As Trista stepped into the darkened garden, the hairs on her neck raised inexplicably. Starlight bathed the serene courtyard, the moon above a bare sliver in the sky. Nothing but the breeze, lazy in the highest boughs of the tree, moved to explain her sudden unease. But as she looked toward the exit, she threw her hand out to stop the others.

Framed in the doorway was a salvager — or mercenary, her opinion was in the air — she'd encountered in Khoonda, his dark skin allowing him to almost fade into the darkness. He stepped forward, followed by a cadre of Aqualish mercenaries.

"Oh boy," Atton mumbled behind her.

"You have braved the sublevel, yes?" the salvager asked, voice as smoothly grating as before. A vibrosword glinted at his side. "Many stories and artifacts in your possession? That is fortuitous for myself and associates."

Trista smiled. "It will be more 'fortuitous' if you and 'associates' get out of my way."

He chuckled, crossing his arms. "I do not think so. For now, I get not only rich salvage, but a richer bounty. Do not be making this difficult. Your death can be painless."

She echoed the movement. "And I don't suppose you're open to negotiation."

"Negotiations are not possible. Deals have been made with anxious people, those you do not cross."

"Looks like another fight," Bao-Dur muttered. Trista nodded.

"When I find this Goto guy—"

What she would do was cut off as the man charged. Trista swung her vibrosword out and blocked in one smooth movement, stepping aside and slashing down his back as he passed. Atton shot at the mercenaries as he rolled into cover behind a fallen tumble of rock. Bao-Dur and Mical echoed it, and the Handmaiden, almost delicately, ended up in the middle of the Aqualish before they knew what was happening.

Trista's drawn blood only angered her opponent. He spun back, and she dodged his return swing. She'd somehow forgotten how much mobility robes gave a person. She parried his correction and thrust out, driving her sword up through his chest. He staggered to his knees, and she ripped it out, throwing it past Atton's head as he popped up to fire at the mercenaries being laid out by Handmaiden.

"Watch it, Tris," he said as she ran past, and she shrugged back.

Handmaiden laid one of the remaining mercenaries out as she arrived. Trista adjusted her grip on her sword and brought it down, point first, on the last mercenary's back. He fell.

"Everyone all right?" Trista asked. After the usual round of affirmations, she looked around at the dead, dying, or unconscious mercenaries, made a huffing noise, and started for the exit.

"Are you?" Handmaiden asked as she slipped up next to her.

Trista nodded. "Just... once I find Goto, he's going to regret this bounty. I'm tired of killing people over it."

#

They made their way to the scavenger camp without incident, where Jorran thanked them again before getting accosted by Taepalae's crew. They kept walking a little ways past, around the hill from the main camp, until Trista stopped.

"We'll set up here," she said, motioning around them. "Bao-Dur and I will ask around about the holocron. Try and get a fire going — just be careful, it's dry season."

"We gonna be safe for the night?" Atton asked, side-eying a curious scavenger. Trista nodded.

"We'll just set watches. Bao-Dur?"

He nodded and followed her as they started back to the camp. She glanced back, just in time to see Atton scowl at Mical and tell him to find firewood. Mical did so with only mild hesitation.

"Great," she mumbled.

"I believe Atton has feelings for you," Bao-Dur said, almost in explanation. Trista scoffed.

"Atton? I doubt it. He wouldn't keep threatening to leave if he did."

"Maybe not," the Iridonian placated, "but it is my suspicion."

"Well, we'll see." Trista stopped by Daraala's fire. "Hello, do you mind if I intrude?"

The gruff salvager stood. "Not if you're here to buy."

"I have a question about where I might find some salvage?" Daraala raised a brow. "A holocron. If I had to guess, it's about this big—" She estimated the size of a triangular holocron with her hands. "—triangle-shaped, and glows red."

She studied Trista. "We got two holocrons right now. Ralon's got one—" Daraala pointed at another salvager several feet away. "And I might have the one you're talking about."

"May I examine it?" She held out her hand, and Daraala narrowed her eyes. "It's a dangerous artifact. I'm trying to minimize the damage it can do."

"Huh." Daraala shrugged. "I ain't done much with it, but that's not how we do things. It's money up front, no returns."

Trista pursed her lips. "I'd think the safety of this camp is of paramount importance, as you are its unofficial leader. This artifact can affect minds — negatively, might I add. I would think you'd want it gone."

"What are you, some sort of Jedi?"

"Just an expert with a vested interest in corralling Sith artifacts."

"Sith?" Daraala frowned. "'Splains a lot, and I don't care much. I'll tell you what. Five hundred creds and it's yours."

"I'm doing you a service, and you've got a lot of salvage to sell already. Two hundred and fifty."

They haggled for a minute, settling on 350 credits. Daraala reached into her platsteel crate and, bare-handed, pulled out a glowing Sith holocron. Trista swore and pulled out her old jacket, catching it and bundling it up.

"Pleasure doing business with you. Ralon had the other one?"

"Yeah." Daraala pointed to him.

"Thanks." They started away, and Trista released a breath. "Well, she's Force Sensitive as a nerf."

"How so?"

