A/N: Late Happy Holidays, everyone, and sorry for the lack of update Friday. Both my parents have COVID, we had a COVID scare in my household because of it (my 90yo grandmother, in fact), and the past week has just been exhausting. But here we are! I'll still be updating on Friday (I'm off, so it'll be even easier than usual!) but I wanted to get out a chapter for the last week even if it's late.
They'd repaired the Hawk as best as they could, so the crew got the afternoon off. Or, he observed as he flipped through the cams, as much of a day off as these idiots take.
He assumed that the Miraluka and the old witch were both meditating in their respective dormitories, but Bao-Dur was continuing to tune the hyperdrive, to "strengthen it against" future ion blasts — or so he claimed. And the Handmaiden continued to beat the air in the cargo hold like it owed her money.
Atton kicked his feet up on the Hawk's console and stared out into the Mandalorian camp, shuffling his pazaak deck. He got it — continuing to move, because stopping meant thinking. He'd turned to freight carrying (and smuggling) for a reason, after all.
T3 chirped behind him, and he sighed. "No, I'm busy. Go bother G0-T0, or something."
"/G0-T0=frustrating / T3-M4=/=friend /"
"Bao-Dur, then. Someone who cares." T3 rolled to the console and slid a pazaak deck onto it. Atton groaned. "No, I'm not playing you. I've told you."
The manipulator arm retracted for a second, then slid a credit stick onto the console next to the deck with an inquiring chirp. Atton's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah? How many?"
"/ friendly! / T3-M4interesting? / T3-M4=go first (IF=) Atton = anxiety/"
"What? I'm not anx—" Atton slapped his side-deck onto the console, followed by his primary deck. "All right. You go first, then."
He watched the clock as they rolled through several rounds of pazaak and tried to not think about how the droid was giving him a run for his money. Literally. He huffed as he shuffled the main deck once again, smarting from another close loss. T3 chirped in a way that was apologetic or taunting, and he didn't care which.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Frakking trash can." He slapped the deck down. "Go on, get started. No idea what you need frakking credits for, anyway."
T3 chirped as his manipulator reached for a card, and out of nowhere, Atton's vision tunneled like a sack of rocks had hit him. He was on his feet with no memory of standing, every hair standing on end.
Bao-Dur frakked up the hyperdrive.
Recipe for disaster. It could wipe out the entire camp, but… the camp was here. He was still here.
So not vaporized. The adrenaline was already in place, his heart rushing to keep up.
Something went wrong on Onderon.
That was frightening for a number of reasons. Should he just sense if something was wrong? His mind snapped to the way pain transmitted between Trista and Kreia. T3 chirped again, worried, and he barked for the droid to shut up. Force bond, right? No, that didn't bode well. He didn't like that at all.
Anger. That was it. A lot, all at once, like a breaking dam. It froze him in place, though he couldn't say why. The implications? The fear of whatever had caused that reaction? The pain that stabbed into his chest as he felt it?
Someone hit the open door, and it took a second for him to answer as he ran his tongue over his lips to wet them again.
"You feel that?" Bao-Dur. His voice rarely trembled like that.
"Just a bit, yeah." Atton glanced back down at the cameras, watching as the Handmaiden leaned against the wall, panting, her hands planted on her knees. "Looks like it's going around."
"Do you think…"
"I'm gonna try to hail the shuttle." Atton pressed the radio line harder than necessary. They had been lectured by the comm tech for twenty minutes earlier about only using this option during emergencies, but he was sure this counted. "Hawk calling away. Do you copy?"
Nothing. Atton settled back into the pilot's seat. "I'll keep trying. Get the ship ready to leave."
"I doubt the blockade will let us land on Onderon."
He'd said nothing about landing on Onderon, but didn't argue. That was where he would have gone, even if they'd fought him. "Let's hope we don't have to try, then."
Bao-Dur retreated and, as Atton reached for a few buttons to boost the comm signal, he barely noticed that T3 had already re-stacked both his main and side decks and retreated from the cockpit without another word.
The Handmaiden hated being left on the ship.
The trip to Iziz was a little easier to accept — there had been limited space in the shuttle, and Trista hadn't taken the Sith. So she trained, pushing herself harder and harder, demanding even more out of herself. Her lightsaber was still unwieldy to her, not weighed down on either end by crushing metal. She needed to understand the weapon, inside and out, to be more useful. To be the most useful.
The Handmaiden still didn't trust her, even though she hadn't moved aggressively. She would not trust her. Trust in a Sith had killed her father — trust that Revan would respect Echani tradition, trust that she would struggle in the bounds of an honorable duel.
The Handmaiden wouldn't repeat his mistake.
