Carth sat at his post on the bridge, head in one hand as the other tapped his mug, as the Sojourn and her fleet cruised around the Bright Jewel sector. Ord Mantell was getting noisy again.

But, like always, he'd bet his career it wasn't important.

"Sir." A communications tech stopped by his chair and saluted. "Encrypted message on line four for you."

"Who is it?"

"Mical."

Carth straightened up and passed her his datapad. She returned a few seconds later with the decryption program already running, and Carth drummed his fingers on his mug as he waited for it to finish.

Admiral Onasi,

I have contacted the Exile. A week ago, as I predicted, she arrived on Dantooine to visit the Enclave. The situation I reported with the mercenaries resolved in Khoonda Outpost's favor.

The Exile has allowed me to join her on her ship. Her motives are aligned with ours - she too seeks the lost Jedi, to counter a Sith threat she purports. For what it is worth, I believe her. We have met one of these Sith for ourselves, a young Miraluka woman that survived the destruction of Katarr.

Carth took a sip of his caf. Unexpected.

She has also joined us on the ship and, while we are watching her, I do not believe she was ever truly Sith.

The ship is, as you suspected in your last message, the Ebon Hawk. I am pleased to report your missing droid is aboard, as is the assassination unit you described to me. In fact, he is glaring at me from the entrance to the medbay. There is, however, no sign of Revan. If I can, I will attempt to glean information from the T3 unit before sending this.

I also have information on the missing Jedi Masters. We have confirmed the locations of two of the missing Council members, but I will not say which ones, and have information regarding the whereabouts of Vrook, Atris, Kavar, Zez-Kai Ell, and Lonna Vash. Unfortunately, information regarding your friends Jolee Bindo and Juhani are scarce, but they appear on Atris' records as having survived the catastrophe that purged the Order.

There is also more information regarding that event, and its link to Katarr, but I do not want to disclose that over message. I similarly cannot disclose my next location, for fear that this message may be intercepted.

I will send further information as I receive it.

- Mical

Addendum: Having spoken with T3-M4, he reports that he last saw Revan fifty days ago in the Unknown Regions, and that she was safe and in good health.

Carth stood abruptly and nearly dropped both the datapad and his caf, much to the shock of the Hammerhead's bridge crew. "I'll be right back."

"Yes, sir," the helm replied, the officer turning back to their post. "We'll alert you if something happens."

He nodded and headed off the deck, back to the conference room. Dustil was gone, likely in the mess; Bastila, however, sat at the table, scratching a snoozing gizka in front of her as she skimmed one of her many datapads.

"How is he?" Carth asked, as he closed the door behind him.

"A little better, I think." The gizka cooed. "He is getting up in age, Carth."

"Don't talk to me about that." He handed her the datapad and, as Bastila turned her attention to it, the gizka stomped over and pushed his head against Carth's hand.

Bastila opened the document and began reading, idly chewing on her lip as she did.

"Oh, he got on her ship? Thank the Force. HK got reactivated?"

"Sounds like it." Carth scratched behind X'lor's nubby ears, and the gizka cooed happily.

"Did he get anything from T3?"

Carth sipped his caf. "Keep reading."

She did, her nose crinkling. "Vrook and Atris are still out there." Her tone left little confusion as to her opinion on the matter. "Oh! I wonder if Atris had information about them?"

"Maybe."

"He confirmed that they were alive, so they must have run into her." She sighed. "Well, at least Jolee and Juhani are listed as surviving the event."

"Yeah."

Bastila fell silent as she finished the message and, he assumed, got to the last line before she yelled — with far more emotion than he'd seen from her in years, "Fifty days!"

"She's okay, Bas!"

Before either could stop themselves, Bastila had thrown her arms around him, and Carth pulled her in.

"It's one thing to feel it," she whispered. "But to have T3 confirm it—"

"It's the best news I've heard in three years."

They stepped back, neither quite able to calm the smile on their faces.

"I'll add this to my Conspiracy Board," Bastila said, scooping X'lor up and setting him back down on a bed in the middle of the table.

"Yeah. I have to get back to the bridge."

"Tell me if Mical sends anything else."

Carth nodded and opened the door. "You got it."

As he turned and the door closed, he nearly ran into a passing lieutenant, who saluted and said, "Sir, is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine. As you were."

