I realized just now that I updated like, 2 weeks ago on AO3 and not on here. Whoops.
So I got a new job in July and it promptly proceeded to kick my ass. We're out of the busy season now, at least, so my days are slow enough that I have some actual downtime. I'm still plugging along, at least! I was also hung up on the next chapter for a bit so that didn't help.
Anyway, posting this more to get around the mental blockage I've had regarding posting this, lmao. I'll hopefully be on schedule again moving forward once I finally answer the Onderon Issue (aka, how much of the murder subplot fetchquest do I keep in and how much do I shove offscreen because Dxun is far more important, lmao).
I'm open to opinions in the comments
The first sign of anyone returning was the ramp clunking down, followed by soft voices in the garage. Atton caught himself jogging through the cockpit hallway, changing to a steady walk by the time he hit the main hold. Trista looked up as she came through the hold, and the way she grinned at him when their eyes met nearly made him stumble.
"Got some parts for you," she said, pulling them out and setting them on the table. Bao-Dur emerged from wherever he was hiding and turned one over in his hands. "Hopefully they'll help. If not, we're at least stocking up."
"Hmm... I should be able to fabricate a part for the stabilizer out of this." He set it aside and began going through the others. Atton took a step forward.
"Staying for the night, or heading back out?"
Trista shook her head, dropping her outer robe onto the sofa. "Staying. Too late to head back out." She pulled a thick, reddish claw out of her bag. "Look at this."
Atton took it from her and turned it over in his hands.
"What did you get this from?"
"Zakkeg. Left it behind in a clearing for us." She took it back. "Hopefully, I can rub it in their faces when I get back."
The rest of the crew was dispersing, leaving them alone with Bao-Dur buried in the parts on the table. Atton tugged on her arm, pulling her back into the cockpit and, before he could stop himself, kissed her.
"What was that?" Trista asked.
Heat crawled up his neck. "What? Oh, uh—"
"We go at it once in the cockpit and you get all touchy on me?"
Atton started to defend himself before he caught the smirk on her face. "Oh, come on. You had me panicking for a moment."
Her smirk broke into a grin, and she tugged the collar of his jacket flat, almost idly. "I've gotta give as good as I get." She bounced up onto her toes and returned it. "So why did you bring me up here?"
"Are you okay?" Almost immediately, Trista's smile faltered, and she sighed and sank into the jump seat behind the cockpit. Atton turned the pilot's chair around and sat down, leaning forward on his knees. "I take it that's a no."
"Yeah," she mumbled, staring off into the canopy through the cockpit window. "I'm okay, it's just hard." She also leaned forward on her knees, folding her hands together and turning her gaze towards them. "You spend so much time looking down a Mandalorian barrel, then don't see any for a few years, and boom. Suddenly you have to work with them."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm not a fan of the idea either, and I didn't see any real time in the field." Trista looked up. "Fighter pilot, remember?"
She shook her head. "Right, sorry, I'm a bit out of sorts."
They were quiet for a moment, and Trista reached out and took his hands. He didn't argue, instead running his thumbs across her knuckles in what he hoped was a comforting gesture.
"I haven't mentioned it to Bao-Dur." She looked up. "He has a lot more built-up anger towards the Mandalorians than I think you do." He paused. Well, that he wasn't sure of. Trista had the Jedi training to shove all that shit down, and he didn't. "Or, at least, you control yours better."
Trista was silent for some time, staring down at their hands.
"I'm just tired." It soaked into her voice, giving him no reason to question if she was lying. "I'm tired of my past haunting me. I'm tired of it popping up whenever I least expect it. Us getting shot down, us getting arrested... all of it. I thought I was getting grandfathered out of the galaxy-saving business, and I never wanted back in."
"Hopefully things'll calm down after this." Trista looked up at him without raising her head. "Look, that interro-bot is wrong about a lot of things. But he's right that things need to calm down for a few before the next crisis, or we're all screwed."
"That's true." She stared down at the floor. "I'll bring Bao-Dur into the loop. It'll be better coming from me, I think."
"Most likely. That's why I didn't fill him in."
