Trista groaned, fumbling for her harness. Her mind was sluggish as it started itself back up, but the latch wasn't where she remembered. Where was her seat? She reached ahead and grasped something in front of her — grass? Outside? She released her fist, and the blades floated down to her face, a dark evergreen against the night sky.

If she'd been in a shuttle, how'd she —

Trista rolled onto her stomach and pushed herself to her hands and knees. If she'd been thrown free, there was no telling what injuries the others had sustained, and the shuttle had to have a med kit on hand —

As she lifted her head, she came nose-to-optic with a small remote droid. It beeped in alarm.

"Hi there," she said, her voice hoarse.

"General."

Someone else. She pushed herself upright with more effort than she'd expected, wheezing with the effort. The voice was familiar, like she'd heard it before — but it belonged to her life back then.

Great.

She looked up at the speaker, finding a tan-skinned Iridonian in a dirt-smeared engineer's uniform holding out his hand. Trista took it, and he pulled her to her feet. "Good to see you're awake."

"I'm not a general."

"Easy." He led her to a rock and let her settle down. "You survived a spectacular crash. Lucky I was here to pull you out, or you'd be a bit crispy."

"There were two people with me, they—"

"They're fine. All out cold like you were, but the pilot's barely got a scratch and the old lady is tougher than she looks."

He motioned back. The shuttle burned a little in the distance, but only a few feet away, Atton was stirring to his feet and Kreia had sat up, pulling her hood back down over her eyes. Trista turned back to the Iridonian.

"Why did you call me 'general?'"

"I was one of your techs during the war." He sat down next to her. "Bao-Dur? Part of the Iridonian Mechanics Corps at Malachor?"

"Yeah, I... don't think about the war. No offense."

"Don't remember too hard. I'd rather not discuss it, either." Atton got to his feet, spotted them, and shuffled toward them. "I never thought I'd see you again, though. Galaxy's a big place, and this is the last place I thought you'd turn up."

"Not by chance, believe me." Trista's hand moved to her hip only to find her bag missing, and looked up. Bao-Dur passed it to her. "Thanks." She found a package of water and opened it. "I'm looking for my ship. It went missing on Citadel Station, and I think you're who the Ithorians sent us too."

"Well, your shuttle is scrap. And I haven't seen a ship land here. A few shuttles, perhaps."

"We're thinking it's at an unknown landing site."

"Hey," Atton interrupted, leaning on her shoulder. She winced. "Sorry, feels like my last time on Telos."

"Crashed a shuttle then, too?" Bao-Dur asked. Atton blinked at him several times.

"Nope, pazaak. Can I have some?"

Trista handed him the water as Kreia joined them, brushing grass and soot off her robes. "That was not the most pleasant landing I have endured. Perhaps in the future, we should seek a more reputable pilot."

"Hey!" Atton protested, spluttering on water. "If I wasn't such a crack pilot, we could be a smear on that rock face!" He pointed to it, then to where the shuttle was still burning. "Besides, they shot us down! Why the hell are there AD guns here? All that's supposed to be here is a Czerka research team. I mean, I know we pissed 'em off, but c'mon." He scratched his nose. "The AD tower was over by the compound, I think."

"Why would a research team have an AD tower?" Trista dug her thumb into the bridge of her nose.

"Probably doing something they shouldn't. I've seen pirate bases with the same setup."

Bao-Dur chuckled. "'Doing something they shouldn't do' is a hallmark of Czerka."

"Who's this comedian?" Atton asked. Trista motioned.

"Bao-Dur. Bao-Dur, this is Atton, and Kreia. We need to find our ship, or a ship. Some ship. You said you haven't seen any come in?"

"No, but I have access to the shield network. We'll need to get back to the compound. It's the old Ithorian research base, turned salvage team staging area. It... won't be an easy hike." He crossed his arms, and Trista's eyes flicked down to them — one arm missing, his hand held on by a glowing, shimmering forcefield.

