Atton went to the cockpit, warming the ship up around them. Trista slumped down into the seats in the main hold. The ship shuddered to life, and the intercom above clicked on.

"Trash compactor, get up here so we can navigate."

T3 rolled past her with a reluctant chirp. Bao-Dur settled down next to her.

"Not a fan of droids, I see."

Trista yawned. "Not really. Atton!"

"Go ahead, Tris."

"Find us a place to buy supplies."

"I think Mirial is close, if you don't mind them being Sith during the war."

"War's over."

"Good point. Once the trash can gets up here, I'll put in the coordinates."

The intercom clicked off and Trista rested her head on the seat again.

"I saw the ship had taken damage."

She nodded. "Yeah, it got hit bad on the way to Peragus."

"I'll look once we have settled into hyperspace. With the droid, I should finish repairs."

"I'd appreciate that. We'll pick up more repair supplies on Mirial. Would you mind checking out T3's chassis at some point? I think two of his wheels are off alignment."

Bao-Dur nodded. "I might be able to give him a few upgrades." He opened a pocket and pulled out his remote, turning the droid back on. It beeped and zipped around the ship as it pulled off the hangar floor, heading for open space beyond.

"How'd you lose your arm? I remember you with two of them."

He glanced at her. "I got tired of it. Kept dropping my hydrospanner. Figured I'd get a new one."

"I bet that was fun."

Bao-Dur chuckled. "I was kidding – it was a souvenir from Malachor. I was lucky it was all I lost." There was a knowing expression on his face, and Trista cleared her throat and studied the synthesizer across the room. "But, it gave me something to do. Everyone said I was half-machine, anyway."

"You'll have to cut off your leg to be half-machine."

The ship lurched as it entered hyperspace, and Bao-Dur frowned. "The hyperdrive may need some adjustment. That was rough."

"It took a bad EMP hit, I think." Trista stood and headed for the intercom at the central table, pressing the button to open it. "If everyone can come to the main hold, we need to talk over our next steps."

They waited until Kreia and T3 joined them and Atton reluctantly shuffled out of the cockpit. All of them stood in silence for a moment before Atton ruffled his hair.

"So now what?" She looked over, raising a brow when he glanced at Kreia and refused to make eye contact with her.

"Uh... well, we need a next move. Did anyone learn anything while we were on Telos?"

"You were the one chatting up Atris."

Trista sighed and rubbed the back of her head. "I learned she has a major ego, a major problem with me, and both are unlikely to change."

"Great. This is the worst operation ever. Not only do none of us have any idea what we're doing, there's a bunch of Sith just waiting to murder us—"

"Yes, yes, we're all incompetent fucks. Thanks, Atton, great insight." In the ensuing silence, T3 released a quiet chirp. She closed her eyes. "What?"

"/T3+archive records=downloaded/"

Trista looked down. "You downloaded her archives?" He chirped and rocked on his struts.

"/Jedi=present/!/Atris=accessed 53xstart of year/T3=bookmarked/recording=Jedi trial/"

Kreia frowned across the table. "What is the machine saying?"

"Atris saved a holorecord of my trial. I didn't expect it to exist." She looked down at T3. "If you want to play it, go ahead. It's ancient history now."

T3 chirped and rolled forward, plugging himself into the holotable. A perfect image of the Council Chamber on Coruscant hovered into view, many of the seats empty. Only a few Masters were even present. Trista closed her eyes and sank onto the seats behind the table, tucking her knees under her chin.

She didn't need to see this. After a decade, it was still seared into her mind. Kreia was watching — or, listening, she guessed — intently, but Atton was glancing between her and the recording worriedly. She shook her head with a small smile.

"Do you know why we have called you here?" Even now, she recognized Vrook's voice in a heartbeat. And his tone was the one he'd used to discipline (or terrorize) Padawans for years. That voice could strike fear into almost any Jedi of her generation.

"I surrendered upon my return to Coruscant." Her voice was quiet, rough. Even on the image she still looked like hell — it'd taken her weeks to recover from Malachor. "Not that the comatose have much choice."

