Trista wandered aimlessly around the ship the first day out from Mirial, quickly growing bored. Atton was avoiding her and keeping the cockpit door closed, Kreia had locked her dormitory, and Bao-Dur had crashed hard whenever he did. She spent a decent amount of time searching through Atris' archives, the ship's archives (most of which were voicelocked, like the navicomputer), meditating, and any other thing that held her interest for longer than a minute.

It wasn't until the afternoon that she stumbled across the Handmaiden getting a drink in the main hold. They made eye contact for a moment, and Trista used the opportunity.

"Hey. How are you doing? Adjusting to the ship all right?"

She sipped her drink. "I am fine. I've been training, as it seems we are walking into danger. Now, should we find it, I will be prepared. That and... I forgot how long hyperspace travel feels. If I do not focus my attention on something, I fear I will go insane."

"Ugh, same." Trista settled down on the edge of the holotable. "There's only so much record-surfing I can do before I lose interest."

The Handmaiden frowned. "You have been going through Atris' archives."

"There's not as much information in there as you think — and I'm not interested in her records. I keep going over the list of missing Jedi, hoping for some inspiration. I haven't found anything yet." She tilted her head. "You said you were training, right?"

"I was."

"Do you mind giving me some pointers?" The Handmaiden squinted at her. "They trained me as a consular. Combat was an afterthought — I spent most of my time studying diplomacy and persuasion. But we're walking into a nest of Sith, and I'm worried I won't stand up."

"Well, ah... training is reserved for certain caste members, but I do not see the harm in teaching you basic principles. I do not know if it will help, but I can instruct you in how Echani children are raised on warfare."

"It's better than nothing." Literally anything would help. The Handmaiden nodded.

"Very well, I am ready if you are."

Trista motioned toward the cargo hold. "Lead the way."

As they walked, the Handmaiden began to explain. "All fighting principles rely on foundations. Without understanding the most basic of moves, it is not possible to understand the more advanced."

Trista nodded. "As with everything."

"Precisely." She closed the door behind them. "I will first instruct you in using your body — you must master it before anything else is taught. It cannot be described, though." She guided Trista to a thin mat set up between storage crates. "Let us duel, and that will teach you more than any words could. But this must be without weapons or the Force."

Trista hesitated before undoing her belt and dropping it, and her vibrosword, to the side. When she looked back up, the Handmaiden had drawn her tunic over her head, letting it fall to the ground. Trista blinked.

"We're not using Nar Shaddaa rules, are we?"

She turned back, zero humor in her expression. "It is to better demonstrate proper form." She toed out of her boots. "I suggest you do the same, or else I may not assist you properly."

Trista frowned, swallowed, then cleared her throat. "Er." She pulled off her boots hesitantly, then removed her shirt. "Atton'll have a fit if he goes through the cameras."

The Handmaiden huffed. "Join me on the mat, please."

#

After several hours, the Handmaiden seemed satisfied. She stepped off the mat, prompting Trista to do the same, and returned to her clothing. Trista gratefully pulled her shirt back on, relieved at the thin comfort the fabric provided.

"You did well. You've learned quickly from my own movements — more quickly than I expected."

"I've always been a fast learner." Trista pulled on a boot.

"You do need practice. I'm more than willing to help you further."

She nodded, pushing a strand of blonde hair from her sweat-soaked forehead as she picked up her belt. "I'd appreciate it."

Just as Trista was about to leave, considering a 'fresher run, the Handmaiden spoke again. "There is something I wish to ask."

Trista turned back. "Of course."

"Your trial... why did you return?"

She paused, turning the answer in her head. She'd thought they'd have mercy. That they would understand. That she had no other choice.

"I, uh. They deserved an explanation. They had favored me for a Council seat when I followed her, and I thought they should know why I gave that up. I... I thought they'd know what happened to me. Or that they'd help me. I had to go back."

"I... see," she answered hesitantly, as if she didn't, but wanted to appease her, anyway. "It is something I have always wondered — to walk to one's own sentence willingly. It was a brave thing to do."

Trista shook her head. "It really wasn't, but I'm glad you think so." She turned to step out, then stopped. "Look, do you have a name? Something easier than 'Handmaiden?'"

The Handmaiden paused, looking up from her small footlocker. "I—I had a name, as all children do, before I entered Atris' service. But it is no longer important. My title and rank are more so, and I take value in Atris' service over myself."

Trista frowned. "But you should. You're not in Atris' service here."

"We all have value in what we pledge to others, in what we swear to greater things."