Trista patted her bag. "You handle a holocron like that, it'll talk to you. Force Sensitive or no. But a Sith one will corrupt you fast if you are."

"It's good we took it off her hands, then."

"It is." They stopped at Ralon's camp. "You Ralon?"

He also stood, brushing grass off his pants. "I am. I'm honored to have a visitor at our delightful salvager camp. Do you come with your credits and curiosity?"

Next to her, Bao-Dur shook his head. Trista frowned. "Please cut the showmanship. I heard you had a holocron?"

Ralon kept his winning smile. "Am I that transparent to you? I am known throughout this camp as an expert in Jedi artifacts, and I guarantee that I have an authentic, powerful Jedi holocron for sale! One of the most elusive Jedi artifacts, and it can be yours today."

Trista raised a brow. "I'm impressed, provided it's real."

"You wound me. This is no idle boast, traveler. A holocron is worth many thousands of credits to any Jedi." That wasn't untrue. "But I will sell it to you for a low price. A mere thousand credits for this rare find. This is not a matter of negotiation. You should buy it quickly, before others come."

"Yes," Trista said, glancing around. "The veritable highway of individuals looking to buy rare artifacts is certainly full."

Ralon lost his smile. "If the offer doesn't interest you, traveler, please move on."

"No, please, let me see it first. After the damage to the Enclave, I want to make sure it isn't broken."

"Certainly." Ralon produced a cube, just big enough for his hands, that glowed a soft blue in the darkness. Trista picked it up, turning it in her hands. "As you can see, it's in fine shape — only a few scuffs to the outer frame. A real bargain at a mere thousand credits."

Bao-Dur watched as she turned it over in her hands. It was spectacular, a marvelous piece of craftsmanship — perhaps an actual holocron frame that had awaited input before the bombing. But as she held it, she heard nothing. No voices, no whispering, no recriminations that she, an exile, was handling such a priceless artifact. She met his eyes and subtly shook her head.

"It is in spectacular condition," she said, placing it back in Ralon's hands. "But it isn't an actual holocron. The LED in it is a nice touch, though. It's not worth the time you've wasted describing it, let alone a thousand credits. A museum might be interested, but not me."

"What?" Ralon groaned. "How did you know? Will I never unload this damned thing? This isn't my fault — you can't blame me."

"I'm not blaming you, but a few LED beads in a holocron frame won't fool an actual expert."

"This forgery has passed through several hands in this camp. I'm just the latest victim! I want off this dung heap."

"Well, my advice." She clapped his shoulder. "Call a museum and tell them you've got a legitimate holocron frame and ask if they can send you a few hundred credits in advance. Or, worse comes to worst, they send a representative with buying power. It's worth probably, oh..." Trista picked it up again, inspecting the frame. "About 250 credits. Maybe 500, if the museum's desperate." She handed it back. "Good luck with it. Just don't pull the 'real holocron' nonsense on a museum rep, they don't like that."

She turned on her heel and headed back to their camp, Bao-Dur trailing behind.

"Only 250 credits?" he asked.

"There are a lot of empty holocron frames running around. The Council buys them in bulk when they run out."

"Ah."

"Yeah. Plus, a Master carries one on them until they feel like it's time to work on it. Making one is about a five-year process. If it was a half-finished holocron, that might put it in the credit range he wanted."

"What about a finished one?"

"To someone in the Order? Priceless. They'll do anything to recover it. To a collector? A neat hundred thousand or above."

Bao-Dur nodded as they rounded the hill to their camp. "I see why he is desperate to pass it off as real." He stopped and held out his hand. "Gen—Trista, are you all right?"

"Why?"

"Walking back in there couldn't have been easy."

Trista thought for a moment, then nodded. "It wasn't, but I'll be fine. The Order's more than a few bombed-out buildings. It just makes me worried for what condition the Temple is in. The Archives, the cells full of Sith artifacts... all of that would be dangerous in the wild."

"When this is over, if you are all that's left of the Jedi, we'll have to find them."

She smiled. "We, huh?"

"Or, I can go back to single-handedly taking on Czerka," he replied wryly. "You also look... different."

"How so?" Trista said, raising an eyebrow. "Or, let me guess. Kind of a glow, right?"

Bao-Dur looked confused. "Yeah. Like you've been standing too close to one of my shield generators."

"Your arm inspired me." He chuckled, moving it so the field buzzed.

"I've just seen other Jedi — not many, but a few — who looked like that. And sometimes, like now, I feel strange around you. Calmer, more in control, like I only get when I'm repairing something."

"It's strange." She looked back toward the Enclave, a hard, scrutinizing look. "Being around here again... I was regaining my grasp on the Force but, even just walking these paths again, I feel as if it's growing stronger. And I guess that's manifesting physically." Trista looked back at him. "Hopefully it calms down a bit. I'd prefer to not scream 'Jedi' at everyone who walks by."

"Hopefully the glow wears off in time." He looked back toward their camp a moment. "There is something else, if you feel up to talking."

Trista nodded. "Go ahead."

"I didn't want to talk about the war." Bao-Dur looked back. "But can I ask you something?"

She looked away before swallowing. "Of course."

"Why did you go?"