"I should get on that before Mical or someone lets it slip." She stood, pulling off her outer robe. "I will say I'm glad to be back here tonight." Atton joined her on his feet. "Any problems with the repairs? Or you-know-who?"
Oh, only several hundred, not the least of which included the witch in the port dorm and the suspicious interrogation droid that was floating about the ship. "Apart from runnin' out of certain parts, working around the witch, and dodging the overgrown remote, we're doing all right."
"Well, that's better than I hoped for. I can tell Goto to back off."
"No, no, it's fine. I'm just hoping you pull this off before one of us kills him."
Trista chuckled. "You and me both."
Bao-Dur was still alone in the main hold as they returned, and Trista touched his arm. Atton made himself busy with the synthesizer.
"I need to talk to you, back in the engine room."
"Sounds serious." Bao-Dur set the piece back down and trailed after her. Atton drew a slow breath and headed for the table.
Well, may as well make himself useful for when Bao-Dur shut down for the rest of the night.
"You're serious."
Trista nodded, staring at her feet as Bao-Dur paced behind the hyperdrive. "Regrettably."
"But... Mandalorians?"
"There isn't a way around it. We need to get to Onderon, and he's got a way there. I don't want to go with that option — I don't want to help them, but it's..." She shook her head. "It's what we've got."
"How are you fine with this? How can you trust him?"
"I don't, Bao-Dur, I don't at all. It's just until we get back from Onderon, then we're done."
He stood for a moment with his back to her, shaking his head. "How do you do it?"
"Sheer exhaustion." He turned back, and she sighed. "I'm tired, Bao-Dur. Of the Jedi, of the Mandalorians. Even the Republic. All of it. And if that level of apathy gets me through dealing with this new damn Mandalore and his damn Mandalorians, then so be it. At least I'm done." She stood. "That's how we do this. Look, Bao-Dur, we've been running with the weight of Malachor on our shoulders for a decade. It's exhausting. We work with them this time, then we wash our hands of Mandalorians entirely."
"It will not work like that. Now that we're in the middle of them, we're stuck."
"That's a bleak viewpoint."
"It's a bleak time."
"At least you don't have to personally deal with them, Bao-Dur. Just us. I wouldn't ask that of you." Trista stood and reached out to touch his shoulder, but didn't again when he jerked away. "You have far more reason to hate them than I do. But right now, this is an alliance of convenience."
He turned to face her. "And when they find out who you are? Or who you have on your ship?"
Trista drew a deep breath. "Mandalore already knows who I am, at least. I made the mistake of mentioning the war. I..." She hesitated to say that they had an understanding, at the very least; more that she hadn't felt a lie when he insisted he held no grudge against her. "He didn't seem to hold a grudge."
"He knows what you are, or who you are?" He finally actually looked at her, and she drew another deep breath. "Those are two different things, Trista."
"He knows I gave the order."
"And didn't shoot you on the spot?"
"He did not."
"Then obviously he's waiting for you to stop being useful before getting rid of you."
"Bao-Dur..." Force's sake. "I'm not that cynical."
"And I am not that trusting." He stepped past her and opened the door with some force, sharply turning for the garage. Trista stood in place, drawing a heavy, deep breath before stepping out after him.
"Bao-Dur." He stopped, but didn't turn back. "Just let me handle it, okay? And if it doesn't work out, you get one free 'I Told You So.'"
"Deal." Bao-Dur continued his walk into the garage, and Trista ran her hand over her hair. She glanced back at the main hold, blinking when Atton waved her back over — and she tried to not wonder what the hell he might be up now.
"So," he said as she approached. "I've been working on something while you've been leaving me alone. Even strong-armed T3 into helping me, for reasons."
"Top secret projects and everything, huh?"
"Yeah, I'm bored." He motioned to the holotable. "I had T3 load up Goto's data into the table."
"Oh." She leaned over the table, studying the flight paths of ships across the galaxy. "How far does this go back?"
"That's the thing — only a couple years. But..." He pressed another button, and everything shifted. "Goto got into different tracking systems across the galaxy, and we've got data going back to 1041. It just looks like he never went through it."