"Why not?" she asked, looking back up.

"Czerka shuttles in men and equipment to that landing pad. There's possibly a shuttle we could use there if we can breach the perimeter. Or we could try our luck in the ruins, if not. I think there's an old pre-War shuttle there we could take."

"So what's stopping us?"

"An army of mercenaries. And..." He chuckled again. "Hate to admit it, but they're hunting me."

"You?" Atton said. "For what?"

Bao-Dur studied him for a second before replying, "Legally, the term is 'eco-terrorism.'"

"Fair enough."

Trista nodded. "We have little choice. How are you two feeling?"

"I'm fine," Atton volunteered.

"Arguable," Kreia said, earning a glare from the pilot. "I am fine."

"Great. Can you get us there, Bao-Dur?"

He stood with a nod, brushing dirt off his pants. "Follow me."

#

"Lieutenant Grenn, you have a call."

Grenn stopped, having barely walked through the door, and looked at the droid. "Who is it?"

"It's from the Sojourn, sir."

Oh, fantastic. Grenn sighed. "I'll take it in my office."

He knew exactly who was on the line, and what he wanted. The attack on the Ithorians had soaked up much of his morning and, when he'd sent officers around to collect Trista and company's testimonies, they were gone. A frantic search of the station turned up nothing but a few frames of security footage in Docking Bay 126B.

He'd lost her, and it probably involved the Ithorians.

Grenn settled down at his desk with a heavy sigh, steeled himself, and opened his comm.

"TSF Head Office, Lieutenant Grenn speaking."

On the screen appeared a familiar face — a dark-haired human man, about middle aged, in a Republic uniform with a vice admiral's stripes and a panel full of ribbons and medals. Perhaps a little prematurely, he looked happy to see the TSF lieutenant on the line.

"Grenn! Glad to see the TSF hasn't gone to shambles in my absence."

Grenn couldn't help but smile. "Not yet at least. And it looks like you got a promotion."

Carth smoothed the new second bar on his sleeve. "They had to give me something else for my 'distinguished service' during the war."

Grenn nodded. He knew as much as any Telosian these days: that Carth Onasi, one of their own, had been part of a specialized, secret squad that included both the fallen Padawan Bastila Shan and Revan. Some of them wondered if he knew where she'd gone after fleeing the second Victory Tour, but he was devilishly hard to speak these days.

"You might change your tune once you get here, Carth. The situation here is degrading, and I've got some, ah, bad news regarding the Jedi."

"Can't be that bad. I think Telos has already been through the worst."

Grenn responded with a rueful smile. "The woman you're coming for is, ah... we lost her. She slipped off the station early this morning. We think it involved the Ithorians, but we can't prove anything. She was working for them before she left, though."

"So you think they helped her in return."

"That's my suspicion."

Carth sighed. "Damn unfortunate, but it benefits us. We'll talk more when I arrive, but the Republic has decided to not detain the Exile."

"The Exile? So the report you sent me was accurate?"

"Like I said, we'll speak more when I arrive."

Sensors chimed on Grenn's desk, notifying him that a small fleet was just leaving hyperspace in Telos' airspace. "Looks like we will. I'll send your approach vector to your helm."

"Thanks, Grenn."

On the other end, Carth hung up and leaned on his desk, releasing a long breath of air. Fantastic. He'd known the likelihood of Morace finding a way off the station was high — she was a former Jedi who'd spent ten years on the run, after all. But part of him had hoped she'd wait, had almost been desperate for it.

A gentle knock sounded on his door, and he straightened. "Come in."

"I have those reports for you, sir." Bastila closed the door behind her. She looked up and paused. "Are you all right? Force, it's about Morace, isn't it?" Carth motioned to the chair in front of his desk, and she sank down. "But she was on Citadel Station. She was safe, wasn't she?"

"She slipped off the station this morning. And you know the Republic's orders about this."

Bastila frowned. "I thought you would disregard them."

"If she'd been here, I would have. But I don't know how to justify chasing her down."

