A/N: Remember last week when I said the thing about Crusader Kings? Yeah. But hey, I re-established Rome and made it into a matriarchy where everyone is gay, so there's that.


"I don't know what you expect from me, Tris."

Trista leaned on the table, glancing around the room packed with Revanchists and Republic officers before returning her gaze to Revan where she stood behind a massive battle map in her iconic mask.

"Revs," she said. "An entire star system is not 'collateral damage.'"

Revan swung the pointer as she shrugged. "Do you want to end the war?"

"I do! We need to. But this... this thing." She motioned to the map. "The Mass Shadow Generator, we don't know what it does."

"According to the technical readouts..." The Mirialan Jedi across from her was a new addition to their officers' ranks. "It uses a simultaneous existence in both real-time and hyperspace to harness the natural mass shadows generated by a planetary body. That causes catastrophic damage to everything on that planet and in surrounding space up to..." She flicked a page on her datapad. "The libration point of that body."

"It creates a mass shadow," Revan simplified. "And, because of the gravitational anomalies already present in the Malachor system, the impact should be multiplied. The system shouldn't be destroyed, but..." She motioned. "It's a potentiality."

"Then pick another system. One without those anomalies."

Revan sighed and motioned with the pointer again. "Malachor V is an important world to the Mandalorians. If we put a large fleet there, they will come. That's not guaranteed anywhere else."

"Revs, we could send Cassus Fett an invitation and he'd show up!" She motioned to Alek, standing at the front of the table next to Revan. "Alek, help me out here."

He shook his head. "I already put my support behind this."

Trista hit the table and straightened. "We're supposed to save the Republic, not destroy worlds, Revan. That was part of the deal. That was the deal. Defeat the Mandalorians—"

"—at any cost," Revan finished. "Or, that was the original plan. Which?" She pointed back to the diagram. "This will do."

"And blow up a star system — and all of us. This isn't safe. This isn't practical. So what if we just..." Trista motioned. "Draw the Mandalorians in, but not activate this? If it's a taboo world, if it looks like we're interfering with it, they'll come anyway."

"I'm Supreme Commander, and my decision is final." Trista frowned. "And I've already slated you to lead the force to Malachor, so." She waggled the pointer at her. "Come to terms with whatever this is."

Trista scowled, then looked to Alek. "If ignorance is bliss, you must be orgasmic."

With that, she pushed away from the table and headed for the door. Revan sighed behind her. "My office to discuss the plan later, then."

Trista half-threw, half-waved one hand. "Whatever."

As the door opened, and she stepped through, the hall outside turned to her bridge, the window overlooking Malachor in its death throes. The pain stabbed her in the chest again, deep into the light-surrounded wound that gnawed there —

The back of her hand slammed into the hyperdrive, and Trista groaned into a half-awake stupor as the pain radiated down her arm and into her chest. After a few minutes, she poked it, and her hand sent out another shockwave of pain.

"Great," she grumbled, getting to her feet and pulling her robe on over her sleepwear. "Atton won't let me live this down."

She stepped into the silent Hawk, quiet save for the gentle rumble of the engines on their four-day trip to Nar Shaddaa. Mical stood ahead of her, studying a still image of the known Jedi Masters on the holotable, as Visas sat at the table nursing a mug.

Trista frowned. She had said she'd trust Visas if she helped defend Khoonda, but slapping up a list of the missing Jedi seemed far. She headed into the main hold, and Mical looked up.

"Ah, Trista." He turned. "I was just going through the holorecord of your trial."

"Did it answer all your questions?"

"No. In fact, I fear it's created more of them."

Trista laughed as she used one of the sole functional settings on the synth to make some caf, and pulled out an ice pack for her hand. "Tell me about it."

"May I ask you about them?" She turned back with her mug. "Or, at least, think out loud?"

She nodded and settled down at the table. Anything distraction that kept her from thinking was welcome. "Sure. Can't sleep, so."

"If you cut down on the caf."

"Well, you know what they say." Trista took a sip. "You can kick a girl out of the military, but you can't break her addiction to caffa."

"I've... never heard that."

Trista waved her hand. "Irrelevant. What are your questions?"

"I feel I must confess my motives." He settled into one of the other chairs. "I was searching for some meaning within the records — a reason one might leave the Order."

Trista shrugged, tapping her fingernails against the mug. "It's not that deep, Mical, they kicked me out."