She picked her weapon back up, catching her breath as the inxplicable, sudden wave of anger and frustration passed, and she returned to her practice. A few minutes later, over the hum of her lightsaber, someone cleared their throat.
The Handmaiden turned back to find the hooded and secretive woman from the port-side dorm framed in the cargo hold's doorway. She narrowed her eyes, but deactivated the weapon.
"Something troubles you, servant of Atris," the woman said, quiet, her voice almost consoling. But she would not fall for it. She had not trusted her since their first meeting, had seen too many questions in her stance and her movements. Questions whose most plausible answers she did not like.
"Leave me be."
"I have seen what you have seen — the slow seduction of the Sith." Despite herself, the Handmaiden listened — wanted to listen. "Perhaps we are more allies than you know. I fear the Exile has let her feelings for the Miraluka affect her judgment… and it will doom her."
No, it was clear where Trista's feelings were strongest. The choice was questionable but, while Atton knew Echani techniques and had been invaluable on Nar Shaddaa, he was relatively harmless... compared to the Sith.
"There is still hope," the Handmaiden replied.
"I do not believe so, and neither do you. You have seen her stance, her movements. They mirror hers, not yours."
The Handmaiden was quiet, her mind turning unbidden to when she had fought beside them both in Dxun's jungle. Yes, there it was — Trista's form following the Sith's, more aggressive, more primal than her own. Different from how she had instructed her, different from when they sparred on the ship in hyperspace.
How had she not noticed?
"But do not mistake my intent," Kreia continued, "we are together in this. And if we stand together, we may yet prevent a greater tragedy."
She shook herself. This was contrary to what she believed. Trista had made her see Atris's flaws, Atris's failures, Atris's… cowardice. But she couldn't shake the memories from Dxun that now sat so forefront in her mind.
"No. I do not believe you, and I do not trust you."
"Whether you do either is of no concern. It is what the Exile thinks that should concern us, is it not? Search your feelings, your memories, your heart, and you will see the threat as I do. I ask only that you consider it."
With that, Kreia left, the hold door zipping closed. The Handmaiden drew a deep breath, steadying herself, and turned to settle down on a crate. She dug her palms into her eyes, drawing another deep breath.
No matter what she thought, she couldn't shake those concerns, those fears. Her fear of Trista falling victim to the Sith, of the Sith harming her, of the Sith taking her before her master and watching her be destroyed. How she paid so much heed to the Sith's counsel, but so little to hers.
And inside the port dormitory, Kreia smiled.
"Hey, off-worlder—"
Trista paused for half a second as the checkpoint's junior office stopped her.
"Is there a problem?" she asked, the tension back in her voice. He didn't come any closer.
"Comm's ordered a blackout and to isolate the west square. Is something happening?" He seemed nervous, bordering on "terrified." The comms blackout must be new, all for her.
She felt honored.
"I don't know, officer, I'm just minding my business."
"I, um… see. Carry on then." Still confused, he stepped back and retreated to his post at the gate, and they headed through.
"I guess not everyone is out for my head."
"Not everyone," Mandalore agreed. "Still, Vaklu's got an entire army to throw at us. I think we've outstayed our welcome — best leave before he can invent some actual charges against us and get us into real trouble."
"Agreed."
The eastern square was clear of civilians — and soldiers. Her adrenaline was wearing off, dragging her back to the ground and taking the last vestiges of that anger with it. She clung to the scraps, letting them propel her forward.
She would get them off Onderon, then she'd let it go.
It was one last turn to the shuttle. Mandalore blocked her with his arm as she strode almost blindly for it, letting herself focus on the goal: leaving.
"Looks like the checkpoint moved up." She shook herself out of her reverie and saw that he was right. The barrier between the starport proper and the eastern square had moved up around the corner, cleared of everyone but the guards.
"Thanks." Trista moved his arm and started forward again, checking only to make sure that Mical, Mira, and HK were still keeping pace.
"Sorry, off-worlder." One soldier approached her, nervously looking behind him. "The turrets have been malfunctioning. You can't go through."
"What are they doing?"
"Well…" He glanced back again. "Nothing, at the moment. We got the order from Command earlier to not let anyone through — feedback on the system, or something."
"I'm in a hurry. Ordo, starport visa?" Mandalore produced it and handed it to the guard. "We'll take our chances with the turrets."
"I mean…" He handed the visa back. "Your visa checks out and you aren't a citizen, so… but again, the turrets will kill these days. We can't let you risk it."
Trista drew her fingers across her eyes with a sigh and, with a frustrated huff, grasped for the Force and shoved it into her words. "You will let us take our chances with the turrets."