"We don't have time to wait and see, Carth. If what Anna was chasing is behind this—"

"We've lost her, Bas. Even without the Republic's orders, Morace evaded everyone for a decade. If she doesn't want to be found, she won't be."

Bastila rested her head in her hands. "She's our best lead about Anna, and we've got no contact with the rest of the Jedi."

"Bastila." Carth folded his arms on his desk. "Tell me something honestly."

"I will do my best."

"You knew Morace, at least by reputation, right?" She nodded. "And you're sure she's being hunted, just like the rest of the Jedi?"

"I-I assume so. Grenn said she insisted there were Sith on Peragus and, former Jedi or no, I will not doubt her assessment. If they found her there, and went through such an effort to kill her, I suspect they will keep doing it."

He thought back to the Trista he'd seen on Grenn's interview recording. Still, almost unnaturally so. Angry, though he didn't blame her. Supposedly without a command of the Force. Still running. Running forever, he suspected, if she had her way.

But he had that feeling about her. The feeling he'd had looking at Revan during the war. The one that said that, as soon as someone had her backed into a corner, she wouldn't stop until that galaxy itself moved around her.

"So considering that — if she keeps running from the Sith, if they keep hunting her. What's the chance of her fixing this whole thing for us?"

Bastila sighed and shook her head, considering for a moment. "It would take... time, and allies. She could not do it alone, or with only the companions Grenn reported, that is for sure. But..." She tented her fingers, sighed again, and met Carth's eyes. "I am afraid I've not been fully truthful, Carth."

Carth straightened up and rested his hands on his desk, making sure his expression was not serious. "You, hiding something from me? Impossible. I've never known you as anything but transparent."

"Carth Onasi, I—" Bastila protested, caught his expression, and almost visibly wheeled back from her protestation. "Yes, of course, I have never lied to you, and certainly not for a year whilst shepherding around a Sith Lord with amnesia."

He chuckled. "Yes, now that you mention it, perhaps you've lied to me once. But you were about to explain the second time?"

"Right." Bastila folded her hands on the desk. "Carth, remember I did say that Morace was Anna's only known blood relative?"

"I remember you mentioning it."

"If you spoke to anyone in the old Jedi, they'd tell you cousins. But." Bastila pulled out one of the several datapads she carried on her, the last remaining product of the Jedi Archives. "There was this in the archives. Let me find it."

Carth waited for a moment as she searched through files. "Ah, here it is. The Archives ledger noted every time a new child came in. So in early 1021, we have a note that a Jedi team working with the Republic came across a merchant freighter, the crew all dead save two young girls. Six and four."

"Anna and Morace, I'm assuming."

"Yes. But Morace gave their names as Revanna and Trista Galon-Morace."

Carth stopped drumming his fingers on his desk. "They're sisters."

"This doesn't go further but, thanks to the Jedi's policy on attachments—"

"They broke up the name."

"Easily, because it's hyphenated. You should see the naming horrors I've seen, Carth." She set her datapad down. "Granted, their situation was rare, Anna's especially. Four is very young to be taken into the Jedi."

"It is. Do they know?"

"Given how they were during the war, I'm sure Trista does. If Anna does, it's, well." Bastila tapped her head, and he nodded.

"She doesn't anymore, at least."

"She may. We've no way to know how much of her memory she's regained, if any."

He rubbed his forehead. "This adds an entire new layer onto any interaction I ever have with her."

"And this is why I wasn't going to tell you."

"I'll... finish parsing this out later." Carth shook his head. "Your point is — wait. How alike are they?"

Bastila smiled. "That is my point, Carth. Morace was among the first people Revan asked to war, and she leapt at the opportunity. If the Sith come after her, after Revan's sister, I think they'll find more than they can handle — Force or no Force."

#

Atton strapped himself into the pilot's seat of their purloined shuttle, coaxing it to life before they had even set foot inside. Bao-Dur settled in the copilot's seat and looked over the panels.