"Yes, but exile is rare, and it is not something the Order can enforce. Believe it or not, it was your choice."

Trista sipped her caf again. True. She could have set up on some other world, gotten a job in the private sector, and lived out her days at least relatively happy — with severe PTSD and a never-ending spring of angst, perhaps. "I suppose the shame factor drives exiles away. It's probably why Qel-Droma settled down on an asteroid."

"Did you? Walk Qel-Droma's path?"

"Sort of. Not as extravagantly." She set her cup down. "The Rim is a good place to get lost. I bounced around on several planets — Tatooine, Ord Mantell, a cute little ocean-jungle world a sector away from Tatooine. That one was my favorite. Lived illegally on some moons. Then someone would turn up that remembered me, and that was my cue to pack up the homestead and leave."

"And that is what I mean." She looked up. "You did not want to be found."

Trista sighed. "Fine, yeah, fair enough. But you weren't in the room, Mical. Several of them would have executed me, if the Jedi made a habit of doing so."

Mical shook his head. "Perhaps some of them felt strongly about the sentence, but I think something else concerned them."

She scoffed as she sipped her caf. "You've never met Atris."

"No, I have not."

"But I think you're right."

"You spoke with Master Vrook after the battle, yes?" She nodded. "Did he reveal anything?"

"Nothing more than 'I'll only talk about it if the Council agrees to' and 'you weren't supposed to see that recording,' which is about what I expected. And that Kavar might tell me."

"We are going right past Onderon."

"No. I want to deal with this bounty issue, because if I have to kill another bounty hunter trying to capitalize on it I'll go insane." She frowned. "And it might encourage some Jedi to pop up."

Mical frowned, tapping the table to bring up their images. "I doubt the bounty will do that." He changed the settings, leaving just three Jedi on the image. "These are Jedi who traveled with Revan during the Jedi Civil War."

Trista perked. "I knew Bastila was, but the other two?"

He nodded. "Bastila's fame before she ended up with Revan makes her the most familiar, but they were also there. Of the three, only Bastila stayed until the, ah, catastrophe." Trista followed his eyes to Visas and nodded. "The others... well, scholars interested in the Order believed that Revan's companions had died with those that disappeared last year. However, Atris' archives have said otherwise.

"I find it curious, and perhaps suspicious, that Revan's Jedi knew a great tragedy was about to befall the Order."

Trista shook her head. "According to Vrook, Jedi started disappearing after Revan vanished. They may have thought it was safer to disappear."

"That is possible. However, I'm getting off topic." Mical switch back to the locations of the known Jedi Masters. "We were discussing your trial and exile."

She sighed, raising her cup again. "Yes. You're saying I made a choice, I'm holding onto a belief that I didn't."

"Fair enough. There is something else."

"Go ahead."

"I have been working on this... project... since I found these other worlds listed. It is something I've been working on the past year in my travels. But the more worlds I have traveled to — all affected by either the Mandalorian Wars or the Jedi Civil War — the more questions I have. It is not the hardships of the people, but something more."

"Suffering is always hard to see."

"You are right, but more is at work here." The animation with which he spoke was almost endearing, and Trista couldn't help but be engrossed in the conversation. She glanced at Visas and wondered if she felt it too. And she thought for a moment, back to what she had felt at the Enclave. Back to what Vrook had said about worlds touched by the wars.

"Visas, do you want more tea?" Mical asked, interrupting his thoughts.

When she spoke, it was hesitant. "No, I am fine. Thank you."

"We have three canisters of it."

She smiled under the cloth covering her eyes and nodded.

"It's something about the worlds themselves, isn't it?" Trista asked. "Also, what tea?"

"It's an anti-inflammatory herb I found stocked in medbay," Mical said, "and yes, I believe so. These dead worlds — like Taris, Telos, Serroco — the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War touched them. But sometimes... I feel as if it connects them in some other way. The attacks on Katarr, Telos itself, the decay on Dantooine... it is like something is wrong with life. As if it has damaged the connections, or sickened them?"

"As if something is wrong with the Force," Visas whispered.

He nodded, looking back up at the images. "Over the past few hours, I've come so close to understanding. But then it just... slips away." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "And that is why the absence of Revan's Jedi is relevant, especially if they avoided the catastrophe. What did they know that we don't? Does Revan have some role in this, or has she simply left as they said? What insights could they give us-"

"Some sleep might be beneficial." Trista sipped her caf, trying to not feel hypocritical. "Might help you connect the dots."

