By the time HK returned, Trista had revisited the depths of cipher technology she barely remembered long enough to code out a terse message to Kavar. Ghent took both the holodiscs and the message, and HK held another small datapad out to her.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Explanation: I secured a few additional items from the Bakkel meatbag's pockets," he explained. "This was one item she possessed, Master."

Trista switched it on, but it took a moment for her to process the unsigned starport visa in front of her. "A second one? I thought these were rarer than gold."

"What, a starport visa?" Ghent whistled. "Could fund half the Republic with the right buyer."

"Suggestion: Might I—"

She held up her finger and turned to Mical. "Hey, do you remember that family by the starport?"

He set down the rag he was (futilely) trying to clean with. "The woman with two children?"

"Yes, here." Trista handed him the visa. "Give this to them, no questions asked, and try to hurry. We don't know when he'll get back to us."

"I'll be quick."

Mandalore, with perhaps more of a grumble than necessary, stood. "I'll make sure no one kills him."

"He can handle himself."

He tilted his head, studying Mical for a second, then somehow gave her a look through his mask. "I'll make sure no one kills him."

"Fine, go. HK, keep an eye on the door."

Ghent's terminal chimed as they left, and he sat back. "Message is away, so we're just waiting now. If you want a drink, I may have some booze left."

"Yeah, I'm good," Trista said, and he shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

He disappeared into a back room, leaving HK, Trista, and Mira alone in the front room. Trista settled down in a chair with a sigh, jamming her knuckles into a knot at the base of her neck. Mira frowned after Ghent.

"Maybe I wanted one."

"Do you trust anything in this place?"

She shrugged. "Seen way worse on the Shad, believe me."

"Speaking of Nar Shaddaa, I noticed something," Trista continued, finding the spot and digging in. "You seem a lot more comfortable here."

"Well, it's not Nar Shaddaa, but I'll take even a shitty city over being cooped up on the ship."

"Why?"

Mira shrugged. "It's too quiet. Not enough space to get away. Everyone's too loud."

"Too loud?" Trista frowned, studying her, and she looked away. "The Hawk is the quietest ship I've ever been on."

"Yeah, I can't explain it." She motioned, like it explained every question Trista could ever ask. "Nar Shaddaa might be one of the biggest cesspits in the galaxy, but it's got a life to it. Activity. Aliens, humans, refugees… it's like noise, but relaxing. Like the hum of a hyperdrive, I guess, but constant."

"If the hyperdrive is screaming, broken, and carries a vibroblade while it's hitting you up for credits."

Mira, maybe despite herself, snorted. "No arguments here. Once you get used to it, the place isn't bad."

"Life has a certain energy about it, especially in a place like Nar Shaddaa."

"It has to grow on you a bit, like a fungus. It's been awhile since I was off-world, so I got used to it. I'm fine, if that's what you're asking."

Trista finished working the knot out and rolled her shoulders, only to feel several more rear up past them. She sighed and gave up.

"Were you raised there?"

"Close enough. Why, you trying to be my mother? No thanks. Heard terrible things about them, and I already had one. You know, somewhere."

"You're a very closed book. I don't distrust you or anything, even though you're still planning on turning me in for a bounty. Stupid of me, I know. I just like to know about my crew."

"Oh, yeah, I see where this is going." Mira sighed, holding up her hands. "You're too old for me. And even if I was interested, you couldn't handle me."

Her brow furrowed low over her eyes. "What?"

"I mean, you're good in a fight and all. And you've got those… eyes. And you really take care of yourself. But I don't have the luxury of getting attached to you and, besides, I'd have to fight with Atton of all people over you."

Trista blinked. Mira shook her head. "Look, if we start… bunking up, or whatever, everyone else is gonna get upset, and then I'll need to put them in their place. No thanks."

"Wait, I — Force's frakking sake, Mira. First off, I'm not that old—"

"It's the way you act. I thought I'd seen a lot, but you look like you're over a hundred sometimes."

"And second, I — no. No! Force, you sound like my sister. I'm trying to be friendly, that's all."

"I don't dig into your past, do I?"