"Why did you defy us?" Zez-Kai Ell, her old masters. His tone was reproachful, but not nearly as harsh as the others. "The Jedi are guardians of peace, and have been for ages. This call to war undermined everything we strove for."

"Is Revan your master now?" Atris. "Or is the horror you wrought at Malachor enough for you?"

Bao-Dur glanced back, and she smiled weakly.

"If Revan were my master," recording-Trista said, "I would have gone with her. I stand by my decision."

"You refuse to hear us. You shut us out, and have shut yourself to the galaxy."

On the image, her head ducked and her hands clenched into her robes. Ell's rejection had been the hardest part of this trial — of all the Jedi on the Council, she'd expected support from him and Kavar.

"We believe your true understanding of Malachor will come in time – time that cannot happen here, near your old battlegrounds." Kavar had at least been kind about it. Even here he looked at her with something like pity. Zez-Kai Ell had a similar expression, she remembered, just as she had turned to leave.

"You are exiled," Vash interjected. While stern, she had her softer moments — but this had not been one of them. "And you are a Jedi no longer."

Recording-Trista nodded. She'd expected the sentence. She hadn't felt the Force in weeks, by that point, and she was poised to leave of her own volition. It was why she'd surrendered to the envoy sent to collect her from her capital ship without a word, without resistance. Recording-Trista turned on her heel and started out the door.

"There is one last thing," Vrook said, his voice sterner and harder than usual. "Your lightsaber. Surrender it to is."

Recording-Trista pulled it from her belt, staring at it for a moment. Despite herself, she smiled — she'd been memorizing it, every last detail, every one she'd remembered a decade later when it rested at Atris' side. On the recording she ignited it, taking in the white-blue color one last time, then turned and threw it. Vrook dove off his seat, but Trista had always had good aim. It lodged in the central stone.

With a deep sigh, the recording turned on her heel and vanished.

But the recording didn't stop. Vrook settled back in his chair and cleared his throat.

"There is much defiance in that one," Kavar said. Trista raised her head.

"I don't remember this."

Atton motioned at the recording. "Probably because you'd walked out."

"Far more than I recall," Zez-Kai Ell agreed. "But you are correct, Kavar. When she was here, I felt it. It was as if she wasn't there. An echo."

"Revan's influence has grown among the youngest of the Order — she speaks to their passions, not their sense. But this is something different."

Vash glanced around the room. "It is as I feared. And I fear we have played into the hands of the enemy."

"What enemy?" Trista mused.

Atris spoke next, her voice heated. "We have not lost a Jedi this day. You felt it — she has lost herself! She is no Jedi. She walked Revan's path, but was not strong enough."

Zez-Kai Ell frowned. "I fear it was our teachings that caused Revan to walk her path."

"It was not our teachings that caused Revan to fall."

Vash frowned at Atris, leaning forward in her seat. "We take responsibility, Atris, not cast blame."

Kavar shook his head."The choice of one was the choice of us all. Revan's teacher intended no harm — and Revan had many teachers since."

Vrook scoffed. "Then perhaps you should have been harder on her." Kavar frowned.

"And yet Revan's teachings all stem from the same source, and lead all who listen to the dark side. As they did the Exile."

"Man, five minutes later and they stopped using your name." Trista somehow smiled and waved her hand at Atton.

"You are wrong, Atris." Vash stared after her thoughtfully. "The dark side is not what I felt. Surely you felt it as well — it was emptiness. She has changed."

"Call it what you will, it was of the dark side. We should not have let her leave. She will join Revan again, or perhaps worse. We know of their closeness, their sympathy for one another."

"Perhaps she will," Kavar said. "We let her go because she must."

"Malachor should have been her grave. You saw it in her walk, and the Force. It was as if she was already dead."

Zez-Kai Ell shook his head. "No, not death. Many battles are left for her, if what we've seen is true. We have seen her cut through the future like a blade."

"We should have told her the truth. A Jedi deserves to know."