"Sir." He saluted again and scurried off, and Carth returned to the bridge with an unfamiliar lightness to his steps.

#

"You are improving," Handmaiden said as Trista pulled on her tunic. "Your enthusiasm is inspiring, especially from one trained as a Jedi."

"I'm afraid bladework was never my forte," she said with a wan smile. "Though, once I entered the Consular program, I received far less training than Revan or Malak."

"It seems unwise. Even diplomats are often placed in dangerous situations, and to be unequipped to defend oneself—"

"Believe me, I know." Trista stood. "Same time tomorrow?"

The Handmaiden responded with a very restrained smile. "If you are up to it. Training breaks the monotony of hyperspace travel."

"You could always play pazaak with Atton."

Handmaiden frowned. "No. I do not trust him."

Trista sighed and settled down on a crate. "Look, I don't think anyone here trusts each other."

"That is untrue." Handmaiden finished dressing. "You and the Iridonian trust one another — or, at least, he trusts you. Atris spoke of him often."

"Who, Bao-Dur?" What interest did Atris have in Bao-Dur? She doubted they could be curious, or without major ulterior motive. She was, at best, a mid-rate dejarik player attempting to outplay the Force.

"Atris believed the Iridonian held the knowledge to restore Telos."

"He's got a name."

Handmaiden nodded. "My apologies. His skill with machines is beyond what most can aspire to, and his shield technology surpasses the designs of even the most skilled Echani power architects.

"Do you realize what it means to have such a person respect and follow you? The Ir—Bao-Dur allied himself with no one on the entire world of Telos, yet he will follow you even when it risks his life. Even his stance mirrors yours. Where he walks, he carries a world upon his shoulders — and like you, I do not know if he has ever faced it."

Trista cleared her throat and stood. "It is something neither of us will speak of to those who won't understand, no offense."

She shook her head. "I will respect your wishes, and his. Forgive me."

"Don't worry about it. It's something we don't talk about, even with each other." Trista sighed as she opened the door. "Some things are just like that."

"I understand."

She stepped out into the hallway and stood for a moment. She and Bao-Dur had already trained extensively that morning, and she wasn't up for a conversation with Visas or Kreia, or dealing with the myriad of questions HK dredged up regarding... well, everything.

Trista was just about to head into the engine room when Mical interrupted her.

"May we speak a moment?"

She turned towards the medbay, taking in his awkward posture in half a second. "Of course. Privately?"

"Preferably."

She nodded and motioned him after her. Mical settled down on the hyperdrive, and she leaned back against the scaffolding.

"So what's—"

"I fear I've not been entirely honest with you," he interrupted.

"So far, few have. Go on."

"First, my mission for the Republic is not merely information gathering. I am working for an Admiral who wishes for the Jedi to return to the Republic."

"Yeah." Trista sighed. "I'm wondering how much reach this guy has."

Mical shifted on the hyperdrive, accompanying the motion with a shake of his head. "Not as significant as it seems, I assure you, he simply knows how the Jedi operate a little better than most. I apologize for not being up front with you, but after Telos, he feared you may believe his motives were, ah, different from what they are."

"What are they?"

"Simply what I stated."

Trista crossed her arms, studying Mical closely. Well, if Mical was working for him, maybe he could assuage some of her concerns about his interest in her, and her goals. "What do you know about him?"

"Admiral Onasi?" Mical shrugged. "He was a decorated soldier in the Mandalorian Wars and returned to the Republic after Telos, his homeworld, was destroyed, though I believe he had a son who turned up on Korriban later in the war and escaped to the Republic. He is best known as one of those who traveled with Revan during the Jedi Civil War, though."

"Yeah, I saw his name on her warrant."

Mical nodded. "He was also one of her most vehement supporters once her identity was leaked. Anyway, my point is — it is not his intention to stand between you and your goals, nor is it mine. My mission is to find and reunite the Jedi, and to stop whatever has driven them into hiding, as is yours. To that end, my skills and knowledge are at your disposal. That... is not all, though."

"Uh-huh." Trista raised a brow. "Go on."

"You asked before if we had met, and I said we had not. That was... untruthful." He studied a spot on the engine interestedly, as if he were looking anywhere but her. "In fact, we have met before, at the Enclave on Dantooine many years ago.