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I don't consider it 'digging' when there's several decade-old biographies of me in at least three thousand major, regional, and local news sources... that I'm sure you read."

Mira shrugged. "Maybe a couple."

"Fine, ask something then."

Mira was silent for a few minutes, to where Trista wondered if there had been yet another weird, invisible line she'd crossed. Then she snapped her fingers. "All right, I got something."

"Go ahead."

"What was it like growing up in the Jedi? All we get is the romantic crap on the outside."

Trista sighed, leaning back in her seat. "That's a loaded question."

"That bad, huh?"

"On the one hand, you get everything you need just given to you. The food sucks, but you don't work for it. You get zero privacy, but the beds are reasonably comfortable. You don't get much of a choice in color palette, but your clothes are free. Even as a Padawan, you can go just about anywhere in the Republic and any literal head of state will take you seriously.

"But, as you learn on your first mission, that's because they don't see you as a person. You're a tool — or, worse, you're a weapon, even at thirteen. Slip up one too many times, and it's pretty easy to get kicked out. And by 'kicked out,' I don't mean out of the Jedi. Just out of the Jedi-Jedi. They don't get rid of you, you just go into support roles. Agricultural corps, like Telos; Temple guardians; admin staff."

"Wait, so, they don't have actual Jedi do those roles?"

"Force, no. You think a Jedi Knight's going to settle for filing? Few people make it to the Jedi-Jedi. You've either got to be manageable, talented, or have friends in high places."

Mira raised a brow. "Which were you? From what I've seen, you aren't very 'manageable.'"

"It depends on who you ask. But the Jedi are also big on fear. It's easy to make some kids afraid of even considering the line they're toeing. That's without the fact that the Council has absolute power, which doesn't sound so bad until you realize they can order an execution and half the Order will go along without question."

"I thought Jedi weren't big on killing prisoners."

"Didn't say 'prisoners.' The Council decides who isn't in line and, if you aren't, they're well within their rights to call you a Sith. If that happens, any Jedi in good standing can kill you without question. I mean, it's not preferred, but if you don't come back with your tail between your legs, no one will question it." She sighed. "People didn't think the Revanchists were taking a risk when we told the Council to piss off, but we were. We were worried they would go that far with us. We couldn't have assisted the Republic then."

"Yeah, I imagine not."

"And that's without even going into the…" She held up her fingers, raising one as she listed. "Emotional manipulation and abuse, brainwashing, blackmail, emphasis on punishment as reinforcement, suppression… I could go on, but we'd be here all day."

"They don't show that in the vids."

"No, the star-crossed lover plots are way more interesting, I guess."

"I can't imagine you watch those things."

"Only to make fun of them."

Mira settled down backwards in a chair across from her, resting her arms on the back. "You had a sister? Was she a Jedi? I didn't think—"

"That we had families? They break them up, but it isn't like we forget. We were orphans when they took us in."

"I know a bit about that." Despite her attempts to keep Trista at arm's length, she almost sounded… concerned. "So she was a Jedi, too?"

"Yeah."

"You know where she is?"

"That's the several-million-credit question these days."

"I mean, I could try to find her. It's what I'm good at."

"That'd be quite the feat."

"Why? She dead?"

Trista frowned, staring towards Ghent's door. "She was also a Revanchist."

"Oh, well, I can always give it a shot."

The door slid open as Mical and Mandalore returned, and Mira stood. "I'm gonna try to grab a nap before your 'old friend' calls us. Good talk. Sorry about the whole, uh…" She motioned, and Trista held up her hand.

"Don't worry about it."


One of the last remaining High Council Masters of the Jedi Order stepped out of Onderon's royal council chamber with a deep and world-weary sigh.

After Katarr, this was his world of choice. He'd developed a working friendship with the Crown, the Palace was one of the most secure locations around, and the veil of the Mandalorian, Exar Kun, and Great Hyperspace Wars hung thick over the entire system. The perfect place for a Jedi Master not inclined to the cautious, overbearing natures of Vrook and Atris, or the nominal intervention of Vash and Zez-Kai Ell.

A place where he could still be of use, Jedi or no.

Kavar ran his hand through his hair, hovering outside the door as Talia wrapped up a few more points of business. Half bodyguard, half adviser. That was the arrangement.