Mical nodded and turned off the holotable. "Perhaps you are right."

As he moved away from the table, Trista looked up at the storage compartment and went cold. "Aw, hell."

"What is it?" Mical and Visas asked, in unison.

"Did either of you move the murder droid?"

They followed her eyes back to the storage compartment.

"I have not," Visas said.

"Nor have I."

"Shit. All right, good night, Mical. Get some rest, Visas. I've got to find this thing." She drained her caf and set it on the table. "I'll get that later."

Fortunately, the Hawk was a small ship, and it took only one panicked circuit to find the HK droid's chassis propped up next to the workbench with Bao-Dur's hand wrist-deep inside it.

"Oh, thank the Force," Trista said. He looked up.

"Sorry." He returned his attention to the droid. "Couldn't sleep and figured I'd poke around in here."

"You're fine. I thought it had spontaneously reactivated and was waiting for a moment to strike."

He chuckled. "No, but I repaired most of the damage." Bao-Dur straightened, wiping grease off his hands. "Do you know anything about it?"

Trista shook her head. "Not much."

Bao-Dur closed the droid's chest with a nod. "I purchased a few replacements from the Sullustan on Dantooine. I should be able to start it up, but I wanted to check with you first." He pointed to several parts of the droid's exoskeleton. "There are hidden combat mounts all over it, which I am sure you saw. It may be useful on Nar Shaddaa."

Trista leaned on the wall. "What do you think it is?"

"Not sure. The models we've encountered have been bounty hunters, but that does not mean this one is." He ran his hand over part of the chassis. "And judging by the tool marks, it was hand-crafted — not manufactured. I studied the ones that attacked us, and they were manufactured."

"First of the line, maybe?"

"It is possible."

"Well, I'm not turning away a gun, especially for Nar Shaddaa. Go ahead — just be careful."

Bao-Dur fiddled with a few more switches, then stepped back. The droid whirred, coming to life, then two bright orange optics flickered into being. The head raised with another whir, and —

"Diagnostic," it said, "HK-47 activated. Running checks through primary systems."

T3 chortled into the garage, whistled in alarm, and shot backwards. Bao-Dur looked at Trista, fingers tapping his blaster.

"Assessment: It appears I have suffered considerable damage and... dismemberment? And my central control cluster seems to have taken several repeated blaster shots at close range. How crude." The head swiveled, taking in Trista and Bao-Dur. Trista wet her lips.

"Why were you in our storage hold?"

"Answer: I do not know, Master. It is curious that I was here. Although..." The head swiveled again. "This place seems familiar."

"Are you okay?" There was something in the droid's tone, some programmed emotion that sounded almost like a combination between disgust and concern. The head snapped back toward her.

"Answer: If by 'okay,' you mean the loss of almost all my assassination protocols, then no, I am not 'okay.'" It paused. "Furthermore, I seem to have no control over my vocabulator, causing me to reveal my true function as an assassin droid of unrivaled sophistication."

"That makes sense. There are duplicates of you out in the galaxy that are trying to kill me."

"Answer: Oh, that is impossible, Master. If I were trying to kill you, we would not be speaking."

"Comforting," Bao-Dur said.

"Statement: And regardless, I am a unique model. Why, any other versions of me are just unacceptable."

"There are at least..." she counted on her fingers. "Seven defunct versions of you."

"Statement: Master, I must inform you that your attempts at 'humor' are wasted on a droid such as I."

"There's a series of HK-50 units sharing your model and function." Trista motioned to the main hold. "Check the comms room if you don't believe me."

Without further statement, the droid stalked into the main hold. They followed, watching him disappear into the hallway leading to the cockpit.

"Hope that wasn't a mistake," Bao-Dur said.

"Same."

Someone yelped down the hall, and Atton appeared in the main hold.

"Who woke up the murder droid?" he asked, jerking his finger over his shoulder.

"We did."

"He could be useful."

Atton scoffed. "Yeah, useful at getting us killed."

He started rummaging around the synthesizer as HK-47 stalked back into the hold. Were it possible for a droid with no discernible features to seem startled and irritated, he did both.

"Conclusion: This discovery is causing me some anger, and humiliation," he announced.

Trista cocked her head. "I'm... sorry. Are you all right?"

"Mockery: 'Am I all right?'" The droid's voice rose accurately, and a bit infuriatingly. "Oh, yes, master, I am fine. I mean, I have only just been reactivated to discover the sub-standard duplications of myself running about the galaxy, corroding my good name."