"1041?" She looked up. "That's the start of the last war."
"It sure is, and I did you one better. Well... it was easy, given I was there. But I isolated a certain someone's ship."
Trista watched as he keyed something into the table, and she looked back up. "Is that Revan's?"
He shrugged. "I know you're avoiding your own issues by trying to solve hers, so I figured I could see if it picked anything up." Trista frowned, and he held up his hands defensively. "This isn't the interesting stuff, though. Everyone knows where Revan's flagship was during the war, 'cept for when it was out in the Unknown Regions." He typed something in again, and the date 3:7:1044 popped up on the screen, the galaxy map frozen in its unending spin for just this moment. "You know what day this is?"
"No."
"The day Malak blew up Taris. And that..." He pointed to a small dot zipping out of the chaos of Taris toward the Hydian Way. "...is this ship."
"Wait." He hit fast forward, and it zipped to Dantooine. "What about after the war?"
"One sec." Atton frowned and typed in a date. 7:10:1046. "This was when they canceled the Victory Tour 'cause she bounced off the fleet. Right here, near Corellia."
"How—"
"I had the rough position of the fleet from the news, plus, well." Atton motioned at the Hawk.
"Yeah, right. How long have you known?"
"Since like, Telos. Onasi being interested plus the reaction when we landed. You keep up on news when you're in my situation."
"Ah, yeah."
"Anyway, watch." Trista watched as the ship, highlighted in red, sprinted down the Corellian Run, up the Hydian Way, and onto the Perlemian Trade Route, running up almost to Malachor. She started to comment when the dot bounced over to somewhere near, but not at, Malachor's approximate position.
"Where is she?"
"No clue. But it looks like she found something."
The dot appeared again two days later, flickering down a smuggling route back onto the Perlemian, and down near Onderon. She opened her mouth again, and he waved his hand.
"Just let it play out."
A few days later, the red dot returned, flying across the Perlemian, past Coruscant, to Metellos — and then shot off the edge of the map.
"That was the part I was hoping you could help me with."
"Yeah." Trista pointed with her finger, drawing a trail between Metellos and the Unknown Regions. "There's a hyperspace lane that's only usable by Force Sensitive pilots. It goes to Ilum, where a number of lightsaber crystals are mined. She probably used it as a shortcut to bypass the worst of Wild Space."
"Huh, makes sense." He turned to her, leaving the simulation hung on that date. "That's as far as I've gotten. Did this last night while I was sittin' up worried about you."
"Aww," she drawled, going to adjust his collar but instead slapping the collar up with an audible thwap. "You do care."
Atton grumpily laid the collar back down, slipping his other arm around her waist and pulling her to him. "And after all I've done for you, that is how you repay me."
"Unlock the navicomputer and I'll start being nice to you."
"I'll believe that when I see it. I—"
Someone cleared their throat in the doorway and Atton moved back to the holotable, scratching the back of his neck. "So like I was saying—"
"Trista." The Handmaiden stood in the doorway, her hands folded behind her back. "May I speak with you?"
Trista nodded to Atton and started towards her. "Thanks for looking into that data, Atton. I appreciate it."
"Yeah, uh, I'll keep digging and see what I can find."
As she reached Handmaiden, the woman looked away. "Privately."
"Your place or mine?"
"It does not matter."
"Yours, then. More room." And hers had already been witness to an awkward conversation, and she wanted to sleep tonight. As she entered behind her, Handmaiden closed the door, and Trista pulled herself up on a crate. "Seems serious."
"It is." She stood across from her, eyes locked on the hold wall behind her head for a moment. "Why do you believe I may use the Force?"
Whatever question Trista had expected, it wasn't that. "Uh, your mother was a Jedi."
"This is already known to me."
This was not the turn she'd expected. "And, uh... the Force is often strong in bloodlines. Take mine, for instance. Since your mother was strong in the Force, you likely are too... and you could use it to help others."
"You have used a specific wording."
"It's what you want. I've seen how strongly you're devoted to doing the right thing... believe me, I can tell." I've been there, she added ruefully. "And... I knew your mother, at least vaguely. She was a powerful Jedi, and someone the Revanchists, at least, trusted."