"Excuse me, Councilor." Kavar turned toward a young palace guard as he approached. "I have a message for you."

"A… message?" He frowned and held out his hand for the datapad, then flicked it onto unintelligible Aurebesh gibberish. "What…"

"That was the Captain's response, sir. Not that we read private messages, or anything," he corrected. "He just saw a preview."

Kavar studied the message before realization dawned on him. "No, it's an old — uh, let me just download this."

"Of course, Councilor."

He transferred the message to his own datapad and returned the other, and opened a transcription program he'd kept on hand for just this moment — whenever someone answered a single frakking message he'd sent. It'd been months. He'd figured Atris had just stopped responding to his correspondence… or that, well, they'd lost another one.

It took only a few minutes for the message to decrypt, and to say he'd gotten the second shock of his day when it loaded was an understatement.

Master Kavar,

I understand this message may be unexpected. It is unlikely that I will gain entry into the Palace, so we may need to arrange a meeting outside. I know that is risky, but I must speak with you. I cannot elaborate in case this is intercepted. Please respond to this address with a time and location.

Trista Morace (yes, that one)

"Well, shit," he muttered.

He reached into the Force, thinking back to that day in the Council chambers, to how it had felt to look at her as she stood, living and dead, in front of them. He didn't need to reach far. Even from a distance, he could feel it: the same sucking void, the same nothing, the emptiness now half-filled or half-covered — like a wound covers a scab. The echo always accompanying it like a dirge.

It could be no one else.

"Councilor." Kavar shoved the datapad into his pocket and opened his eyes as Vaklu stopped next to him. "Unexpected news?"

He responded with a thin smile. "A letter from home, you could say."

"Home?" Vaklu's tone, and arched brow, was a definitive challenge. "Then you did not drift in as Republic flotsam."

"Of course not." Despite his best efforts, his smile quirked to the side. "How is yours, General? Still ignoring you?"

The general's borderline-polite expression soured almost immediately. "Councilor."

Vaklu, accompanied by his usual cronies, disappeared around the corner before Kavar could even respond. Talia took that moment to leave the chamber herself, accompanied by the young, dashing, and ambitious Lord Dashel.

"Yes, and we will discuss this further in private, Lord Dashel. Good day." She waved him off with a sigh.

"No doubt what side of the coup he'll be on."

To her credit, Talia — far too stressed these days — smiled. "None." Almost as quickly as it'd come on, it disappeared. "You look troubled, Kavar."

"It's, ah…" He looked around, almost furtively, but they were alone. "I received a message today, from a very old friend. She's requested a meeting outside the Palace. I need to go."

Talia shook her head as soon as the word "outside" left his mouth. "A meeting, outside? Kavar, Vaklu is looking for any excuse to kill you. It could be a trap."

"Talia. This…" He tapped the datapad. "It isn't who I thought Vaklu tried to kill in orbit, but it's still the best news I've received since I arrived here. If this message is genuine…"

"You're sure? I can guarantee your safety in the Palace, but outside these walls—"

"Well, nothing in life is certain, your majesty. But I've felt something I have not felt in some time." He held up his hand. "I'll confirm that before I reach out. But if I'm right…"

"Very well. But please, if you do… be cautious."

Kavar smiled, resting his hand on her shoulder for just a moment. "Aren't I always?"


After they sent the message Mical began cleaning Ghent's office again, disinfecting surfaces and tools and grumbling about proper sanitation. Mira took the long stretch of time to take a nap on one of the medical cots, throwing things at Mical if he got too loud.

Trista could do neither. She paced for about an hour, then sat and stared at the wall for another, then paced again. By the fourth hour after they'd sent the message, she was leaning against the rear wall of the office, eyes closed, willing something — anything — to happen.

"Think he's gonna show?"

She opened and narrowed her eyes at Mandalore as he leaned against the wall next to her. "Yeah, I'm sure he will."

"Mm." They were quiet for a few minutes. "What's so important?"

"What?"

"You went through all this effort. Must be something important behind it."

"I wouldn't think you'd care."

"It's my business to care."

