"Atris was correct about you."

Trista paused as she lashed on her tunic. "That I'm an insane Sith who should be put down for my own sake?"

"No." For a second, the Handmaiden's voice might have carried some amusement in it. "That you know war. You sense the currents of battle and follow them."

"Hm." She settled the garment with a frown.

"There is nothing more I can teach you. You have excelled beyond what I could have expected."

"Thanks, I think." Trista settled down on a crate with a sigh, her boots in hand. "Is there anything I can teach you?"

The Handmaiden's hands paused halfway through lacing up her jumpsuit, and for a moment Trista feared she'd said the wrong thing. "I do not think so."

"Why not?"

"Combat among the Echani is personal. Repeated duels are not what they are in other cultures, and I would rather this... not become more than it is."

"Ah." Trista rubbed the back of her neck. "Sorry, that's not what I meant to insinuate at all."

"And I have taken an oath to Atris against studying from a Jedi, or anything of the Jedi teachings."

"Wait." That didn't make sense. If Atris said she was the last vestige of the Jedi, the last bastion of all its teachings... "Why would Atris do that?"

"I do not know. But my father broke his oaths and shamed us all. I do not wish to follow his path — I swore not to. Were I to follow a Jedi against Atris' wishes, then I would betray her... for you."

"And they teach the Echani to read a person through combat," Trista said. "You've fought beside me for weeks now, and you know me as well as Atris by now. You've expressed that Jedi teachings shouldn't be lost — and I'm not a Jedi. Even without bringing the Force into things, how would learning to center oneself endanger your oath? Or learning stances, and when and how they're used? I should give you something for—"

The Handmaiden cut her off. "This is difficult for me to say, so I ask that you be silent as I speak." Trista nodded. "It is my desire to learn from you what you can teach me of battle. I have already learned much from our duels, but with every battle, I see how little knowledge I have gained. Your stance, your movements... I can sense shades of meaning, and an echo of something I've yet to experience.

"Atris said that you were the only Jedi to have survived the Mandalorian Wars. That you had stared into the heart of war, and only turned away because you were forced to. Through the course of our journey, I've learned that I do not believe her.

"You made a choice, as my father did. And that is more important to me than you realize. And you are important to me, more than you know. You are not a Jedi, as you said, and learning from you... should not break my oath to Atris. You would not — the Order does not consider you one, as it is now."

Trista nodded. "And you asked me about the Force when we first met."

"I have always felt that there is something more inside me, something I could not connect with. Something I did not share with my sisters."

"Why not?"

She paused again. "I have, as we say, the face of my mother." The Handmaiden settled down on another crate across from her, her pale eyes studying a panel across the hold. "It is not something we often speak of."

"We don't need to if you don't want to."

"It is fine." She took a deep breath. "I have not spoken of it in many years. It is difficult, when my existence itself goes against many of our customs."

The Handmaiden turned to her, studying her, and Trista tucked one of her legs up to her chest. "Do you remember your family?"

Trista sighed, pulling the other leg up as well. "Only a little. I was six when I was taken to the Jedi."

"That is young for the Jedi."

"Not the youngest I know." Trista stopped for a moment, her eyes traveling back to the secret compartment. "Revan was four."

"Hm." The noise carried little judgment with it.

"Master Von and Kavar, when he was a Padawan, found us. I remember our parents, but I doubt she does. They were merchants along the Trade Spire. I..." Trista trailed off for a moment. "I was told our ship was attacked, and they were killed. I don't remember that. Our mother put us in a storage locker with a blaster and told me to protect my sister. We were in there for hours. But the Jedi found us instead of the pirates, and we were taken to the Order. Until the Wars, I always thought that was a better option. Since, I've wondered if we had any family that could have taken us in, but after the Wars... I figured they wouldn't want to see what we turned into."

"I am... sorry."

Trista shook her head. "I'm thirty-six. That ship set out a long time ago."

Silence hung heavily in the air for a moment until the Handmaiden spoke. "I am not sure I ever met my mother, but I have always known who, and what, she was." She reached down and pulled out a traveling bag, and tugged out a bundle of white and gray fabric. As soon as she'd half-unfolded it, Trista knew what she was looking at.

"She was a Jedi."

"Yes. My father followed her to war, where she died." The Handmaiden folded it back into its tight square and tucked it away again. "They are the only thing of hers that I possess."

"Do you ever..." Trista trailed off. 'Miss her' wasn't exactly correct.

"Miss her?" Handmaiden supplied, as if she had read her mind. "I only miss that I never knew her — and what about her caused my father to follow her."

"That's not really what I was trying to say," Trista said, with a slight chuckle. "Do you miss what could have been?"

The Handmaiden was silent for a while, then smiled. "Often." She set the bag back down. "I... need some time to consider this. I hope you do not mind."