This time, Handmaiden looked back at the doors. "I guess I've always known. I just..." She met Trista's eyes. "This has been on my thoughts since our last conversation, and... I think I am ready."
"You're..." It took a moment for Trista's mind to catch up. "Oh, you want—"
"Yes. As I followed Atris, perhaps what..." She took a deep breath and glanced away. "Perhaps what I wished to follow was the call of my bloodline. Of my mother. I have felt incomplete, hollow, since her loss at Malachor V. And maybe with your help..." She trailed off, but Trista didn't need her to finish. She had experience with empty voids, after all.
Handmaiden held up her hand and continued. "But there are ground rules I must establish."
"Of course."
"Because of my oath to Atris, you cannot train me as a Jedi."
"Easy enough." Handmaiden met her eyes again. "Look, I might have four trainees right now, but I'm hardly a Jedi."
"You are more of a Jedi than I have seen."
"Sure." She chuckled, more nervously than humorous, and rubbed the back of her neck. "Either way, the old Jedi Order is gone. Whatever comes next, it'll be fresh, new. If we even call it the Jedi Order again, it will still not be the same. And a lightsaber and the Force does not a Jedi make."
"Indeed." There was a shift in her stance, something sparring with her had made more apparent. Instead of the stress, the tension, a relaxed anticipation replaced it. "And that is what I wish to learn, the way of the Force. And in it, perhaps I will learn answers to the questions that have haunted me."
"That's all I can hope for. But, Handmaiden." Trista frowned. "Atris may not be as... willing to accept what I've said, that this training will not be the training of a Jedi. Are you prepared for that? Should you ask her to—"
"There is no one else I would want to train me," she interrupted. "I have seen you in battle, I have seen your heart, what Atris refuses to, and you are what I want to be. I have always felt..." She balled up her fist and rested it against her chest, just under her breasts, pressing it back into her body. "A hollow place here, inside me, but when I am with you, that dies. That is a relief Atris could never give me.
"And Atris... I have learned of two betrayals: that of Atris, and that of my mother and father. She has taught me more of betrayal than they ever could. After seeing you in battle, I know you more than I have ever known her, and I no longer..." Her voice wavered, and her shoulders slumped. "I am not convinced serving her serves the greater good."
Trista stood and hurried forward, resting her hands on the Handmaiden's arms.
"There is nothing wrong with what you're saying," she said, softly, as if Atris herself could hear. "Atris herself has been clinging to rationality in a time the Jedi could not have predicted. That does not mean she is right, nor that she's doing what's right. That you're able to recognize that already tells me you've skipped lessons one through ten and went directly to the 'questioning authority' part of my curriculum."
To her shock, the Handmaiden laughed. Actually laughed. The tear that had quivered at the corner of her eye slipped, and she brushed it away.
"And she would never let me touch the Force, even though she must have known," she continued. "And I want to feel what my mother felt, what ran through her veins when she was one with the Force. I wish to hear what she heard as she fought the Mandalorians... until she died at Malachor V."
"Hopefully I'll never have to teach you the last." Trista squeezed her arms and stepped back, motioning to the ground. "We can't do this sparring, though."
Handmaiden settled onto the floor with a refreshing eagerness. Mical had been more than willing to throw himself back into it, but the Handmaiden... it was like someone seeing a watery oasis in a desert.
"I wish everyone on this ship listened like you do," Trista said as she settled down herself. "You know, I've been meaning to ask."
"Of course."
"How old were you when you lost her?"
The Handmaiden was quiet for a while, staring a little past Trista's shoulder. "I have been... hesitant to tell you," she said. "I know people come to the Jedi young, but I feared the truth would—"
"Uh, you can just answer without the explanation."
"I apologize. I was seven."
"Wait." Trista ran the math and drew a sharp breath. "That makes you like, seventeen."
"That is... why I was hesitant to tell you."
Trista rubbed her face, dragging her hands down her neck. "Force's sake. I mean, no, it isn't a problem. That's a legal adult in most places. I just... expected you to be much closer to Mical's age. Okay, back to it. Give me your hands."