"As you know, they sometimes take Force Sensitive children to Dantooine, when the Jedi believe they are destined for knighthood."

Trista nodded. "Or if they are unsuited to life on Coruscant." That had been how she, Revan, and Alek had ended up there so long ago. The only reason they had stayed on Coruscant for so long was the behest of the late Master Orla Von, ostensibly because they had interested the Council. Then, the other two had to keep sneaking into the Undercity...

"Indeed. And if you are not chosen by a Master when you come of age, that path is denied to you.

"I met you briefly, when you had already finished your training. You taught us about the Force, how to hear it sing in others, within the life around Dantooine. It is... difficult to explain the difference between you and Master Vrook, but I believe it is because he is knowledgeable, but does not possess a mentor's temperament."

"His personality doesn't help, either," she said with another wry grin.

Mical chuckled. "No, no, you are also more personable. It was during that lesson I knew that, were I to have a master, I would have wanted it to be you." Trista blinked. "But then you went to war. Many of you did, and the Masters proclaimed you were Jedi no longer. And I knew you had to be correct, and I wished to follow your path." He shook his head. "Either way, there was no one left to train me. The youngest Jedi and several masters followed you, and I grew past the age of acceptance."

Trista stared at the other engine, diving deep in the memories she'd long wished gone. She could almost place him now — a blond boy with wide, eager blue eyes that almost mirrored the same desire for knowledge her sister's had, watching with a reverence that had felt both admiring and uncomfortably worshiped.

She held up her hand. "Just so I heard right... you turned away from the Force, from the Jedi, because of me?"

"It may sound stupid, I know." He shifted on the hyperdrive. "But it is possible to forget the Force if you have not felt it strongly enough. So, with the chaos of the Jedi Civil War, I served the Republic. To study the Jedi teachings, and to rush to preserve them when the Jedi began to disappear. It was... important for me to understand them. I thought some part of you should be preserved, so your lessons wouldn't be lost."

Not for the first time, Trista yearned for the former vacancy in her heart. The emptiness that had taken her emotions with it, so she only felt them at their strongest, so guilt wouldn't wrack her now.

"I'm sorry that me leaving for war had—"

"No." He held up his hand. "You did what you needed to. Had you and the others not disobeyed the Council, we would have lost. I still harbor doubts about the path I walked, but that regret should be mine — not yours."

"And that's why you started working for Onasi?"

"Sort of. He found me through my work and invited me to contribute to a consortium of sorts within the admiralty. As I said, I am one of many searching for the Jedi. Many in the military have not forgotten the long dedication of the Jedi, even if the Republic has. And to these individuals, it seems only fair for the Republic to support the Jedi now."

"That's altruistic."

"Well, it is only about three admirals, so perhaps I'm overstating things."

"Do you know what happened to her? To Revan?"

"If you mean where she is now? No."

"How she turned back."

"Ah." Mical shook his head. "I know only what we have been told: that Bastila Shan captured her aboard her flagship, and she defeated Malak on an ancient Rakatan factory known as the Star Forge."

"The Star Forge?"

"It was a factory that ran on the dark side of the Force above the Rakatan homeworld. Apparently, Revan and Malak found it, and that is how they fielded such a massive force against the Republic. Apart from that, I know little else."

"And what's your opinion on what we're facing?"

Mical was quiet for a moment, continuing to stare at the wall. "You have told me everything?"

She shrugged. "Mostly. If I get woken up by something I missed, I'll let you know."

"Heh, that is fair." Mical frowned, looking back at her. "This has Revan's mark in things."

Trista's hand clenched the krayt bracelet around her wrist as she answered. "Revan redeemed herself. Or, that's what they've been saying."

"Yes, or so the Jedi thought," he agreed. "But there is much of her legacy that was not undone in the war, and I fear these assassins you have mentioned — and the lords they serve — are one of them." He thought for a moment, tapping his knee. "A document I found was a report from the Republic base on Manaan. Late in the war, a Jedi was attacked there by assassins that appeared and disappeared into thin air. And later, the base was subjected to the same assassins once the Jedi survived. I wonder if these are the same? I believe Master Vandar wrote on them as well — they used them before large assaults on planets, and Jedi, to weaken them."

