiled threat" would be inherent from her tone, and Trista's frown deepened. "I believe you are a person of influence. Someone I would like on my side, rather than aiding the Ithorians' quasi-mysticism and foolishness. There is a potential for progress and profit on Telos."

"I hope you at least understand the irony of approaching a Jedi and not expecting quasi-mysticism and foolishness." Behind her, Atton stifled a snort of laughter, while Lorso responded with a tempered, empty smile.

"You have survived longer than the other Jedi, so I am led to assume you are more practical. I am offering you a job. Work for Czerka, and be rewarded handsomely. You would help yourself, really. If you find yourself interested, please visit the office in Residential 082. B-4D4 will direct you when you arrive."

"I will consider it."

"Excellent. Good luck with that messy investigation – I am sure it will end shortly – and I look forward to discussing these terms in person."

As the comm clicked, Trista shook her head and looked up at Atton as he settled on the wall by the comm. "Quasi-mysticism, huh?"

"Not like it isn't true."

He shrugged and crossed his arms. "Didn't say it wasn't, just never heard it out of a former Jedi before."

"There's a reason it's 'former.' What do you know about Czerka?"

"Well..." Atton glanced back toward the window. "Pay smugglers pretty well but, apart from that, it's not a company you get into by having morals. If you get my drift."

"I think I do. On a scale from one to the Cartel, where are they?"

Atton tilted his head as he thought, then blew a breath through his teeth. "Whew... eight point five? I've only heard of one active Czerka slavery ring, and the Cartels run an entire market."

"Damn. Where?"

"Some Rim world, big hairy guys. Wookiees, I think they're called?"

Trista nodded. She'd only met one or two, but they'd all been slaves. "Wondered where they were coming from."

"Czerka as a whole has been keeping their head down since their mining ops on Tat went bottom-up. When you spend as much time on the Rim as I have..." Atton shrugged. "Czerka doesn't bother you that much, anymore. Hutts are still worse, and Czerka brushes their below-board away by blaming a lack of centralization, or something."

"Fair enough." Trista paused. "In Revan's empire, did they—"

"Don't know. I think the warrant she has out says it, but I haven't read the whole thing."

Trista nodded, hoping the disappointment in her chest didn't show on her face. "Thanks."

"Hey, see if the TSF will send in breakfast. I'm starving."

She nodded again, and Atton wandered back to the window. She put in the order with their guard outside and, after a second of contemplation, opened the limited Holonet connection and searched Revan. It took only a matter of seconds for the single result.

Public Document: Warrant of Arrest for Darth Revan, alias "Anna Kyjjl."

It was dated almost five years earlier. She opened it with a frown and scrolled past the names of the various judges and representatives, which itself took about three pages. When she got to the warrant itself, it made her sick. Ignoring the four "treason" listings, which she expected to see, the warrant detailed twenty-one various crimes, ranging from war crimes (which, again, she'd anticipated) to crimes against peace and civilization. She stared at the console in horror as the warrant leveled accusations from enslavement to genocide, alleging over three thousand individual counts.

"Oh, Revs," she whispered, "what the hell did you get into?"

She scrolled to the bottom of the document to ensure they had the right person, and that it wasn't some random woman being mistaken for her sister. But the description of her sister was spot on, from her shorter height to her weight to her appearance. Under "Known Associates," it listed two masters she knew, Zhar and Lestrin. She didn't even know if they were still alive. The Republic admiral was listed too, but it was the next line that shocked her — for two different reasons.

Last seen with Mandalorian mercenary Canderous Ordo aboard the Republic vessel Sojourn, 7-16-1046.

Her sister was last seen with a Mandalorian.

The Sojourn was the ship coming to meet them.

Trista closed out of the document and retreated to her cot, climbing on and settling down with her legs crossed, desperate for anything other than what she'd just read.

For the first time in ten years, she reached for the Force.