"The old girl might not have run in ten years, but she's doing fine for now."

Trista settled down on one of the bunk seats and strapped in. Kreia positioned herself across from her.

"This will definitely be better than last time," Atton said, looking back. "Aw, now you're making me feel inadequate."

"After the last landing, the inadequacy is deserved."

Atton glared at her, and Trista shook her head at him. He rolled his eyes and turned back. "Yeah, well, don't count me out yet. Old witch."

"Looks like we're safe to fly." Bao-Dur looked back. "Take off?"

Trista nodded. "Go ahead."

Atton coaxed the ship into the sky, into the low atmosphere just above the environmental shield walls. "All right, where are we going?"

"Telos' northern ice cap. I already set the vector."

"Great. See?" He glared back at Kreia. "Much better than last time."

Trista looked at Kreia. The only visible sign of her irritation was a thinly drawn mouth, and she shook her head.

They traveled in silence for nearly an hour. Only a few minutes in, Trista leaned her head back on the wall and closed her eyes, letting herself slip off for the few moments of rest she desperately needed.

"Tris." She woke immediately when Atton called and leaned forward, taking in a rising mesa in a vast white expanse coming to meet them.

"We're approaching the target," Bao-Dur said, glancing back. "There."

"Doesn't look like much," Atton said.

"There is likely a reason for that."

"Yeah, you don't say. Tris, thought you'd want to see what we're dealing with."

Trista did, searching the mesa for any sign of what they were looking for — or for the ship. They drew closer, and she almost unstrapped for a better look.

"You're going to put down safely, right?"

"Won't be a problem. Bring it in at a direct angle, drop it straight down and cut the thrust. Pure pazaak—"

Then, as the ground rose to meet them, something vibrant red and orange streaked skyward. Toward them. Trista slammed back into the seat as she yelled. "Atton!"

"You've got to be kidding me." The shuttle lurched to the left, hard, knocking Trista into the wall hard. Pain rocketed through her head, turning her vision black for a second. Then it lurched to the other side, accompanied by Atton swearing profusely and a few quiet, almost invisible additions from Bao-Dur. Warning chimes sang through the shuttle interior, and Trista grabbed onto her harness, closed her eyes, and waited for the inevitable.

The first crash threw her forward in her seat. The cacophony of metal crumpling silenced for a second as it bounced, then crashed, and skidded.

It was over in a second. She unbuckled her harness and tripped on a broken shard of metal before she'd even opened her eyes, her hands skidding on freezing ice. Flakes of snow and ice, driven by a freezing wind, crossed her face, and she glanced toward the back of the shuttle. The back had sheared off and landed several hundred feet away, almost at the edge of the mesa. Trista brushed the crystals off her face and stumbled to her feet.

"Kreia."

"I am fine." Kreia already undoing her own harness when she looked up. Trista nodded and lunged forward, grabbing Atton's shoulder.

"You okay?"

"Fine." Atton pulled at his harness. "This is jammed."

"Cut it off, we lost another shuttle." He nodded, and she turned to Bao-Dur, only to find him slumped in his seat. She leaned around as panic set in, and placed her fingers to his neck. Still alive. Blood trickled down the side of the shuttle, from his head, and she frowned. "Atton?"

"Still cutting, Tris."

"Bao-Dur's out, but he's still alive." Trista grit her teeth and sent enough of the Force into him, just to stabilize, and drew her knife to cut him free. Atton stood and rested his hand on her shoulder. "Can you get him out? I'm going to see what shot us down."

"Go ahead. Just be careful, all right?"

Trista nodded and headed to the back. The snow crunched under her feet as she dropped to the ice below, and the wind whipped her clothing. She held up her arm to block the ice that eddied before each moan of wind. "I am not dressed for this."

Kreia, standing with her robe drawn around herself, shook her head. "Focus. This will not be an easy battle."

"If they used ordinance heavy enough for this damage, I'd be disappointed if they were."