"No, no." Trista stood. "Just know the offer is open."

"Thank you." Trista was halfway out the door when Handmaiden spoke again. "Are you all right?"

"What?" She turned back.

"Are you all right? There has been something in your movements today — the weight you bear seems to be heavier today than usual."

Trista frowned, forcing her mind away from where it wished to go. "I'm... fine. There are several things that Zez-Kai Ell said weighing on me today."

"I understand." She nodded. "I hope I have not added to your burden."

"Absolutely not." Trista retreated to the hallway, perhaps more quickly than intended. And, before she could direct them, her feet found themselves on the familiar path towards the starboard dorm.

Ugh.

She hadn't been avoiding Kreia — Kreia had been self-isolated and quiet since the Jekk'Jekk Tarr. To say that upset her would be a lie. Her admonishments over being, oh, a decent member of society, still stung, and still made her wonder what, exactly, she intended to teach her.

Kreia stood in the dormitory with her back to her, not meditating, but not staring off into space. Trista's thoughts paused. Given the state of Kreia's eyes, that was probably a bad way to put it.

"You have spent much time with the servant of Atris."

Trista stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. "Yeah. She's been helping me get back into fighting shape. Is that a problem?"

Kreia did not answer immediately. "I knew her mother."

"She was a Jedi."

"Yes. A master named Arren Kae."

Kreia paused, this time waiting for... something. Trista frowned. The name was familiar, but buried in the depths of thoughts she hadn't long considered. No, wait. No, she did—

"She was Revan's first master."

"Indeed."

"She left the Jedi when Revan was still in training. It's how Kavar got her as a Padawan."

"Yes," Kreia said, a somewhat soft, unfamiliar tone in her voice. "Attachments are forbidden to the Jedi, and those that produce offspring are the easiest to notice. When the crime came to light, Kae was exiled."

"Exiled?" Kreia nodded. "I was told she left the Order. That's what she said when she joined us."

"It was not her choice to leave."

"Did Revan know?"

"Of course. It is why Revan welcomed her when they reunited. She was said to be a skilled warrior, beautiful, strong in the Force."

"Yes, it's... hard... but I remember her." Trista's brow scrunched. It was like trying to think through a fog; like something buried the memories deep beyond the trauma, unreachable past the barrier of Malachor. "At least vaguely."

"Yes." Kreia turned towards her finally. "Children born of Force Sensitives are often strong in it. You have seen this, in the strength both you and your sister share. I doubt Arren was any different. If the servant of Atris is of her blood, then the potential no doubt lies within her."

"She says she took an oath to Atris to not receive Jedi training."

"If you train her, if you teach her the ways of the Jedi, it will break that oath. It would be best to avoid it and let the bloodline die with Telos."

Trista mused for a second, furrowing her brow as she chewed over Kreia's words. "The 'ways of the Jedi.' A curiously specific phrase."

The edges of a smile darted across Kreia's face. It was almost fascinating to watch. "An interesting choice of words, indeed. She has sworn to not follow the path of the Jedi, by her oath. And oaths have power... but even they are limited. One must not be a Jedi to learn the ways of the Force, and I suspect it cares little for our orders and philosophies."

"In that, we're fully agreed." Trista paused. "Should she not learn something of her heritage, though?"

"Should she? By whose judgment should such truths be revealed? I do not have such arrogant presumptions. The Jedi separate children from their parents, as they did your from yours. It is because family exerts a powerful influence on one's development. Even though the Jedi did their best to separate you from Revan, the two of you continue to orbit one another, as tide-locked planets do. To know one's heritage, one's place outside of the Force, can have drastic consequences.

"I do not care if you teach her some of the Jedi — but understand that revealing such things may have profound consequences."

"Noted," Trista said, "and I wouldn't train her as a Jedi. I can't anymore, since I left that path a long time ago."

"Indeed." Kreia studied her for a moment. "Your walk is heavy today."

Shit, was everyone on this boat that in-tune to her usual "walk?" "My conversation with Zez-Kai Ell left me several questions."

"And your spat with our fool of a pilot."

"I don't want to talk about that."

"Very well. What in your conversation with Ell has caused you such weight?"

She sat down on one of the unused bunks with a sigh. Kreia would find out eventually if she wasn't already aware. "It was about Revan."

"I see." Kreia waited for Trista to say something, but continued once she couldn't get her thoughts in order. "The rumors to why she returned to the Jedi are many, and often outlandish."

"It... isn't that, so much as what he implied."

"What did he imply?"

"That they forced her to work with the Jedi, and that she was barely more than a prisoner before she left. Like she has escaped rather than fled, which the Jedi claimed."

"Indeed," Kreia mused.

"And that what they did to her was a crime so heinous that he thought Katarr... may have been punishment for it."