"No, Vash, no good would have come of that, even if your belief is true." Vrook seemed recovered from his near-miss. "There is still the Revan matter. While she has yet to reveal herself, there is little argument to what has occurred. Such truths could leave us vulnerable on two fronts."

"Perhaps in several years we will call her back and explain what happened, and how she may be healed. Until then, she must accept her journey."

Vrook stood. "Then, Vash, that is the unknown we must accept."

As the other Masters stood, the recording ended. They stood in silence for a moment, then looked at her; Trista looked at T3.

"There's no more?"

He chirped sadly. "/Archives=list of missing Jedi?/"

"Put it up?"

Trista stood as T3 cycled through a list of holoimages and names. The more they dug, the less hope she felt.

The Council's holos and names came first. Zhar Lestrin, dead on Katarr in the sixth month of 1049. Dorak, dead on Katarr. Vandar, dead on Katarr. Halla, dead on Katarr. Of the 103 Jedi listed, only 25 were not listed as dying on Katarr.

"What the hell happened on Katarr?" Trista asked, to shrugs from all but Kreia.

Jolee Bindo, and five other Jedi, were listed as disappearing late in 1048, eight months before Katarr, with a note that said they were disappearing for their own safety. Atris' note read "location unknown, likely rejoined Revan."

Two Jedi, Juhani and Belaya, had vanished in 1049. Four months before Katarr, with a note that said they were seeking shelter from "friends." Atris' note on them was identical to Jolee's. "Likely rejoined Revan" hit her like a brick on both.

Bastila Shan was listed as "unknown, possibly sheltering on the Sojourn with Admiral Onasi." Trista's interest piqued, but not enough to make her turn around and return to Citadel Station.

It listed three as fleeing the Temple post-Katarr with all Initiates from the ages of 5 to thirteen, location unknown. There weren't any numbers on how many children that meant.

It listed five as deceased, post-Katarr.

On the last entry, T3 waited for a moment longer than the others, and Trista caught her breath as her sister's face stared out of the image at her, tired but defiant. The holoimage was hard to read, but the white line of a scar hovered above her left brow, disappearing back into her hair. A prominent scar she hadn't had before. The note read, "Revanna Galon, nee Anna Kyjjl, Darth Revan. Unknown, but likely fallen."

T3 released a quiet, sad dwoo.

"That's her?" Atton asked. Trista nodded. "She really doesn't look like you expect, huh?"

"Can you put up the Jedi whose locations we know?" she asked, ignoring Atton's addition. T3 chirped and did so. "So Vrook is on Dantooine, Vash went to Korriban, Kavar to Onderon, and Zez-Kai to Nar Shaddaa. What a strange selection of planets." She rested her hand under her chin. "And even stranger that they were all part of my sentencing council."

"It is no coincidence," Kreia said. "Some larger plan is at work here, and we are walking into it. This is too convenient to be anything but a trap."

"We need their help. Dantooine first."

"The Enclave will be of little use to us."

Trista glanced at Kreia. "Regardless, there might be information we're missing, or supplies we need." Trista looked down. "T3, keep going through Atris' stuff. I want what she knows." He chirped happily. Trista looked up. "Any other ideas?"

"Those records are stolen."

Trista's hand fell to her sword as she spun, a click to her left indicating Atton had already drawn. Standing in the doorway was one of Atris' handmaidens, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked up toward the ceiling with a sigh. Of course Atris would send someone to babysit her.

"What the hell are you doing on our ship?" Atton demanded. The Handmaiden didn't move, any caution at being on a hostile ship lost in her stance.

"I have come to help you against this threat."

"Well, we don't want your help, or any of your sisters. So the airlock's that way."

"Atton," Trista said, frowning at him. He frowned back.

"It is only me." She took another step into the main hold. "And Atris believes you will need help."

"Atris is often wrong, about a lot."

"She seems convinced of this."

Trista pushed Atton's gun down as she walked forward, eying the Handmaiden, sizing her up. "You've had combat training? With the electrostaff you used on Telos, I assume?"

She didn't move, save an uncomfortable shift in her weight. "I have."