Trista sighed, about to tell him to frak off before deciding against it. "You know the Sith that attacked your camp?"

"Yeah?"

"They're why the Jedi have gone to ground. A Sith attacked a secret conclave of Jedi on Katarr, so they vanished. I presume it was to draw out the threat — to starve out the one who destroyed the planet."

"He the only Sith out there? They tend to run in packs."

"There are two. He's one, I've met the other."

Mandalore was quiet for some time, helm turned away from her. "It's always amazing that a few idiots with the Force can fuck up the galaxy this badly." She laughed tonelessly. "So, how'd you get your ship?"

Trista would never admit (to him, at least) how unsettling that question was. How could the current Mandalore know whose ship she had? Was that possible? She supposed Canderous, wherever he was, may have told him.

"I'm still not sure, I think I was unconscious when l first came on board. It'd been fired on, though. Capital ship."

Mandalore nodded but, again, took a moment to respond. Something about his body language seemed almost uncomfortable. The entire notion seemed ridiculous.

"You know, I almost feel bad."

"For?"

"Well, I admit I haven't been honest with you, Jedi."

"Don't worry, no one has been."

"Then outright lying, perhaps."

Oh, Force. Now what? "How so?"

"Your questions about Cand—"

He was cut off by the insistent beeping of Ghent's console. The doctor shot up like a bolt of lightning.

"Good news — meeting is on. Head to the cantina. And…." Ghent chuckled. "No offense, but I hope I never see you again."

Trista frowned back at Mandalore. "Tell me when we're done here."


The cantina was boisterous with the late hour as they found the designated side room — clear, as promised. Trista didn't know if that made her more or less settled.

"Mandalore, Mira, if you could keep your eyes on the main room while we're having our meeting," she directed. "HK, you too. Mical, we'll wait."

There was no argument from them as they moved to their ordered locations, though she caught a look from Mandalore's helm. After a few minutes of quiet with no sign of Kavar, she started pacing.

"Think he'll be here?"

Trista glanced at Mira.

"Sure hope so. I don't want this entire trip to be a waste."

After a while, Trista sank down at a booth. It was getting late — both the timepiece on the wall and her stomach declared it to be 18:28. They'd been early, sure, but arriving early to these sorts of things was ingrained young in the Order, and she was growing resentful that Kavar must not have gotten lectured about timeliness by an angry Nautolan master when he was eight.

"I'm sure Master Kavar will be here," Mical said.

"Yeah," she grumbled. "I hope so. It isn't like we struggled to get here, or anything." She dug her fingertips into her forehead. "I know the situation is tense, but I have a lot of questions. It's not the end of the galaxy if he doesn't show up, but—"

"It will undermine the effort."

"Yes." Trista dug her fingers deeper into her skin. "Zez-Kai Ell might have been my old master, but Kavar and I were friends. If he doesn't at least try… I don't know."

Mical looked past her toward the door and nudged her arm. "I do not think you'll need to worry."

Trista turned. Speaking to Mira and Mandalore was a blond man jaunting into his sixties, standing with a casual ease that any knowledgeable observer would recognize. He wasn't in Jedi robes, and certainly not in the robe of a Councilor, but they'd been styled to hint toward a similar aesthetic.

She needed none of that to recognize him.

"Mira, Ordo," she said, standing. Mical followed suit, moving a respectable distance away. "That's him."

"Like I said," Kavar finished as they let him through. "I appreciate the security. Iziz is a dangerous place these days."

There was a moment of awkward tension as Kavar's steps faltered. Then, almost as quickly, it was gone. He continued with his easy, battle-worn gait and clapped her shoulders with both hands, a relieved grin sweeping across his face.

"Trista."

"Kavar."

"You are a sight for sore eyes."

"Yeah, it's… good to see you, too."

He chuckled, looking away with a pained grimace. "You don't need to lie."

"Only partially. I was worried you wouldn't come."

Kavar motioned to the booth and settled down. She sank into the seat across from him. "I am sure you have more questions than our time will permit. Leaving the Palace is dangerous these days."

She frowned. "Then why did you?"

"After you moved a few stars to get a message to me? I felt I had to return the favor."