"But you're a person. And I can't start yelling your title — we're trying to lie low, away from the Sith."

"But when importance is placed on the self, then by such acts is the galaxy unmade."

Trista leaned on the portal, crossing her arms. "Is that a jibe at my decision to leave the Jedi?"

"If you left for reasons of the self, yes. But it was not my intent."

"Do you think that's why I left? Because I lost myself?" It was something she'd asked repeatedly over the past decade — how different things would have been if she stayed with the Jedi, had she told Revan to hang the Mandalorians. The Handmaiden shook her head.

"I think you lost something, Exile. What that was... that is a question for yourself, is it not?"

Trista sighed. "Thanks for the sparring, Handmaiden. I'll take you up on another session later." She turned and retreated to the garage. Maybe T3 had found something else hiding in his databanks.

#

Dantooine was only two days from Telos. The first day was silent, as everyone retreated into separate corners of the ship — or, for Trista and the Handmaiden, started sparring, which had done little to help his mood.

Atton headed into the main hold after midday on day two, only slightly surprised to see Trista sitting on the floor next to T3, holding a wet rag and scrubbing at the droid's chassis. Part of it was polished to a matte silver color, the rest still covered in dirt and old blaster burns.

"—the HK droid?" Her voice was quiet as she spoke, no doubt why he hadn't heard her.

"/T3=no./"

"Hm." She looked up, smiled at Atton, and he nodded back. The smile warmed her eyes a little more, but it still seemed... disconnected. "That didn't sound convincing, T3. Are you sure? This model keeps attacking us."

"/.../T3=sure/"

Atton started rummaging through their food stores, pretending to not eavesdrop.

"Uh-huh. Of course you're sure. This is a lot of damage – you've been through a lot, haven't you?"

"/Master = lots of trouble/lots of damage/"

"I bet, with what I'm seeing here. How much damage?"

Atton started back out of the hold, toward the medbay, and T3 chirped after him. "No, for the last time, I'm not playing you in pazaak."

"/?/"

"Because you're programmed to make your opponent go first. And you aren't gonna convince me you don't cheat."

T3 responded with an indignant proclamation of his honesty, and Trista laughed.

"Yeah, I still wouldn't play with a trash compactor."

"I'll play with you, T3," Trista said. He spun his top and popped out his manipulator arm, stroking her leg with a quiet chirp. Atton half-scowled. Trista cocked her head, sighed, and stood. "Later, T3."

"You're being summoned?" Atton asked. She sighed again.

"I'm being summoned."

Trista made her way toward the port dormitory, and Atton continued his path.

He was certain she'd been warming up to him — or, well, as much as she could. Part of him welcomed it, but the other part continued its usual discomfort. She didn't know what he knew, what he'd done, and he still had Kreia's threat hanging over his head. That old witch had something coming for her.

That's just what you want, isn't it? the nasty voice inside him whispered, smooth and tempting and too much like his own. To have her down, take that knife and ask just how it felt to be at someone else's mercy—

Atton punched the wall by the medbay and swore, focusing on the shock of pain as it radiated through his arm and down his spine. T3 chirped at his back, and he whirled.

"Leave me the frak alone, you little monster."

T3 made a rude noise and rolled past him to the engine room, and Atton swore again.

He should just run on Dantooine and never look back.

You will serve her until I release you. Just for good measure, Atton punched the wall again as the Handmaiden rounded the corner. He straightened and started past her.

As they drew even with each other, she snapped out, aiming for his head. He swore again and ducked out of the way, knocking her foot aside. She swung again, and he blocked her arm and brought his other down onto it, trying to catch it. She pulled it back and, instead, turned the move back on him.

"You know the first tier, but you are holding back because I am unarmed. Tell me where you trained."

Atton jerked his arm out of her hand. "Yeah, I'm a quick study."

She scowled. "You lie. Few know the Echani styles by reflex."

"Oh, yeah? Because you saw a lot of the world freezing your cargo hold off in that ice academy, didn't you, sister?" He backed toward the engine room. "Next time you try that, I'm pulling my blaster."

The Handmaiden huffed and started back toward the main hold. Atton frowned. "Oh, one more thing."

"What?"

"Don't think I didn't see you sparring with our ex-Jedi friend. This ain't a pleasure cruise, so if I knew the Echani movements, I might know more than the first tier — including the etiquette rituals." She frowned at him. "So keep your hands where I can see them."

She huffed as she turned back. "Fool."