Trista frowned, and the two of them sat in silence for several minutes. When she spoke, it was with guilt and heavy calculation. She had been responsible for derailing Mical's Jedi career, even if he'd asked her to not blame herself. And, pragmatically, another Force user would bring their count to five between her, Kreia, Bao-Dur, and Visas. When faced with what they were facing (at least two Sith Lords, provided Visas' wasn't Vibroblades), more was better. She knew, from history at least, that many Sith Lords took multiple Jedi to kill them.

She was not "multiple Jedi" in any sense of the words.

"Mical." He looked back at her, and she smiled weakly. "I can't profess to be a good teacher. At all. But there is another way to rebuild the Jedi — one that would give you what you sought a decade or more ago. And it would only help as we go forward, knowing what we know now."

Mical was quiet again, and for a moment, Trista worried she'd spoken too soon, or crossed an unmarked line. But finally, he answered, voice hardly above a whisper.

"Yes. I think you are right. It is time."

She thought she could hear Kreia's irritable sigh in the back of her mind.

#

"I thought we should speak."

Kreia barely turned as Trista spoke, merely motioning to the floor beside her. She settled down, crossing her legs and leaning forward on her knees.

"Already you have begun to rebuild the Order, I see," she said. "I wonder who else you plan to find before this is done?"

"It's not uncommon. Throughout the Order's history, low numbers sometimes merit several adult trainees under one master. It's not impractical."

"Indeed, but be on your guard. Each you train will echo in the Force around them, and will draw more attention to you."

"We'll need them once the Sith begin dogging our heels again," Trista said. "That's not why I'm here." Kreia motioned with her hand. "I have not spoken with you like this since we brought Visas on, and I wanted to discuss her."

"Yes. And, in such short order, you have befriended her." Kreia's hood moved in a nod. "I do not know what you intend with her." Almost immediately, irritation was back in her voice. "The Sith carry the battle to you, and yet, you spare them. I hope your thoughts in this matter are clear. If you take her on as a servant, know that the Sith meet their end at the hands of their apprentices. It is not something I would wish to happen to you."

"I think we're okay."

Her mouth drew into a frown. "This one you have saved — she has other masters. Though blind, she has ties to darkness. Her presence here is a threat to us… to you. Do not underestimate her, or her loyalty."

"Of course she has ties — ties to the Sith we're hunting. Ties I intend to follow once we're ready."

"Then you are learning."

"There is something else." Kreia nodded again, and Trista continued. "She said her planet was destroyed."

"Did she? And what do you make of that?"

Trista tented her fingers under her chin. "There was a conclave of Jedi on the world, but that can't be it. It would be too convenient; he arrived before the Conclave ended." She frowned. "If her people see through the Force, maybe someone wanted them blinded."

Kreia was quiet for a moment before she replied with surprising approval. "The Mandalorians were right to respect you on the field of battle."

"Uh, thanks." Trista lowered her hands uncomfortably.

"The Jedi are gone, vanished, and an entire planet of Force Sensitives has been wiped clean of life... and now this slice of the galaxy is blind. It is no coincidence, as you have stated — they are tied. Linked."

"Like someone wants to blind this sector to the Force. So they can move freely, or strike without warning."

"I fear you are right — and it may yet prove to be more than that. War is a hunger, and there are spirits in the galaxy whose hunger is never satisfied. But there is little to be done about it now. Watch the seer carefully. She may reveal more."

Trista nodded, re-tenting her fingers. "But — Kreia, is what she described even possible? To destroy an entire world, to feed on the inherent Force energy it possesses? Destruction on that scale is..."

"Impossible?" Kreia said as she trailed off. "For all your training, you still see impossibility within the Force?"

"That's — that's not what I meant. There are old Sith techniques from the Great Hyperspace Wars that can drain the life from a being. But an entire world?"

"It is an old Sith technique, yes. Almost as old as they are themselves. It is a means of severing connections between life, the Force, and feeding upon the death it causes. Instead of sending one's will through connections in the Force, such connections are drawn upon, fed upon, and drained.

"It cannot be taught. It can only be gained through instinct, through experiencing its effects first hand."

"But to consume an entire planet with it—"

"Yes, and he fed upon its destruction. It will sustain him, for a time."

"But, with that power..." Trista moved her hands vaguely, hoping some meaning translated through them. "How hasn't he conquered the galaxy by now?"

"Because it cannot be controlled, and it leaves nothing to conquer in its wake. And because it rules him. It has its own wills and instincts."