Despite herself, Trista looked down with a small smile. "You know no one tells us 'no.'"

"Especially not your family."

Her stomach turned over again, and she gnawed on her lip. "It's Vaklu?"

Kavar nodded. "He's looking for any opportunity he can get to, ah, see me join the Force earlier than I'd like."

"Figures. We'll hurry, then."

"Allow me to indulge my curiosity first," he said, and Trista motioned for him to continue. "I doubt you hold any love for the Council, even an old friend. Why are you here?"

She sighed. "The Sith." Kavar narrowed his eyes. "Someone leaked my description on the Holonet and I got picked up by a Republic cruiser. They insisted on taking me to Telos, but one of the active Sith Lords attacked us before we could arrive. They've been hounding me ever since."

"Hm," Kavar mused, but didn't offer any further questions.

"But, regarding my questions... I need answers. Quick ones are fine. About why you threw me out, about Katarr, about this situation."

He sighed, folding his hands on the tabletop. "Do you understand the timeline of the Mandalorian and Jedi Civil Wars, and how they dovetail together?"

"Enough."

"Malachor… Malachor was in the eighth month of 1040." She nodded. "They brought you back to us, comatose, near the end of that month. It took two months for you to be stable enough for your trial." She nodded again. "Ten days before you were exiled, we started hearing rumors that Revan and Malak had been seen in Republic space, hunting for something. By the time of your sentence, we'd had confirmation. It was just a week after your trial that they attacked Foerost.

"It was a time of incredible uncertainty. Every Jedi that left with her… we knew they had been lost. Corrupted. And then there was you. Some thought you were a spy." He frowned. "But you suspect there is more to it, and you would be correct."

"Yeah. I saw a recording of my trial."

Kavar's eyes traveled to a spot on the wall, his brow furrowing. "Good. I do not know the opinions of my fellow Councilors, but you deserve an explanation. You deserve to know what—"

"Trista—" Mical's voice came a second before Mandalore's, much louder and firmer, interrupted them.

"Back up, Colonel."

Kavar was half out of his seat before she'd had time to register the interruption, his hand falling to a pocket.

"Oh, am I interrupting?"

That got her to her feet — the same voice from before the Hawk had been nearly shot down. Its owner was a short, dark-haired man in gold-tinted armor, his blaster already in hand. Mira glanced at her, and she motioned. Be ready.

"In orbit," he continued, his attempts at a grand entrance blocked by the bulk of an armored Mandalorian, "I thought for sure the Ebon Hawk was mine."

Kavar glanced at her, and she shook her head. Don't remind me.

"So imagine my surprise when you slipped through my fingers during the battle."

"You need to hire better pilots."

Tobin frowned, the move creasing every line on his face. "Well then, imagine my delight to find you here in Iziz. Quite careless, if you ask me."

"Can we resolve your little…" Trista drew a vague circle around him. "Ego-fest in about ten minutes? I'm in the middle of something."

"Don't worry. You'll have plenty of time to catch up in detention." With a derisive glare at Mandalore, Tobin motioned to his men. "Take them into custody and watch your aim. Civilian casualties cause a mess of paperwork."

For a moment, as the guards with Tobin raised their weapons, Trista couldn't move. It wasn't fear, though, or anxiety, or panic.

It was burgeoning, dumbfounding rage.

She'd never had to use that word before — that thought tumbled with the morass of roiling anger that burned inside her. She barely registered Kavar raising his hand next to her, sweeping it to the side with a chopping motion. All of Tobin's ten soldiers clapped their hands over their ears.

"I need to return to the Palace."

"Kavar." She didn't intend to growl his name out, but she did.

"I'll send word when I'm able. Get out of Iziz."

He didn't wait for a reply, dodging past Tobin and into the cantina. Trista stood motionless by the table.

For the very first time in years, past the gaping hole and the emptiness that had devoured her, past her anger at Malachor, at Revan and Malak and the Jedi, past her depression and regret… she snapped.

Through Peragus, and Atris, and Vrook, and Nar Shaddaa — through all of it, getting dragged back into a life she'd left behind, she'd done everything right. She'd put on the right show, the right dance. And this was what she got for it?