The Handmaiden did. "Someday, you may find it easier to seek the Force in combat, as others have. Some struggle to reach the Force while sitting still, and instead can reach it in motion. A lot of Je—Force users given more to combat often run lightsaber routines, sparring forms, something that keeps them in motion while they meditate.
"For this, though, I need to guide you to the Force — to teach you how to draw on it, to see the life that connects us. And once you see it, I promise... a lot of your questions will be answered. Close your eyes."
Handmaiden screwed hers closed.
"Match your breathing to mine." It was almost instantaneous. "Listen to the rain on the ship around us, and stretch out until you feel the life outside. Until you feel the web, even as it stretches out from inside you. Like you're reaching into the void inside yourself, and drawing it into your being. And think about what you remember about your mother, the things you hold inside you when you think about her. Hold on to that... and then, we fall."
"Meditation envy?"
Atton glared at Mira as she leaned on the other side of the cargo hold door, still keeping his eye on where Trista and the Handmaiden sat, cross-legged, a couple of crates hovering ever-so-slightly in the air. Mical had joined them a few minutes earlier, his back now to the door as they did... whatever the hell they were doing. "Why don't you go sit on a rocket?" he hissed back.
Mira held up her hands. "Well, excuse me."
"I just don't trust him, okay." He paused, glancing back in. "Or her."
Mira studied the trio for a moment before shrugging. "Eh, they both seem pretty harmless. I mean, she looks like someone shoved a lightsaber up her ass ten years ago, and he's like someone who watches too many holovids, or teaches the boring ones on 'galactic history' and shit. He'd get beaten to death on Nar Shaddaa as soon as he left the ship on his own, though." Atton fought the urge to laugh.
"Yeah, you're right. He's boring."
"Puts him a couple ranks above you."
"What?" Mira moved past him, headed back to the main hold, and Atton followed. "I'm not boring."
"Well, it's not a competition. I mean, you're kind of an idiot." She stopped in the main hold and turned back. "You don't shower enough, and you scratch your... equipment when you think no one's looking."
"What?" He caught a strand of his — freshly washed, thank you — hair between his fingers. "I shower enough. And everyone does that."
Mira shrugged. "Don't take it too hard. It still makes you better than most people I met on Nar Shaddaa."
"Great, thanks," Atton muttered, heading for the cockpit. Mira stuck her arm out.
"Speaking of not trustworthy — it's no wonder you can't figure yourself out, the way you lie to yourself all the time."
"Oh, about what?"
"I've hunted a lot of people in my line of work, but I've never met someone who wants to get lost more than you do. I think I know why, but not the entire picture. Bet that I will, though."
She started back towards the storage room, which she'd practically moved into. "My advice? Come clean before I find out."
Atton, before he could stop himself, grabbed her arm and pulled her into the cockpit hallway. She drew her blaster a second later, and he drew his own on reflex. For a second they stood there, the barrels of their guns inches from each other's chests.
"Look," he said, slowly lowering his into its holster. "I'm gonna tell you something, 'cause I fully believe that threat, and if you sell me out I swear I will throw you out the airlock and into a sun."
Mira narrowed her eyes but holstered her own weapon.
"I used to kill Jedi. Used to be good at it. Ran before the Sith could make me better. Trista knows, all right? I've spent almost eight years getting away from it."
She was quiet for a while, studying him, and let go of her blaster's stock.
"Well, I gotta say. That's not what I was expecting."
"Just, don't go telling everyone, okay? Tris and one other person know already, but I don't want everyone on this boat finding out. The Echani's got connections that won't end well for me."
Mira studied him for a moment, just as he studied her back. It was a hell of a risk being open about it, and he knew it. But it was going to be better to head it off at the pass, than give Kreia yet another means of—
"You mean the old witch in the port dorm?"
Atton frowned, hoping Mira wasn't some sleeper Jedi that could shove past his barriers the way Kreia had. "What about her?"
"She knows?"
"... yeah. Why?"
Mira's eyes shifted, looking past him to the port dorm, where Kreia was no doubt meditating. "What's her deal?"