"But how can anyone have that sort of power?"

Kreia's head tilted. "Power? Do you think so?"

"Only the way any weapon of mass destruction is 'power.'"

She nodded. "There is no strength in the hunger he possesses, and the will behind it is a primal thing. It devours him as he devours others — his mere presence kills all around him slowly, feeding him. He is already dead. It is simply a question of how many he slays before he falls.

"Like energy, the Force may be harnessed, channeled, and consumed. It may even be a substance that can burn and ignite. Do not consider this as you would a weapon, or one of your Republic's warships. It is terrible, but it is still a subtle thing. This sect of assassins that chase you feed on the Force, and what he does is merely the pinnacle of what they could achieve.

"And that is why they, and their techniques, must be wiped out. No one again must experience and learn what her master did."

Trista rested her head in her hands. "You said the connections are drained?" Kreia nodded. "But if all life is touched by the Force—"

"Then, you understand how terrible such a power is... and why it must be ended."

"This is so much to take in. I thought we'd just be dealing with a normal, run of the mill Sith Lord, not... not this abomination." She sat with her head in her hands for a moment, then drew several deep breaths. "All right. Do you know anything about him?"

Kreia was quiet for several moments, and Trista worried the answer would be a solid "no," or "I don't want to talk about it," or something similar. "You're not ready" would be a nightmare.

Eventually, something inside Kreia seemed to relent.

"He — if he can be called a man any longer — is one of the Lords that pursue you, as you have reasoned already, though he is not the one we encountered aboard the Harbinger. I do not think he knows what you are, not yet. He spared the Miraluka, and that may have been the last shred of feeling that exists within him. Keep his slave close to you. I suspect there was a reason he spared her, and perhaps a reason that she survived when her people and the Jedi did not."

"She is not his slave, not any more at least."

"Entertain what illusions you will, I am too tired to argue them with you." Kreia did, in fact, sound too tired to do so, and Trista resisted the urge to consider it a victory.

"How is he not still a man?"

"One cannot have power of that magnitude and still perceive the universe as we do — as most of us do. I had... hoped you would not have to confront him, but her presence here has changed all that. You will meet him in battle, and you must be prepared to sacrifice the blinded one. Perhaps her death will buy you the time you need to deal with her master."

"If it comes to that." Trista sighed and scrubbed her face. "Can I change the topic?"

"Ask, and I will answer."

"When Visas and I fought, she did something to my eyes."

"She did nothing that was not already there." Trista's eyes were half-rolled in frustration when Kreia continued. "She has forced this upon you, but such crude methods are the markings of the Sith. Close your eyes."

"Huh?"

Kreia said, more forcefully, "Close your eyes." Trista did so, and the light from the dormitory's panels faded into darkness.

"Feel this ship around you."

She reached out, running the metal of the halls and rooms through her mind and, suddenly, it was almost as if she could see them as clearly as if her eyes were open.

"Listen to my words. Hear the Handmaiden's training in the cargo hold, her hands cutting the air. The welding of the droid as it goes about its work."

"I think T3 has a stuck motivator."

Kreia's voice was almost a slap to the back of her head. "Focus. Now, stretch out. Hear the rumble of hyperspace, the hum of the hyperdrive."

Trista frowned. "There's a catch. It's not fully fixed."

"Ignore distractions, and focus on my voice." She did so. As if Kreia were physically guiding her, she brought her to the dormitory on the opposite sides of the ship. Visas was meditating, her legs folded beneath her and her body swaying as she sat. "The breathing of the blinded one as she meditates in the dark. Now, listen deeper. Past her breathing, and listen."

After a few moments of concentration, Visas's voice sounded in her head — quiet, calm, the sound of a repetitive mantra born of a need to remain sane from grief. Trista knew it well, though she couldn't imagine the oceanic depths between her own trauma and what Visas had endured.

As my feet walk from the ashes of Katarr, it went, I shall not fear, for in fear lies death, and...

Trista snapped out of it, shoving herself back into her body as she opened her eyes.

"I heard her thoughts," she said, though it was less an announcement to Kreia and more one to herself.

"Yes. You are strong indeed. What you heard were surface thoughts only, but it is something that Masters have trained for years, and yet never learned."