"Hmph," Atton said without turning. "Good name." HK-47's head swiveled in his direction.

"Threat: be silent, meatbag."

"Oooh, what are you gonna do?" Atton wiggled his fingers at the droid. "Make threatening noises at me?"

"Atton," Trista said. He smirked back at the droid. HK-47 turned back after another threatening glare.

"Continuation: But if they are, in fact, hunting you, then I look forward to meeting these units and educating them in proper assassination protocols." She didn't have to guess at his meaning. "Conclusion: So, I need you for the time being... Master."

"You said you were an assassination droid?" Bao-Dur asked.

"Recitation: As I said, I am an assassination droid. It is my primary function to burn holes through meatbags you wish removed from the galaxy... Master. Oh, I hate that term."

Trista raised a brow. "Meatbag?"

"Answer: No, 'Master.' Ah! I said it again!"

"Well, to be frank, I don't like the concept of assassination. So you're not to be killing anyone unless they try to kill you first. And even then, I'd like you to ask."

HK whirred irritably. "Recitation: Yes, Master. Statement: If you have no current need for a meatbag to be terminated..." He turned his head toward Atton. "...then I will patrol this ship."

"Go ahead." Trista waved him off, and he stalked into the ship's corridors.

"Do we want the crazy murder droid walking around?" Atton motioned after him, and Trista shook her head.

"Might be useful."

"All right, sure." Atton headed back toward the cockpit. "I'm gonna start sealing the cockpit when I sleep, though."

#

Mical found T3 on the start of their second day in hyperspace, datapad in hand. T3 chirped as he knelt down.

"Hello," he said. "The Exile has requested that you scan all of our communications." T3 chirped affirmatively. "Now that means I will be very honest with you, and I must request your discretion."

T3 rolled a step back, popping out his shock arm, and Mical held up his hands. "It is not anything like that. I am vested in Trista's safety, and in our mission. But." He motioned the droid forward again and, hesitantly, T3 scooted an inch or two closer. "I am on a very secret mission for the Republic. My commanding officer is a high-ranking Admiral that has been interested in finding the Jedi, and I just need to send him a report back about my whereabouts.

"I also have a question, if you do not mind." T3 chirped suspiciously. "This ship is the Ebon Hawk?" Affirmative whistle. "How long have you been with it?"

"/T3 = with ship—/" T3 stopped himself and whistled threateningly, holding out his shock arm again. "/Mical = with Republic?/"

"I am."

"/Admiral =/?/"

"Are you familiar with Carth Onasi?" T3 zipped his shock arm into his chassis with a sad dwoo. Mical nodded. "That is who I am working for."

"/T3 + ship = 2,556 days + 6 hours + 36 minutes + 7 seconds/"

Mical nodded. "When did you find the Exile?"

"/Ship = hijacked 34 days ago/"

"Just a month, all right. Do you remember your first master?" A happy chirp. "Was she safe the last time you saw her?" T3 made another happy chirp. "How long ago?"

"/T3-Master = 50 days / Location = Unknown Regions/"

"Only fifty days ago." Mical rested his back on the wall and updated his note. "You're about to make your friend very happy."

When he was done, he held up his datapad. "Now I will give you this, but Trista can't hear what is in the message." T3 popped the panel on his shock arm, but didn't extend it, and Mical held up his hands. "I promise you, I've no ulterior motives. I simply wish for the Jedi to return, and I do not think she is ready to know your provenance — or mine. But I must report to my superiors, and this will take a great weight off your friend's shoulders."

T3 slowly closed the panel again, and Mical inserted the datapad. After a moment, he beeped and let it be withdrawn.

"Thank you." Mical rubbed the top of the droid's head as he stood. As he turned for the main hold, to head for the communications room, Trista emerged from the garage carrying a ration bar and a cup of caf. "Up so early?"

She squinted. "I could say the same about you after our late night chat."

"I function best on less sleep." He stepped into the hall, and she looked after him.

"Sending a message?"

He held up his datapad. "T3 cleared it."

She nodded and took another bite out of the bar. "Great, thanks. I don't want the Sith getting too interested if it's intercepted."

"A worthy goal. I must let my superiors know I've left Dantooine — it's all encrypted."

Trista waved and entered the hall by medbay, saying good morning to T3 as she passed, and Mical slipped into the communications room.