"The Force is a terrible thing," Kreia said, "and it can work just as much evil as good. The Jedi claim to be the sole purveyors of light, but even they can do great harm where they believe otherwise. What does your intuition tell you?"

"I'm not sure. There are several options, some more ridiculous than others."

"What do you believe?"

"I..." Trista paused. "That they dominated her and forced her to work with them, or that they did something to her memories. Part of me fears they replaced her, or inserted some sort of control chip. Or that they found some way to blackmail her. But that doesn't — I don't think that would work. Revan was too good at finding the third option, and-or clubbing her way through until she reached her goal."

"No, Revan was always impervious to such paltry methods as blackmail," Kreia replied. "Perhaps you are right about the others, though I do not believe they replaced her. The victor of the Jedi Civil War was Revan, and not a replacement. The Force still swirled within her as it did before."

Trista nodded. "Yeah, I... if I could see her, I'd know. But that isn't an option."

"No... not at the moment, it is not."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Trista cleared her throat. "Kreia, you seem to know everything about me. My relationship to Revan, when we went to the Jedi... but I don't know almost anything about you, or even which side of the Force you are. For all that's really worth."

There was a long pause as Kreia seemed to think over her words, long enough that Trista figured she wouldn't speak at all.

"As I asked before... does it matter?" Trista opened her mouth, but Kreia cut her off. "Of course it does. Such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, to categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are — pieces of a whole. Know that I am your teacher, and that is enough."

"Then what were you?"

Her voice took a sharp turn, like the knife-edge of a razor. "What do you wish to hear? That I once believed in the code of the Jedi? Or that I once felt the call of the Sith — that perhaps, once, I held the galaxy by the throat? That for every good work I did, I brought equal harm upon the galaxy? That perhaps what the greatest of the Sith Lords learned of evil, they learned it from me?" Her voice grew quiet. "What would it matter now? There is only so much comfort in knowing such things, and it is not who I am now."

"No," Trista mused, "I suppose most aren't their pasts."

"You are not either."

She looked away, clearing her throat. "I would still like to know, if you would tell me."

"The Lords you face... I am known to them, and they to me. And there are dark places in the galaxy where few tread. Ancient centers of learning, of knowledge... I did not walk them alone. But to be united by hatred is a... fragile alliance at best."

"Hatred?"

"There are many truths brought to light by the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Civil War. The Jedi alone did not feel the powerful emotions Zez-Kai Ell may have mentioned. But that is immaterial.

"However bound we were, my will was not law. There were disagreements, ambitions... and hunger for power. There are... techniques within the Force against which there is no defense. They cast me down, stripped me of my power. Exiled. I suffered... indignities, and fell into darkness.

"Learn from me, from my mistakes, and use that knowledge to become greater than I. That is all I ask of you, and it is all I desire. In you, all my hopes rest — for the future, and for the Force."

Trista nodded and, as Kreia fell silent, spoke. "I'll think on your words, as usual — but that's still vague."

Kreia sighed. "If it means so much to you, then this I swear to you, upon my life: that when your training is complete, I will answer everything. There will be no more shadows between us, only the truth that exists between master and apprentice.

"Now... leave me. I grow tired."

Trista stood. "Of course."

As she opened the door, Kreia spoke again. "Trista."

"Yes."

"Return tomorrow. I believe it is time for you to learn more of seeing through the Force before we arrive on Dxun."

"We're... we're headed to Onderon."

"Yes."

Trista hesitated in the door frame. "Yeah, I'll come back tomorrow."

#

Mical put the final touches on the shelf he was organizing, tucking away a label maker he'd found stashed in a cabinet. No matter how frenetically Atton flew the ship now, his supplies should stay in place.

He paused as a presence stepped into the doorway behind him, and he turned. Atton, arms crossed, hovered in the doorway, a frown scrawled across his features.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, I picked up a transmission yesterday — to Telos."

"Ah." He straightened.

"Who was it going to?"

"That is not your concern."

"And that is where you're wrong." Atton took a step forward, bristling, and Mical sighed.

"The transmission was for the Republic," he placated. "If I do not check in with them, they would send agents to find me, and I would rather we travel unnoticed. They cannot trace our coordinates, I assure you."

"So you are a spy."

"No." He held up his hand. "I have not lied to you or her. I am a representative of the Republic, doing research on the missing Jedi, and I am here to protect her."

"She doesn't need your protection. She—"

"Atton." Mical held up his other hand. "I feel there has been some miscommunication between us, concerning Trista, and I wish to rectify it."

"No, I understand it just fine. Look, I know what's going on in that wannabe-Jedi mind." His frown deepened. "Thought you Jedi or ex-Jedi or whatever the hell you are were above all that."