"Well, yeah, of course. We'll let you take your chances, if it's that urgent."
"It's quite urgent."
He motioned to the checkpoint that they could pass and stepped aside. "Good luck."
As he retreated to the barricade, Trista glanced back at the others again. "Let me go first. If the turrets are malfunctioning, I'll deal with it. Then we make for the shuttle."
"You sure?" Mandalore asked. "Those pack a punch."
"I could stealth up and cut the wires," Mira offered.
"I appreciate the offer, but that takes time and Vaklu's already showed he's willing to kill." Trista tucked her robe in tight to her body and walked forward, rounding the corner. The turrets, inactive, whirred to life and turned toward her.
This is such a load of bantha shit, the internal monologue she hated, the one that sounded like her sister, muttered in the back of her mind. Trista raised a hand.
Tell me about it.
She didn't bother to break the turrets themselves. If Vaklu wanted Kavar, he would have hardened them.
People thought less about Force-hardening masonry.
She sent the energy out in a knife-sharp wave, cutting through the columns like water — and taking the cables that controlled the turrets with their heavy weight. They slid off with a thunk, casting up dust that rolled out along the ground like the sea.
"Shuttle, now."
Vaklu must have never expected them to make it this far. Instead of guards, which she'd expected, the starport was deserted. It suited her just fine as she waved the others after her. Still, they were halfway across when someone shouted behind them. Trista looked back, unsurprised at the small army of Onderonians coming into the spaceport.
"Keep going and get the shuttle started."
She turned back, taking a few steps backward as she glanced around for anything to block their path. Blaster-fire peppered the stones around her, and she held up her hand to block them. Blowing the guns? Well, there were a lot of them, and that trick was easiest in small groups.
A tiny part of her whispered for her to do worse, but she shook it off. Then, her eyes landed on a cage.
"I am so sorry," she whispered, and motioned.
Of the fifteen abandoned beast cages in the courtyard, seven of them sprung open. The boma inside snarled, and she reluctantly made them forget she was there. Trapped for too long, with energy and anger to disperse, they charged for the incoming soldiers.
Trista closed the door behind her and sliced the panel off. Mical was waiting by the ramp as she sprinted toward him.
"In, in, go."
The ramp closed when she was halfway up it, and she ducked into the copilot's seat and strapped in. Mandalore spun the ship, just off the ground, and shot towards the moon looming above them.
"It could be a bumpy ride if they've rallied air support," he said.
"Think they have?"
"I doubt they've had time. By the time they get here, we should be gone." He hit a few switches on the console. "If they get on our trail, we'll have to lie low until it dies out. We can't risk them finding the camp."
She went to respond, but Atton's voice from the shuttle's commlink cut her off. "Hawk calling away. C'mon. Anyone there?"
Trista reached for the mic, but Mandalore cut her off. "This is Mandalore. We are en route."
"What the hell happened?"
Trista frowned. What did he mean? She reached for the mic again, but Mandalore flipped it on mute. "You can discuss it later."
She settled back in her seat with a huff, crossing her arms as they broke out of Onderon's gravity and into Dxun's. As the trees grew closer, her mood continued to re-darken, this time coloring the sky with guilt instead of anger. What did Atton mean? How did they know what happened? The obvious solution was one she didn't want to consider. It ate at her, almost to the point of nausea, distracting until she felt someone touch her arm.
"Trista?" Mical.
"I'm fine. Sorry, I, um, shouldn't have—"
"Don't you dare," Mira said, holding up a finger.
"You've been under a lot of pressure," Mical explained. "And all you did was terrorize a few soldiers without hurting them. In the usual function of this galaxy, that is better than most."
She almost smiled. "Thanks."
They flew in silence until the first walls of Keldab'bral appeared over the trees, and she cleared her throat.
"We'll get the ship ready to go tonight and leave as soon as possible. I'm sure Vaklu's going to have his hands full, and I don't want to give them a reason to check ships leaving the system."
"We'll need a destination," Mira answered, and Trista sighed.
"Probably…" She glanced at Mandalore. "Our last missing Master."
The shuttle was quiet for another moment before Mira hissed at Mical. "Where's that?"
Mical sighed and leaned his head back against the shuttle wall. "Somewhere I have been both dreading and anticipating."
The rest of the flight passed in silence, until the shuttle settled down in its bay. Mandalore powered the ship down, and Trista was halfway out of her seat before he spoke.
"Jedi, see me in the comms center."
"Why?"
"A conversation."
Ugh.
"Fine." She shooed the other three out of the shuttle before following them. "You guys head back to the Hawk and get her ready to leave."