"Schutta," he snapped back, heading for the garage. Bao-Dur glanced over as he entered.

"Handmaiden giving you problems?"

Atton scowled. "What'd you hear?"

"I'm busy, Atton. I wasn't paying attention."

"Good. Hey, look, you got a second?"

Bao-Dur sighed and made a few notes on his datapad. The remote droid at his shoulder beeped and welded a new panel onto the scaffolding. "I'm a little busy here."

"It'll just be a minute."

"Fine." He sighed. "I'll work while you talk."

"Yeah, sure. Your friend, the ex-Jedi. You know her from way back, right?"

"You mean the general? Yeah, from during the war — if that's what 'way back' means."

"How much do you know about her?"

"Not much."

"Better than everyone else around. I just need your opinion, okay? And don't laugh."

"I'm trying to work, Atton."

"I just wondered if you thought maybe, you know, she and I—"

He paused, glanced over his shoulder, chuckled, and turned back. "You're being serious."

"I said don't laugh."

"You are serious. Atton, she was a general. I was a tech. Your guess is as good as mine."

"Well, what's your guess, then?"

"... I'm getting back to work."

Atton scowled at his back. "Fine."

He turned on his heel, storming back for the cockpit. The Handmaiden shot him a glare where she was getting water, and he scowled back on his way by.

Everyone on this ship was a damn comedian.

#

Trista waited for Kreia to acknowledge her as she hovered in the doorway. When she spoke, it was accusatory.

"How many do you intend to gather? This ship is not the galaxy, and it is becoming too crowded."

"We aren't strong enough to turn away willing help."

Kreia scoffed. "Then you should prepare for an army, for many more will come in time. They follow you because you are a leader, and their kind requires it."

Trista scuffed the floor. "I'm hardly that."

Kreia's hood shifted as she turned her head. "I am not blind. I see what they see, hear their voices when they speak to you, or of you, and notice the change when they speak to others. I know many things, and I know what I am not. I am no leader, I speak with a voice that will not move others, a passion that will go unheard. They obey you for the same reasons they will not me... and perhaps something more. Have you noticed the changes? Or are you blinded to them as well?"

"I've... noticed a change in Atton since we've been back. The others — I think it's too soon."

"The fool dances in your shadow for your favor." Trista raised a brow. "The Handmaiden already worships you, despite the words of her mistress. The alien stands ready for any order you feed him. Even the droid's loyalty is shifting, perhaps supplanting its lingering adoration of its former master. Influence is a weapon, one you wield easily."

"I will not use them, if that's what you're suggesting."

"You will see it differently before the end. That was Revan's way... and you will learn it soon enough."

Despite herself, Trista's interest piqued. "What do you mean?"

Kreia moved her hand, and Trista sank to the floor across from her.

"Have you never wondered how Revan took the Republic and the Jedi beneath her? How she made them her own?"

Trista rested her chin on her fist. "She played their own games against them. I was there. She had a presence like no other, a knack for knowing where a person might be most effective - and there was little you couldn't believe when she spoke it with conviction. Which was, annoyingly, every time she opened her mouth."

"No. It was more than that. To turn officers against their own, to bomb innocent worlds to make pacts — this is strong influence indeed. And where did those teachings come from? Why did she embrace them so strongly? There are many questions, and fewer answers."

"I've always assumed she found them during that last scouting mission. Not long before Malachor V." She should have caught it. "I thought they came from the remnants of an Empire, or maybe Korriban."

"No. She did not travel to Korriban during the war, nor did she meet any 'empire.' Yet, she learned their teachings. Many mistake what Revan forged to be the Sith, but the Sith is a belief. Nor was what Revan forged an empire... but how she did it is curious. And I suspect that question is tied to another — how was Revan able to corrupt so many, so quickly?"

"I don't know, I missed that part."

"I do not either. But perhaps we shall find such answers on our journey."

Trista studied her for a moment, turning over the millions of questions she had flipping through her head.

"Kreia, what are you?" The hood twitched. "Are you Jedi, Sith... neither?"

"Both are simply names placed on things. Labels. The Jedi are not the Je'daii they once were, nor the Sith what once inhabited Korriban so long ago. Is it important to place such a label on me?"

Trista dropped her hand, sitting up. "In this moment, yes. I'd like some answer."

"If I told you I was once Jedi, as you were, would it change your opinion? Or if I had once been Sith? Would you cast me off your ship?"

"I don't have that liberty."

"Then it is not important, is it?"

She sighed heavily, closing her eyes. "You're frustratingly obtuse sometimes."