"But you've never fought Sith?"

"Adapting to such combat should not be difficult."

She was capable, that was for sure. She bore it in her walk, her stance, the easy confidence. It was part a Jedi's walk, but with strong Echani markings.

Revan's walk.

"Then we will accept your help—"

"Indeed?" Kreia scoffed. "Ah, but what does one more matter to our journey? I will be in my quarters." She turned on her heel and left, and Trista sighed.

"As I was saying, we will accept your help conditionally. I do not want information transmitted to Atris. While on this ship, your orders come from me, not her. T3 will monitor and scan your personal communications and effects until I'm certain you're on board. Agreed?"

"I am not sending information back to Atris, but I will agree."

"Good. The less Atris knows, the happier I am."

"Well, great," Atton said, holstering his weapons. "I'll be in my quarters too. But since I don't have any, I'll just be in the cockpit. If she's sticking around, she can have the cargo hold. Might remind her how fun being locked up is."

Trista rolled her eyes as he disappeared into the hallway. T3 released a quiet dwoo and scurried toward the engine room, and Bao-Dur ducked his head with a quiet "General" and retreated.

"Don't listen to him. There's still general crew quarters, you're welcome to a bunk there."

"I am used to worse conditions, but I appreciate the gesture. The cargo hold will suffice. I will attend to myself and seek out the droid to scan my possessions."

Trista nodded. "We're en route to Mirial for supplies. I think it's about an hour trip. If you need anything, let us know. I'll go ashore with Bao-Dur to stock up."

"You and your companions have fought your way across Telos' surface today. If you would like to rest, I am capable of supplying our ship."

She hesitated for a moment. It had been a busy day. She was exhausted. It hadn't hit her until she'd sat down earlier, but now that it had, it was demanding she deal with it. She could push through it, but she'd driven herself like this before and it never ended well.

"If it would help, I can bring the droid. To ensure I do not stray from the appointed list, or make any unapproved communications?"

Trista sighed and nodded. "I would appreciate it, yes. Thank you."

"I will be in the cargo hold when you need me."

As she left, Trista sank back down onto the seats with a sigh.

#

Trista was certain she was the perfect image of a solemn Jedi as she paced the bridge of her ship, eying the world beneath her. Only half of her attention was on the battle – the other half was focused on ignoring the death around her, as lives were cut down in droves on both side. Nearly all of the Mandalorian fleet had shown, and the two-thirds of the Republic's there regretted it.

The sickness in her stomach was a known companion, after years of war. She glanced back at the Iridonian engineer behind her, his hands holding the kill switch for the Mass Shadow Generator, waiting for its orders on Malachor's surface.

"Message for you, General."

Trista nodded and paced to the panel. "Put it through."

Revan swam into view, the image painted with static. It shook for a moment, whistles and alarms blaring in the background, and Trista realized her ship was under fire.

"Tris, Alek and I are being delayed. We got hit by a scout patrol just out of system — we're not there yet. What's the situation?"

She didn't even sound worried.

"It's chaos, what did you expect?"

"I know. Tris, I'm sorry. Activate the generator."

"Revs, you gave me orders to wait until you're in-system—"

"And now I'm rescinding them. We won't make it in time to relieve you. Pull the fleet back and activate it."

"We still have people on the surface-"

"It's war, Trista, people die."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "We still have Jedi on the surface."

"And we will remember their sacrifice. General, you are to activate the generator."

"Don't use that tone with me," Trista hissed. "I can't, not until we've evacuated."

"We have no other choice!" She winced. "We finish it now, or we watch them burn worlds as they retreat. This was supposed to be a trap. I am not there, so springing it falls to you. If we withdraw our forces, they'll know it. Their deaths will be on Mandalore's head, just like the others, not ours."

"Revs, I will not abandon our people."

"That is an ord—" Revan disappeared in a burst of static. Trista winced before looking back up at the battle raging around her. Her eyes burned, half anger, half regret — the knowledge that Revan was, as always, right.