Trista's eyes snapped back to him. "There were a lot of reasons."

"What were they?"

"Revan's projections were correct. They had to be. The Mandalorians would blast through the Rim, and the military would be so routed that there'd be no defense for the Core Worlds." She paused, thinking. "We — that is, the Jedi — served no one with inaction. The longer the Council deliberated, the more died. We could... feel it, in the Force, every time the Mandalorians took a world. The carnage, the death they caused, it echoed through the Force. We could barely sleep at night for the screams of the dead in our ears. Revan sent me to Serocco to scout, and I watched from an escaping Republic ship as they bombed the Stereb cities to glass. There was nothing I could do. We all saw a vision on Cathar of the Mandalorian genocide. It was..." She trailed off, and Bao-Dur rested his hand on her arm. "There wasn't another choice. The Republic would have fallen without our intervention."

He nodded. "Many of us believed you were cowards, afraid of the Mandalorian threat, before the Revanchists began joining us. My people had colonies across the Outer Rim, and many of them were among the first systems to fall."

Trista looked back at him. "I'm sorry."

"But many more were saved when you and Revan led part of the Jedi to the fight."

"It's Revan's fault, more than mine," she said with a wry smile. "But she, ah. When she asked me, I couldn't say no. The fault of Jedi nonintervention is the Council's — she took everything, all her data, to them, and they refused to do anything. It wasn't until we proved they had massacred the Cathar that they intervened." Trista cleared her throat. "What about you? Did you join up to protect the rest of your peoples' worlds?"

"No." She raised a brow. "I hated them. I wanted to destroy them — to give them the 'mercy' they gave those they conquered."

"I doubt you're alone in those reasons."

"I remember the thrill when we faced them in battle. Victories were rare, but we celebrated every Mandalorian death." He paused and looked back at her. "Did you ever feel the same?"

Trista sighed. "There were times after Serocco where I did, but they train Jedi to protect against such severe emotion."

He shook his head. "I couldn't do that. It was almost as though the battle took control of me, drove me forward. Since we met back on Telos, it's been on my mind, almost constantly. That loss of control blinded me, turned me into a weapon." Bao-Dur sighed heavily. "Sorry. I just needed to get that off my chest."

"Don't worry about it," Trista said, squeezing his shoulder. "That's what we're here for, I suppose. I mean." She smiled. "We might be the only two people who know what Malachor was really like."

"That's something even I am not ready to revisit." Bao-Dur returned the expression and headed toward the camp, and Trista sighed and followed. She settled down next to Atton, tucking her knees up to her chest.

"What is the plan for tomorrow?" Handmaiden asked, immediately to business. She shrugged.

"We know where Vrook is — the old kinrath caves. Zherron, the militia leader, offered us a bounty to clear them out. I would stop in Khoonda first, but I think we should just keep going. I just... think they aren't shipping him off to Nar Shaddaa. Zherron thinks they're up to something, and I do too."

"Like what?" she asked.

"No idea, but I bet we'll find out. And we should be ready for anything." Trista glanced around the circle. "Who's up for a watch tonight? I'll take one."

Atton and Mical also volunteered, and they split up to get a few hours of sleep on the open plain. Trista settled down with their couple bags of rummaged goods, rested her back against a rock, and waited. She set her head back against the day-warmed stone, watching the once-familiar sky as it passed overhead.

::Kreia?::

::I am here.::

She adjusted against the rock. ::You weren't surprised about Katarr.::

::I was not.::

::Do you know what happened?::

There was a long pause, and Trista looked back down. Kreia was meditating, seemingly already in for the night.

::I know what occurred on Katarr, yes. I know what calamity befell the planet.::

::And?::

::The planet was not destroyed, as other worlds — and yet now it lies barren, devoid of life. Perhaps our journey shall take us there, or provide us the information you seek.::

::I thought you said you knew.::

Kreia's voice turned cold. ::I know only what Katarr is now: a wound, a void in the Force. The manner of its destruction is unknown to me.::

Trista sighed, but dropped it. ::I have other questions for you.::

::Ask, and I will answer.::

::You were fine when Bao-Dur joined us on Telos, or Mical now. Or, well, relatively fine. But you were angry when Handmaiden joined us, and you've almost refused to speak to me since. Is there a reason for your discomfort?::

::Yes.:: Kreia's voice was snappy. ::They are countless, and I have neither the time nor patience to list them all.::

::What do you want? To leave her here?::

::No, she may yet have her uses. I will abide her presence, and so should you.::

::Why?::

::Because Atris is a threat. And as much as she would use us against you, so we may use her servants against her. Do not see every enemy as an enemy. See them instead as an ally, whether they realize it or not. This situation may yet work to our advantage.::

::That has been my plan with her from the beginning. We need every tool we can use against Atris, should she try anything.::

::Good. That is the most to be done until events unfold — as I am sure they will, in time.:: Kreia's robe twitched, as if her head had turned toward her. ::But for now, I must rest, as should you. I fear the coming days will be strenuous indeed.::

::Sure.::

Trista sighed and settled back into the rock as the kath hounds howled in the distance and the grass atop the hills waved in the breeze, impatient for sunrise.