"Indeed. Now leave me. I grow tired of speaking."

Trista opened her mouth to reply, then stood and left the dormitory. She'd track down T3 and keep cleaning him. Better conversation there most days, anyway.

The Handmaiden was at the synthesizer, poking at settings, and Trista mumbled a barely present "afternoon" as she passed. She spun back.

"Oh. Exile." She straightened her jumpsuit. "Is there something you need?"

Trista eyed her, scrutinizing her in half a second before she could stop herself. "Is something wrong? Are you all right?"

"You... there is a calm about you I did not notice before."

Trista raised a brow. Kreia's words rang in her mind, but she shoved them back. "Care to elaborate?"

"There is..." She motioned to her. "An energy about you. Your movements are light. It is something I've seen in the most revered of the Echani weaponmasters, but you wear it like your own skin."

"Uh, well. Being in touch with the Force again has... put me at ease? I'm sure it shows the longer I am." Though that result after only a day of feeling in control again? That did not put her at ease. "I'm surprised you didn't mention this yesterday."

The Handmaiden smiled. "We were sparring. It did not seem appropriate."

"Fair enough." Trista smiled back. "Are you ready for a rematch later? I'm feeling good about my chances today."

"I'm ready now, if you are."

"No, you reminded me that I need to ask Atton something."

"Oh." The Handmaiden's face darkened. "Yes, I will be ready to instruct you further whenever you are ready."

Trista frowned. "Did Atton do something? I know he can be intolerable. And could bathe more frequently. But he's not that bad."

"He is not telling you everything, that is all." She straightened, picked up her water, and started back toward the hold. Trista's frown deepened as she stared after her.

"Well, so far, you won't even tell me your damn name," Trista muttered, turning back for the cockpit. "So he's not the only one."

She headed up into the cockpit, checking the navicomputer as she entered. Still on course. The top of Atton's head was the only thing visible over the chair and barely moved as he addressed her.

"Don't worry, I haven't sent us to Nar Shaddaa yet."

Trista chuckled. "I was just checking our ETA."

"Tomorrow midday."

"Thanks." She settled down into the copilot's seat. "You got a minute?"

Atton sighed and looked over at her. "As long as this isn't some wild heart-to-heart where you ask me about my deepest emotional trauma."

"Not today."

"Oh, good." He shifted in the seat. "You look good, by the way. The glow. Kind of like you're defrosting."

"Thanks." Trista set her feet on the Hawk's console with a sigh. "I think it's the Force. Being back in touch with it and not resenting it. It sounds dumb, but it feels like I'm... whole again."

Atton shrugged. "It's kind of inspiring. And don't let that go to your head."

"I won't, don't worry. I've got a question for you, though."

"All right. What do you want to know?"

Trista stared out at the tunnel of hyperspace for a moment, trying to choose her words carefully. "You never mentioned your Echani training."

"My what?"

"Back at the Academy on Telos. When the Handmaidens showed up, you dropped into an Echani combat stance."

"Oh, that." Atton laughed, but a nervous edge undercut it. Atton was good at lying — or, he was good at under-telling. Trista pursed her lips. "Don't tell anyone, but you won't believe how many fights you can prevent by just pretending to know that stuff. I mean, it doesn't compare to wearing a lightsaber, but that wouldn't help much either these days."

"Don't worry." She shrugged. "Revan got Echani training through her first Master's connections. I know how useful it can be, so I didn't want you to hold back. You know, in case you were worried we'd notice."

"Oh. Yeah, thanks. But you've got the wrong guy. I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight with my hands."

Trista responded with a small, wry smile. "Don't undersell yourself. You're a decent pilot too, even if you can't land."

"Hey!" Trista laughed as he protested, though it wasn't fully indignant. "No one is a good pilot when they get shot down."

"Land this bad boy once without wrecking and I'll believe you."

"Sister, when I put this down on Dantooine, you won't feel a thing." Trista laughed again and started back out of the cockpit. "Tris, wait."

She turned around. "What's up?"

"Look. I may flip through the cams when I'm bored. And I saw you and the Handmaiden sparring yesterday."

"Oh, no. I was afraid of that."

"I didn't watch! I mean, I watched long enough to know what you were doing and — just don't let her get too handsy. Echani training has etiquette rules."

Trista nodded. "I don't think I have anything to worry about, Atton, but I'll keep it in mind."

"Yeah. You, uh, you do that."

"And don't watch," she called back as she left. "It's creepy."

"I'm not going to watch!"