"Helm," she said, her voice shaking more than she could control, "draw back outside Malachor's Lagrangian point. Communications, use the encrypted line to pull the ships back."

"Ma'am — Master Jedi, I—"

"That's an order, helm."

"Yes, ma'am."

She glanced back at the tech, who ducked his head. "Stand ready with the generator."

"Ma'am — er, General." As she turned back, a navigator was lowering her hand. "Should we evac our people on the surface?"

Trista drew a deep, shaking breath before turning back to the window. "If this works, we won't have time. Any mass evacuation of our personnel will tell the Mandalorians that something is wrong."

A quiet murmur ran through the bridge, but action followed it. Trista stared out the viewport, her hands clenched behind herself, fighting every feeling inside her saying how unnecessary, how stupid, how bullshit Revan's grand plan was.

This was not the first time they'd disagreed. She'd been doubting Revan for some time, as the Supreme Commander became focused on victory at any cost. Trista always argued for victory at least cost. The change had been recent, perhaps just a year, worse since she'd returned from scouting and pinpointed Malachor as the site for this battle. She hadn't been so bad before, even when Alek and several other Jedi had been captured. And then she'd threatened to storm the place personally.

The changes were terrifying.

... perhaps the Council has a point.

Ten minutes passed faster than they ever had. The bridge hung in near-silence, save for the usual relay of commands and updates. Trista finally squared her shoulders and glanced to the aide to her right.

"Tell all posts to prepare for a rough retreat." Their ship had to be close, just on the edge of the generator's range, to activate it. It'd be a bumpy ride. The aide saluted and hurried off, and she drew several slow, deep breaths. Her Chief Engineer still hovered behind her shoulder, silent.

She looked back at him once, then ahead. Closed her eyes. And nodded.

The Force shrieked.

It was louder than the massacre at Cathar, or the bombing on Serroco, louder than all the deaths of the War in one. The air snapped around her, pain bursting as she stumbled to her knees on the deck. The ship lurched dangerously, engines straining to back out of Malachor's collapsing gravity. The shriek grew as her vision disappeared, and it took the cold steel of the deck against her cheek to know she collapsed. Her throat burned, her pulse so hard in her ears it overwhelmed the fury of activity on the surrounding deck.

She reached past the deaths and wrongness as they exploded inside her and pushed, hard, thrusting at it to leave her alone. The Force aimed to take her with it – it would not be denied. She pushed harder, shoving it away the harder it insisted she come along.

As if she were snapping a thread, Trista pulled back from the Force.

The scream diminished, her ears rang in the silence, just before the world turned white-black and silent. The deck was cold underneath her, echoing the cold grasping at her heart as she fell into darkness.

#

Trista snapped awake next to the hyperdrive — not a surprise. She'd grown used to the hum of an engine or generator beside her as she slept. It was comforting, the noise filling the silence that assaulted her every night since Malachor. So it'd been instinct to retreat here after handing the Handmaiden and T3 their supplies list on Mirial.

Finding that she couldn't fall back asleep, Trista pulled on her clothing and left the engine room.

She steered away from Kreia's dorm, and the cargo blast door was closed. Atton snored up in the cockpit, and she instead slipped into the communications room. Half of the ship's interior feeds were dark, and she wasn't sure if T3 wanted them that way or if other repairs were just more urgent. Either way, nothing important was on them, nor was there anything that could help her recent nightmare.

More pacing brought her to the rhythmic tapping in the garage. Bao-Dur stood tapping on the scaffolding and making notes on a datapad, surrounded by repair supplies with his remote droid bobbing at his shoulder.

She stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to calculate whether she could make it across without alerting him.

"Can't sleep, General?"

Trista sighed, but stayed in the doorway. "I could ask you the same question."

He responded with a humorless chuckle. "I believe my answer is obvious."

Trista pulled herself up on the workbench with a sigh, tucking her coat around her. They sat silently for a while, as Bao-Dur worked and she stared into space.

"General?"

"You don't need to call me that."

He paused, then resumed typing into his datapad. "Sorry. Guess I can't get my head out of the past."