"That is not at all what is occurring," he said. "Atton... I do not see all relationships as possessive, or carnal." Atton rolled his eyes. "They are shared between people and give both strength, whether that is through struggle or affection. I admire her, and yes, perhaps I feel for her. But it is difficult to be around her and not have such feelings."

Atton huffed, but didn't argue.

"But she walks a far more difficult path than the rest of us. I care about what happens to her, and if I can help her, I will. Perhaps we may find common ground here: that we will be there for her when no one else is. And perhaps save her, so she can continue on the road she must walk."

"Fine," Atton said, almost spitting it, but the vitriol was half out of his voice. "Just make sure she knows you're sendin' these."

"She does."

"Fine, then." He threw up a hand and disappeared, retreating toward the cockpit.

"Speaking of struggle..." Mical shook his head and moved on to the next shelf.

#

She spent a few hours with both Bao-Dur and Mical, working on training, and by the time she made her way to the main hold to scrounge for dinner she considered walking further to see if Atton had cooled off; but the cockpit door was still closed, and she decided against disturbing him. His words still stung, and she didn't want to reopen that wound just yet.

Mira sat at the table, her feet propped up on it, and Trista frowned.

"What, you never seen boots before?"

"Off the table. Given how Nar Shaddaa is, I don't know where they've been."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, and dropped them to the floor. "I could just take 'em off."

"Only if you've washed your feet recently. People eat there." Instead of braving the synthesizer, new or not, she dug out a couple ration bars. "Mind if I join you?"

"Nah." Mira motioned at the table, and Trista settled down. A few minutes later, Mira cleared her throat. "Hey, can I ask you somethin'?"

"Go ahead."

"I spent a lot of time watching you on the Shad," she said. "I mean, all of us did, but — anyway, you've got this glow. Not a real one, not really, but, it's like you're calm. At peace? But it's more than that, too. You're uh, not usin' spice, are you?"

"Absolutely not. It's..." Force's sake, was Mira another one? Was she getting saddled with every remaining adult Force Sensitive in the galaxy? "It's probably the Force. When one is in touch with it, others can feel it."

"Ah." Something about the sound seemed uncomfortable. "Well, it shows. It's like you're hooked up to a power coupling — it's weird. Not a bad weird, just weird. For a minute I thought you and Atton were... but it's just the Force. Probably better."

Trista frowned deeper than she needed to. "Me and Atton what?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Just, y'know." She motioned. "I saw you two right before the whole Jekk'Jekk Tarr thing. Jedi aren't into that sort of thing, or so they say, so it stood out."

"Atton and I aren't like that." She pushed aside an odd part of her that almost wished they were, considering the feeling something to shoot in the head and dispose of later. Figuratively speaking.

"Probably for the best. I mean, you can do a lot better. The Disciple washes his hair more, for instance."

"Absolutely not."

"All right, suit yourself." She motioned. "There's always the Miraluka if—"

"Can we not?"

Mira held up her hands. "Sure."

Trista finished the first of her ration bars and looked up. "Mind if I ask you some things?"

"Considering I moved in without permission, you should."

"I talked to a bounty hunter named Vossk right before things hit the fan."

Mira nodded. "Yeah, I know the guy. Good hunter. Left once the other groups, like the Zhugs, moved in."

"He was very complimentary of you. But why Nar Shaddaa?"

"Look. Before we get into a game of guess-the-pazaak-card, pull the throttle back. I don't know you well enough to start swappin' life stories."

Trista held up her hands. "No worries. Then what about this Hanharr Vossk mentioned? I'm pretty sure he's dead, but it sounded like you two were linked."

"Yeah... Hanharr." Mira sighed. "He's — well, he was — only a bounty hunter 'cause that's the closest word for what he does. He wasn't in it for credits. It's way more vicious than that and runs much deeper. It's like he was out to make the entire galaxy suffer, and everything in it. He wanted to break 'em, ruin 'em, and when they can't take any more, kill 'em."

"What happened between the two of you?"

"I didn't kill him. Biggest mistake of my life."

Trista raised her brow. "Given what Vossk said, that sounds out of character."

"It's a long story, and I don't wanna get into it. Maybe eventually. 'Til now..." She shrugged. "Not into it."

"Fair enough."

"You might want to talk to your pilot, too." She stood. "Seems to have gotten his pants in a knot. Got on the Disciple's ass about a message or something. Sounds like someone pissed in his caf."

Great. "We... had a bit of an argument yesterday."

"Ah. Well, I'm told that's normal for relationships."

"We're not—" Frak it. "I'll talk to him. He's angry at me, Mical's just a better punching bag."

"Oh, that's his name? Huh."

Trista shook her head. "Just... don't let him push you around."

"Don't worry about me." Mira waved her hand. "Not gonna happen. I push back."