Trista stared at her in shock. "H-have I always been able to—"

"That is not what you should ask. Is such listening enough to perceive the world around you? It is not. To listen to the thoughts of another is much like attempting to see the universe with only your eyes, and it is equally limiting."

"Is that how you communicate with me when we're apart?"

Kreia's head turned, looking back toward the rear wall of the dorm. "Leave me. I am tired."

Trista got to her feet and dusted off the back of her robe. "I'll take that as a yes."

When Kreia didn't answer, she left, and headed through to the garage. Bao-Dur was still there, though now he was clinking away at the scaffolding.

"Hey, Bao-Dur." He looked back. "How'd the saber go?"

He turned with a bit of a smile and pulled a tube off his belt, igniting it into a glowing blade not unlike his arm. "Surprisingly easy. I've gotten back to work on the ship already."

"Good work. Just remember we're keeping a low profile."

Bao-Dur clipped it back to his belt. "Don't worry. I remember."

"Great. Also, I think there's still a little catch in the hyperdrive. Would you mind checking it out when we get to Nar Shaddaa?"

He nodded. "Noticed that yesterday. Depending on how long we have, I'll take it apart and rebuild it if I have to."

"Thanks." Trista nodded and started to loop back to the main hold.

#

Atton swore as he cut himself on a sharp bit in the synthesizer again, catching the wound in between his teeth. For the life of him, he couldn't figure out why the ship couldn't produce anything more appetizing than a pile of vaguely meat-scented mush. And the trash can working on it for years (T3's words) didn't help his optimism.

"Should just rip this thing out on Nar Shaddaa and put a whole new one in," he grumbled. "Wonder if that's in the budget? Might want to—" He cranked on a wrench, closing the panel up. "—look into replacing the stabilizers too. The 'flex tape and a prayer' repairs are getting to me—"

"Need a hand?"

Atton jumped, slammed his forehead into the bottom of the synth, and pushed himself from under it.

"No, I don't," he said, scowling toward their second-newest addition. "Go back to sucking up. I'll call you if I need someone useless."

The barest exasperated look wavered across Mical's face. "I was offering to help. Is that a problem?"

Atton closed the synth panel with another scowl. "No, there's no problem. How long are you planning on sticking it out?"

"Sticking it — as long as she needs me."

He released a slow stream of air through his nose as he kicked the panel shut, just to make sure it was closed. And because he was frustrated. "How absolutely heroic. Well, she doesn't need you. And, in fact, we were doing just fine until you showed up, thank you very much."

"Judging from the assault on Khoonda, there are some times where—"

"You have some agenda, and I know it. You can't fool me." Atton hooked a thumb in his belt, glaring at Mical through narrowed eyes. "Spying on her, always keeping your eye on her. Hell, asking for her to teach you all that Force crap was probably a way to keep closer tabs on her."

"Atton, I-I simply admire her. She has many qualities worthy of respect, and a strength that matches her beauty." Atton rolled his eyes and turned back for the cockpit. "I haven't missed that you've noticed."

He turned back. "Yeah, and I noticed first. So back off." Atton took several steps backwards, trying to finish what retreat he could. "Oh, and cut it with the noble shit — she can see right through your big hero act, all right?"

"I have no animosity toward you, Atton, I do not understand where this is coming—"

Atton caught sight of her first, coming through the portal into the main hold with a bemused expression on her face, and cut Mical off. "Just leave it, all right?"

As he retreated down the corridor, Trista asked, "What was that all about?" He didn't wait for the reply.

He checked their position on the galaxy map and settled back down into his cockpit, applying pressure to the small gash on his forehead from the synth. After a few minutes, the quiet padding of feet behind him made him roll his eyes.

"I do hope you're not fighting over me, of all people," Trista said, appearing next to him. He grumbled. "Mical said you were bleeding."

"I just hit my head on the synthesizer. It's nothing bad."

Trista clucked and pulled his hand away, then set her fingers on either side of the mark. Warmth flooded from them into his head, and he smirked.

"Mind giving me a head massage while you're up there?"

"Maybe if you wash your hair more."

"Ouch. I'll keep that in mind."

Trista drew her hands away from him and stepped in front of him, going after his finger next. "Atton, I don't know what to say. I'm worried. You can't even win a fight against a synthesizer."

"You've seen me in action, Tris, but you can always get your new wonder boy to fight that thing."