"Just, try. As a favor."

"I'll do my best."

"What were you going to ask me?"

Bao-Dur turned back and leaned against the scaffolding. "Why do you not carry a lightsaber anymore?"

Her eyes narrowed, but she wrestled back the bad mood her dream had left her in. "You saw why. I had to surrender it on my sentencing."

He shook his head. "That was then. This is you now."

"Well." She shifted on the workbench. "Having a lightsaber without the Force, at least for extended use, is pointless."

"Do you wish to have one again?"

Trista chewed on her lip. She'd been thinking about it, recently, knowing the Sith were hounding their steps. "It's crossed my mind."

"They are not difficult to build, though, you know that."

"I'm not afraid of having one, if that's what you think."

"Not at all," he placated. "But if this is a Sith threat, then it—"

"Will be necessary eventually. I know." She sighed. "There are parts I need."

"I know — a power cell, an emitter matrix, a lens, and a focusing crystal." Bao-Dur turned back to the scaffolding with a wrench, tightening some bolts. "The first three are simple to fabricate, though the crystal is beyond my means."

Trista raised a brow at his back. "And since when are you an expert on lightsabers?"

He shrugged. "Ended up around a lot of Jedi in the war. No one ever let me touch one, but I learned a bit."

She nodded. "Think we could make everything but the crystal?"

"With the scrap around the ship? I think so. The rest will be a little... complicated."

"I'm hoping the Enclave will have some parts, even if it's as bad as they say. Jedi holdings always had a myriad of spare lightsaber parts. We lose them a lot more than people think."

"Certainly." He began scanning the ship's hull again. "Hopefully, Dantooine has decent ship parts as well. I would like to fix this before we see any action."

"We won't end up in vacuum, are we?"

"Of course not. I'm not sure who tried to fix this, but they don't think like regular mechanics."

"Droids, I think."

"Ah, that explains the efficiency. It isn't a bad repair job — it just could be better."

"Yeah." She wrapped her arms around herself. "So what did you do, after the war?"

"Moved around for a couple years. Working as a starship mechanic got me from place to place. I wasn't ready to settle down afterward."

Trista nodded. "I know the feeling."

He paused a moment before resuming work. "Then you understand my restlessness. The war had ended, but I couldn't find peace in anything. As long as I kept moving, I didn't have to think about what happened. Know what I mean?"

"Only too well."

"I'm sure you do. I decided I'd do something constructive — I wanted to make up for what I'd done in the war. I wanted to design planetary shields, but there weren't many systems with the credits to spare. More needed rebuilt than protected." Bao-Dur turned again, resting his shoulder against the scaffolding. "I found out Telos would be the flagship project for the Republic. I saw the world before the Sith razed it. It deserved a better fate."

"Do you know why the Sith targeted it?"

"No more than anyone else."

She nodded. "And then Czerka showed up and started ruining your work?"

He nodded. "I thought I could force them out on my own... but I guess I can't fix everything myself."

"You're pretty talented, but I think taking on Czerka single-handedly might be a bit out of your league."

Bao-Dur stared at the scaffolding. "All I wanted to do was send a message, but I can't even do that right."

"Bao-Dur." He looked back at her. "You had teams of mercenaries after you. I think they got the hint."

He replied with a wan smile. "Thanks, Gen—Trista. But that's the past. I'm glad to be working with you again."

T3 chortled his way into the garage, then stopped and spun to start back down the hall. Bao-Dur shook his head.

"There you are."

The droid beeped and tried to back away, and Bao-Dur grabbed his tools. "This is what I mean. This is not normal droid behavior."

T3 told Bao-Dur to leave him alone, in language not at all becoming to an Astromech. Trista chuckled. "I'm sure Bao-Dur knows what he's doing, T3."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he replied. "I just want to fix your chassis – one of your motivators is stuck. Stop complaining."

Trista dropped off the workbench as T3 unwillingly let Bao-Dur slide him back into the garage. "I'll leave you to your repairs. Try to sleep at some point."

"I will do my best."