Trista shielded her eyes and looked across the mesa. Four spires rose on the corners, high above them, covered in thin layers of blown snow and ice. The shuttle had skidded precariously close to the edge, just before it risked a several hundred foot drop off the plateau. The wind whipped back the other direction, blowing fuel-scented smoke across her face in small whorls. Trista thumbed her numbing nose with a scowl.

"You have not forgotten how to regulate your internal temperature with the Force, have you?"

Trista frowned, continuing to shield her eyes. "I've only felt the Force again for about a week and a half."

Whatever Kreia was to say, it was cut off by whirring. Trista's head snapped back ahead, where three silver figures drew to a stop ahead of them.

"Oh, it's these guys again," Trista grumbled.

"Relieved Statement!" the middle droid exclaimed. "Jedi, it is good to see you intact! We were concerned that shooting down your shuttle would damage you irreparably."

"Yeah, word of advice. Next time you're trying to capture someone, wait for their shuttle to land."

"Objection: Jedi, we do not need lectures on capturing targets." The one on the right spoke next.

"Ugh, Tris, your friend could lose a couple kilos." Atton dropped out of the shuttle with Bao-Dur slung over his shoulders. He looked up, groaned, and let him slide to the ground. "Speaking of friends—"

Trista looked back at the droids. "And what are you even doing here? How did you find me? And why did you shoot me down?"

"Unnecessary clarification: We simply wished to cripple your vessel, Jedi, perhaps injure you. To better conduct a cessation of hostilities, of course."

"... I'm really starting to hate these guys," Atton said.

"You and me both."

"Probing query: We are, however, curious why you came to the remnants of the polar Telos irrigation system. There is nothing here our instruments can detect."

"I don't see how that's any of your concern."

"Eager threat: That's precisely why we're looking forward to extracting your motives when we place you in torture restraints."

"Yeah, I don't think so." Atton raised his gun, and Trista reached back and set her hand on it.

"Not yet," she whispered.

"Side note." She glanced to her side, and he nodded at the floating spheres next to the droids. "Those explode."

"Good call." Trista looked ahead again as she tapped Kreia's arm. "The mines. And droids, just how many of you can I expect to dismantle before you get the memo?"

It didn't make them hesitate as much as she'd like. "Chiding statement: Oh, Jedi, there are as many of us as need to capture or kill our targets."

"Egotistical boast," right droid continued, "and there are far more of us than any one Jedi. Destroy one of us, and more shall rise from the wreckage."

"Great." Trista drew her vibrosword, and Atton's gun flashed back up on her peripheral. "I suggest you bring more next time."

The droids brought their guns up. "Unnecessary threat: our attack protocols are more than a match for you — and your allies."

"Yeah, about that," Atton said, "don't stand so close to your mines next time."

A mine to the left flew back and exploded as Trista held out her hand, sending the others back closer to the droids. Atton fired at the center mine, the bolt whipping past her head, and it exploded, chaining through the other mines as they burst in the freezing air.

"Should give 'em a few dents."

"Not enough to take them out." Trista started forward. "Kreia, right. Atton, left. I'll take middle."

As she sprinted forward, Atton opened fire. She brought her vibrosword down on the first, a shower of sparks breaking off its metal head. The droid swung his gun toward her and she blocked it. Metal crumpled next to her as she grabbed the gun and brought her sword down on the barrel, bending it backwards. She dropped her sword and slammed her hand into the droid's chassis.

Pulling on the Force, she drew her attention to its joints – the weak spots – and clenched her hand into a fist. The metal creaked and groaned as it bent and twisted, a noise that continued as she pushed out and flung it off the side of the mesa.

Atton's staggered back to her left, collapsing to the mesa as its chassis gave into the hail of blasterfire hitting its operational core. She turned for Kreia's, only to find a bundle of twisted, shrunken metal.

Trista drew a deep breath and sheathed her sword, walking back to the others. Atton stepped back as she bent down and pulled Bao-Dur around her shoulders.