Trista frowned as warmth entered his finger around the slice from earlier. "Is that what this is about? You didn't react to Bao-Dur like this."

"Yeah, well, you already knew Bao."

She raised a brow. "Bao, huh?"

"What? He's an all right guy. But this new guy — you don't know anything about him!"

"Visas is literally a Sith."

"That's a whole other bundle of crap, Tris, and you know it."

"This is all about," she said, as she wrapped up healing him, "you feel like he's a threat to you, regarding me."

Atton frowned, partially worried if she was more onto it than that, partially if he should just suck it up and admit everything. That Kreia had threatened him to make sure he'd stay around. That she was amazing and beautiful, and terrifyingly selfless, and made him panicked and confused daily, and that he wasn't sure if he'd even want to leave like he kept threatening.

"Don't worry," she said, the warmth receding from his hand as she finished. "You and Mical are entirely different."

"Yeah?"

"Of course." Trista settled down in the copilot's seat. "He's nice and upstanding, but... well."

Atton frowned as she trailed off. "Well, what?"

"I knew a thousand people like him once, and almost none of them would be of much use on Nar Shaddaa." She tucked her legs up to her chest. "You're a refreshing break from it, even after ten years."

Atton frowned as she looked back into the tunnel of hyperspace, the blueish light ghostly as it played off her hair. He looked ahead too, though the part of him that wanted to spill everything was somehow disappointed in her inability to see through him. "That's it?"

"Well — hey, look. I'm trying to say don't be worried!" He looked back as she turned to him and was almost surprised to see her actually smile. "He won't replace you. We've been through too much for that."

The way she steered so ever-close to the thing he hadn't admitted to himself, then veered off course at the last second, was almost endearing. Atton looked away, glancing over his instruments.

"Yeah, don't worry, sweets. You're stuck with me."

"And after you keep threatening to leave? It almost sounds like you're in for the long haul."

Atton tried to frown, but couldn't help a smile. "What can I say, you grew on me."

Trista laughed — actually laughed — and he caught himself echoing it.

"That feeling's mutual."

They sat in a nice, companionable silence for a few minutes, Atton stealing a few glances as she looked over various instruments on the console. She looked back up into hyperspace, nestling into a ball in the copilot's seat.

"So, we're gonna be on Nar Shaddaa for a while. Anything you want to do for the Hawk while we're there?"

"Yeah, I wanna rip that godsdamned synth out and replace it."

"That won't to be cheap."

"That's what the pazaak dens are for."

"Just don't blow our entire budget on gambling."

"Don't worry, Tris. You worry too much."

She grinned — grinned. "Sorry. Force of habit. I had to keep a cabal of Jedi alive. I'm convinced they were trying to die to something other than Mandalorians — like rickets. Or just forgetting to eat."

"That bad, huh?"

"Like herding monkey-lizards."

"I bet we're a breath of fresh air, then."

Trista raised a brow. "You're all committed to staying alive, but not working together. So same feeling, different reasons."

"Don't rub my face in it."

"Oh, no, if I was doing that, it'd be a different conversation. I have a terrifying mom voice."

"Do me a favor, and never whip that out."

"Never make me."

"Deal. Or, well, it would be, but who knows? Might be interesting."

She laughed again. "You're incorrigible."

"That's what I've been told." Atton propped his feet up on the console. "You're feeling better, then?"

"Much. I'm..." Trista sighed, looking down at herself. "I've adjusted, I think. 'Recovered' may be a better word. I think it was less getting the Force back, and more just having it... shove itself back in without asking."

He studied her as she stared studiously out the viewport. Didn't sound out of the question. "That bad, huh?"

"Yeah. I mean... I went for ten years with no emotions, no connection to the Force, nothing. Just, there, but not living." She frowned and brushed a few errant threads from her robe. "I guess I forgot what it felt like to be alive."

Atton managed little more than a slight mumble of agreement as the cockpit went silent again, save for the steady chirp of a few of the instruments. Trista cleared her throat.

"All right, since you're the expert."

"Expert on what?" He raised a brow. "Thought I was an idiot."

Trista rolled her eyes. "Atton, you know I don't think that."

"You might be the only one."

"Well, in that case." She pulled her feet up onto the copilot's seat, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Give me the idiot's guide to Nar Shaddaa."