Atton crossed his arms and shrugged, looking away. "Nothin', why?"
"Because as annoying as you are, Atton, you're the only person around that makes sense to me."
"Thanks, I think." He paused and glanced towards the other dorm — away from Kreia. At someone he didn't think he'd ever bother to trust. "Mind taking a walk with me real fast?"
"What? Where?"
"Just right outside. I'm gonna grab someone."
Mira nodded and frowned, but lowered the ramp and stepped off the ship as they passed it. Atton stuck his head around the corner and hissed at Visas' back.
"Hey."
She lifted her head, the tilt almost invisible save for the cloth that swayed over her eyes. "What is it?"
"Mira's on to her."
In one fluid, unquestioning motion, Visas stood and walked to the ramp without pausing. Atton followed. Mira stood with her back to the ship, arms crossed as she watched a few birds frolicking in a tree across from them and a few cannocks eyeing their ship hungrily.
"Lot different from the Shad, huh?" Atton asked as they stopped next to her.
"Yeah. Wanna tell me why you dragged me out here?"
"Atton has told me you suspect our... passenger," Visas interjected, and Mira drew her lips together.
"What of it?"
"There is no need for us to suspect one another," Visas said. "She is dangerous enough without our infighting."
Mira looked at Atton. "You've been doin' most of it. The infighting, I mean."
"Yeah, at whose behest?" He shrugged. "Look, Blondie gets it on his own. He's working for the Republic, and he's too uptight. And the Echani would kill me if she knew even half of what you do. And I'm pretty sure Kreia's in both of their heads already, so stars know what she'd get them to do in her defense.
"I don't know how she's screwing with Bao-Dur, but everything she's doing is calculated. She hates that I can't keep Trista out of sorts, so she's lucky she's thrown her energy into the Revan problem and not the Kreia one."
"She cannot hide her true self from me," Visas said, softly, nearly lost to the breeze. "I do not think she knows how far I can see. Though she may have lost some standing, I believe she is the third in the triumvirate of Sith hunting us. And powerful, at that."
"Then why not take her out?" Mira half-motioned at the ship. "There's five of you Jedi-types."
Atton shook his head. "Yeah, we're not a fan of the J-word."
"Still, isn't that your job?"
"If we were to attack Kreia, whose side would Trista take?" Visas asked, and Mira frowned. "The hooks she has in the Exile's mind are deep, complicated by her own turmoil. The best we can hope is to turn the blade aside when she inevitably strikes."
"So let me get this straight. You're waitin' her out because you can't take her, but you know she's messing with half the crew's heads."
"Something like that, yeah."
Mira stared into the jungle for a moment, then sighed. "More a fan of the direct approach but, if that's not gonna work, then the long game it is. How do I know if she's getting into my head?"
Atton laughed, humorlessly, mind turning back to that day on Telos. "Don't worry. You won't miss it, not now that you know."
Visas nodded. "We are taking a substantial risk by telling you what we know. She is dangerous, and I have no doubt she would turn the others against us should she know we've conversed."
"I'm a pretty convincing liar, don't worry. She won't find out from me."
"I see you have begun her training."
Trista settled down on a bunk with a frown. "You sound disappointed."
Kreia responded with a quiet noise that may have been a sigh. "Atris is a creature who understands only two things: hatred, and betrayal. She has soaked herself in them until they are the fabric of her reality. She will not see this as you do."
"Good. Maybe it's time someone ripped the veil off."
Kreia was quiet for a while, long enough that the edges of nervousness quivered in Trista's chest.
"You seek to rebuild the Order."
"I wouldn't call it that."
"After all I have shown you, all that you have experienced, you remain loyal to it." The rebuke she expected wasn't there. Curiosity instead, perhaps? Doubt? But at her choices — or at Kreia's choice of student? That was the question. "Why?"
It was Trista's turn for silence as she considered her answer, weighing it until the words found her, rather than vice versa.
"For good or ill," she said, "Force Sensitives will continue to be born. To have families, to continue sensitivity down the line. If they are left alone, with no training... consider the damage Revan could do with training. Now, imagine someone of Revan's strength, untrained, ignorant to the pitfalls that lie at the depths of the Force.