"It'll be night soon, we've been up for almost two days, and the Hawk has to be here. We've got two options: we find the ship fast, or we put out a distress call to Citadel Station and get put back in detention."

"I'd like to avoid jail again," Atton said, sarcasm dripping through his words.

"Inside it is. Think it's buried?"

"It might be carved into the side. We don't have a climbing kit, do we?"

"Or perhaps the strange outcrop in the center will provide us the answer?"

Trista and Atton looked at Kreia and followed her eyes to a pile of ice in the center of the mesa — the only notable pile of snow and ice at all.

"Good work, Kreia." Trista adjusted Bao-Dur and picked her way through the snow, rounding the mound to find a set of stairs leading down to a metal door. "Looks like we've got a bunker of some sort." A few footprints headed down the steps, brushed with more snow until eventually, they'd be obscured.

"It is better than a night here," Kreia said. Trista nodded and stepped onto the first step, making her way to the door.

"Hopefully they're fine with us dropping by unannounced."

Atton checked his gun behind her with a click. "The crash already announced us."

"Probably." Trista raised her hand to knock at the door but, before she touched it, the door slid open to a dark, sloping hall beyond. Atton coughed.

"I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Same." She adjusted Bao-Dur and started through. "Not that we have much choice."

They headed down, the door sliding closed behind them. Almost immediately, the freezing air of the mesa vanished into a comfortable, neutral temperature. Warmth began to return to the tips of her fingers and nose.

"Another door," she said as they reached the bottom of the hall. She adjusted Bao-Dur again and nudged it open, her free hand falling to her sword as she did. "Keep your eyes open."

The door opened to a large, round room, the center a tower cylinder that rose from a walled fountain, all lit with a white light that made the gray steel even more smoke-gray. As Kreia stepped through, last as always, the door slammed shut behind them. Trista spun back to it, and Atton grabbed her arm.

"We've got company."

She turned back, right into the sharp end of an electrostaff less than a meter from her nose. She looked up, past it to its wielder — a pale-skinned, white-haired woman, clad in a hooded white jumpsuit.

Well, they were in the right place, at least. Trista glanced to her sides. Two other, nearly identical women, stood with staves pointed toward Atton and Kreia. Atton had raised his blasters and stepped back, ready for a fight.

The woman in front of her spoke. "Lay down your weapons, and we shall not harm you."

Trista cleared her throat, trying to sound calm, convincing. "Who are you?"

"I will not warn you again. Drop your weapons, or we will take them from you."

"I'm not giving you my guns," Atton said.

"Do as they say." Kreia's voice cut through the burgeoning chaos. "I sense we will not come to any harm."

"Yeah, anything else you want to warn us about while you're on top of things?" Atton retorted. Kreia tilted her head, displeased.

"Just do as they say," Trista hissed. She drew her vibrosword, caught it by the blade, and handed it to the woman across from her. Kreia handed over her sword without further comment. "Atton."

"Ugh. Fine." He finished wrestling through his internal debate before passing over his blasters. And his holdout blaster. And his knife. And several grenades.

The women lowered their weapons, and Trista straightened as much as she could. "I hope we will be taken to the person in charge?" It took a few syllables, but she manipulated her voice back into the Jedi tone she had been so familiar with. Placid, unconcerned, a complete transformation from the unfamiliar sea of emotions inside her.

"We will guard your companions, and I will take you to our Mistress."

"I would prefer that we're kept—"

"This is not a negotiation." Trista frowned. "You will accompany my sister and I to our Mistress, and your companions will be held as per her directions."

"Oh, great," Atton grumbled. "I'll take him. Hate for this 'Mistress' to get another bug up her ass."

Trista nodded, and they shifted Bao-Dur onto Atton's shoulders. She let her hand linger a moment on his shoulder as she leaned in.

"If you don't hear from me in a few hours," she whispered. "Try to escape."

"Don't worry, sweets. That was the plan."