And the veil of fury gave her something else. It was like she could touch it — the kind of darkness that was impossible to imagine, darker than even the space it moves through. The inviolable black tempest just meters below the surface, promising every dream and fear lurking at the edge of consciousness and sanity.

Force, she was tired.

"Trista." Mical's voice broke through the seas above her head. The men were raising her weapons again, and she channeled the full force of her frustration into them just like the bounty hunters before.

They were nothing. Just durasteel, just matter. So easy to heat to burning.

One soldier yelped and dropped his blaster, followed by his peers. Tobin, to his credit, was the last to lose his grip on his own weapon, sneering as he shook out his hand.

"So, you want to do this—"

"Shut. Up."

The anger that bled into her voice startled even her. A few glasses clattered together behind her in the deathly silence.

"I—"

"Don't." She held up her hand. "Don't you dare. Do you understand what I have gone through in the past three months?"

Now that she'd started, she found she couldn't stop. She took a step forward, advancing on Tobin's position as the background noise of the bar faded into the black pit she stood perched above. Reaching into the dark, bottomless abyss as it reached out for her.

"I have been drugged, left for dead, hunted, chased by assassins, arrested, condescended to, ordered around, literally abducted, and forced back into a life I never even wanted. I have been hounded every waking hour and, just when I reach the man that might give me the answers I need to save everyone's sorry, ungrateful asses, a petty, maladroit, mid-level manager saunters in and breaks up my meeting. I have wanted those answers for ten fucking years, and thanks to you and whatever uncultured general you serve—"

"Vaklu."

She had to give him a few points for standing his ground as she hinged on the knife-edge of control.

"I can not possibly care less. If I were any less of a Jedi, Tobin, I would drag you into the jungle and give a drexl indigestion with your corpse. If you have any gods, thank them. I know fifty Jedi that would have killed you where you stand, and been right to."

Mical touched her arm, and she shook him off. Tobin was only a few feet away, drawing a sidearm — she grabbed the gun from him, physically, and threw it to the side. It clattered, loud in the silent room.

"I am taking my people and leaving. If you have any sense, you will do the same. If you try to stop me again, I will kill you."

Trista shoved her way past him, only checking to make sure that the others were following. Tobin stood behind them, staring, and for a moment she felt a pang of guilt. That was the sort of thing Revan did. She could turn the Jedi routine on and off easily. Trista, though... she did not lose control like this.

The silence of the cantina only struck her by the time they reached the door to Iziz proper. Trista drew a deep breath, wrestling back the part of her that ached to beat Tobin to death with his own femurs.

"We walk, calmly and with purpose, back to the shuttle," she said, keeping her voice low. "I don't plan on causing bloodshed today. Understood?"

"And after you slaughtered a man's pride, too," Mandalore said with a chuckle. She glared at him, but it didn't seem to have the desired effect.

"With any luck," Mical said, surprisingly dry, "that will be the evening's only casualty."

"Atton's right, you and Bao-Dur should start that comedy troupe. Mira, HK?"

"Don't worry, everything's already on stun." Mira didn't looked too concerned about her inadvisable descent into deeper, more precarious territory, at least. Trista looked at HK.

"Objection: I removed the 'stun' option from my weaponry over a week ago, Master, I—" She sighed and reached over, flipping the switch on his rifle for him. HK looked at it for a despondent moment before responding. "Reluctant Acceptance: Very well, Master, it is on stun."

She turned back and slammed her hand into the door's latch.

By now it was cresting on night in Iziz, Dxun hanging low in the sky above them. Outside, a ring of Onderonian soldiers stood, waiting with weapons upheld, and Trista strode forward without hesitation.

"We are leaving," she announced, not stopping despite several orders to do so. She reached back into that abyss, slamming the Force into her words. She would not give them room to argue. "You will not stop us."

The soldiers faltered and, by the time she'd reached the ground, they were stumbling back. Trista ignored them, turning towards the checkpoint that led to the plaza and the starport beyond that.

"Let's get out of this damn system."


A/N: I would formally apologize for pushing the Exile into a metal breakdown, but we all know I'm not sorry. I am sorry for the late update hour - call it anxiety. :|