"It starts easy. Revan started trying to persuade others in the Force when she was five, and she was successful. Imagine a child, with no one to set boundaries, who did that. Imagine as it gets out of hand.
"As you have stated, even a flake of snow can cause an avalanche. I don't want to rebuild the Jedi — at least, not as they were. But there must be something, or even multiple somethings, that teach control."
"But are the Jedi teachings not what makes a Jedi? Are they not what sets a Jedi apart?"
"The Jedi teachings have done little good in the past hundred years. Isolationism, paranoia, inaction, none of those are the Jedi way. And yet." She motioned. "You said it yourself — that Atris, one of the last remaining Jedi Masters, who holds a seat on the Council itself, is a creature of hatred and betrayals, both of which go against the Code. And just like the Mandalorian Wars, the Jedi are again hiding instead of helping. They learned nothing.
"Divorcing ourselves of our emotions did nothing. Neither did getting rid of passion, ignorance, hatred, fear, or sure as hell chaos. All teachings will be flawed, but all the last Councils did was make it worse."
"And yours will be different? What about when you are no longer in control? What—"
"Sure, it'll be cyclical. Rise, fall. Everything is. But Force's sake, if there is some framework I can lay, something that will save other generations from going through what we did, isn't that worth it?"
"And will losing the Code not make you Jedi in name only?"
There was an amusement to her words, but also a curiousness. Like she'd gone down a path Kreia hadn't thought open, and she was chasing down it to see how far the kinrath nest went.
"There are parts of the Code and the Order that are good," she answered. "Parts that mean something. The old Council hinged on the details. Don't feel, don't question, don't look. So when we questioned, we were declared heretics and treated as such until it became disadvantageous for them to do so.
"But the rest of it. Preserve civilization, but do not allow it to destroy. Use the Force only for knowledge and defense. Only draw your weapon if you have exhausted other avenues. Respect others, put the community above yourself, do not take revenge, do not kill the unarmed, do not kill your prisoners. There isn't anything wrong with those.
"But taking kids, making them afraid to feel... I couldn't feel for ten years, and I would have taken the fear I had of crying as a child over it any day. They gave me no time to mourn my parents, no time to mourn the Council taking my sister from me. They punished us for emotion, not taught to manage it. Is it any wonder Vrook created a generation of basket cases? Like I told him on Dantooine — at this point, we should wonder at the fact that some Jedi never fall."
"And how would you delineate this from the Sith teachings?"
"Is that not just the Jedi Code reversed and taken to the opposite extreme?"
Kreia was quiet — but it was a satisfied sort of quiet that leaked through the bond, not the irritated or frustrated she was used to.
"Then you are learning."
"Thanks. But I'd love to know what I'm learning."
Kreia was quiet again for a time. "If I were to tell you, would there be no higher mystery for you to solve? Or would you further throw yourself into Revan's and forget the things that face you now?"
Trista looked away as the back of her neck burned. "I thought you'd have an opinion on that."
"I do not care what you do in your spare time, but know you cannot resolve the future by only looking into the past."
"There's a lot of time to think in hyperspace."
"Indeed." Kreia paused again, and the thoughtful feeling kept Trista from interrupting. "This Mandalorian you have found."
"Mandalore?"
"What do you know of him?"
"Not much. He handed me some netra gal and we walked around the walls a bit. He's got opinions and an attitude."
"And does that bother you?"
Trista clenched her hands on the edge of the bunk. "A lot."
"And yet you work with him."
"He's our ticket to Onderon and Kavar. That's it."
Kreia's head turned. "And to the one who left with Revan."
Trista shrugged it off. "Okay, maybe, and?"
"Watch him. He has secrets, and he knows more than you may realize."
Trista stood. "Everyone's got secrets and knows more than me. At that rate, he's a shoo-in for the crew."
"Should we consider moving the ship to their location?"
Trista paused, mid-step. It would be the logical course of action, if they had a hangar or clearing large enough. It'd be easiest and safest. But then, well, there was Bao-Dur to consider...
"I'll think about it."