Her feet had barely touched the ground before she heard her name shouted, and had a moment's glance at the camp before a flash of white and brown obscured her vision. She folded against Atton's chest, burying her face in his neck as he held her.
"Are you okay?" he asked, voice quiet.
"I'm fine." He stepped back, hands on her shoulders, and studied her with a furrowed brow. "Why?"
"For one, I can tell when you're lying. For two, there was…" He glanced at the shuttle and shook his head. "Look, I'll tell you later."
Trista studied him back for a moment before sighing. This was a conversation for later, for sure.
"Yeah, I want to leave as soon as possible. Is the Hawk ready?"
"We've just got to warm her up."
"Great. I have to talk to—" Mandalore gave her a look as he passed by, headed towards the center hub of the camp, and she sighed. "Him."
Atton stared after him with a frown. "What? Why?"
"I don't know."
"Bring your droid," Mandalore called over his shoulder. "The short one."
As they watched, he paused next to a blue-armored recruit and handed them something. They snatched it out of his hand triumphantly, and he waved off whatever they said.
"I'm going with you," Atton said.
"I don't think he meant you."
"Of course he didn't mean me, but I'm going with you."
"What about the Hawk?"
He flipped open his commlink. "Hey, T3? Come out here. Bao-Dur, get the ship warmed up."
"You could ask politely."
"Please."
"On it."
"See, Bao-Dur can do it."
Trista sighed, shaking her head, but the ghost of a smile broke through her otherwise dour mood. "All right, come on."
T3 rolled down the ramp as they passed by the Hawk, and Trista stopped. "Hold on. T3, I have a question for you." He responded with a nervous dwooo, and she crouched down to his optic level. "This is a very serious question."
"/okay/"
"Do you know Mandalore?"
T3 tilted his head down with another quiet dwoo. "/Mandalore + old Master = friends/"
"That can't be right."
He responded with the binary equivalent of a shrug, and she stood. To say she hadn't suspected that the irreverant bastard currently in charge of the Mandalorians wasn't one Canderous Ordo, especially after their interrupted conversation in Ghent's lab, she'd be lying. That didn't mean she wanted that to be the case, but it wasn't like she'd heard his voice before, only seen his image. She suspected he knew that, and had counted on it, and had probably been weighing her against Revan this entire time.
"Fine, I'm not even surprised anymore. Let's go."
They entered the open doors of the communications hub, finding Mandalore deep in hushed conversation with Khelborn. The red-armored Mandalorian saluted as they approached and headed for the doors.
"Jedi," he said, nodding as they passed each other.
"Khelborn." As he disappeared from the doorway, she turned back to Mandalore. "So what's this about?"
"Sorry that your meeting didn't go as planned." He leaned back on a column, crossing his arms.
"Thanks."
"I have a proposal for you."
Trista arched a brow and slapped Atton's arm before he could even bristle. "Sorry but, as a Jedi, I can't enter such arrangements."
Mandalore tilted his head. "Hasn't stopped some of them, but not that type." He turned his attention to T3, who whistled from behind Trista's legs. "And I see you down there."
"/hi/"
"We are going to have a talk."
"Yeah, I suspect you two have a lot to discuss," Trista said. "Right, Canderous?"
He chuckled. "I take it he ratted me out on the way over."
"If I said I didn't suspect it, I'd be lying."
"I'm secretive for a reason. For one, I'm closer to the Jedi than many here would like. For two, it's irrelevant. I'm Mandalore, and that is far more important."
"It's not irrelevant to me. You're the last person who—"
He cut her off. "Yes, I'm well aware, and that brings me to this proposal I have."
"What is it?"
"I'm coming with you."
"What?" Atton said.
"What?" Trista's echo was only a moment behind.
"Right now, we both seek the same goals, whatever our reasons might be. I have my orders and, if there are Sith active, they need stopped. Unopposed by any Jedi, they'll dominate and enslave everyone from the Core Worlds to the Outer Rim and beyond."
"From—"
"Yes, yes, perhaps hypocritical of me, but it's different when you're on the receiving end... as we have been." He motioned to the camp. "It would not be unusual for the Sith to approach the Mandalorians for an alliance — or to force it. It's a situation I would prefer to avoid… for your sake, and ours. We could repulse an attack like the one this morning but, should the Sith show in force, it would go differently.
"And there are other branches of the clans out there, including some that may require personal convincing. It is long past time for me to leave this moon again."
"And getting onto Revan's ship is, I'm sure, not part of it."
He scoffed. "Of course I want to know what happened. She is one of the few people I could consider a friend. But I am also a man of my word, and I have a job to do. Helping you with the Sith is a matter of professional interest."
Trista glanced at Atton. To his credit, he didn't openly disagree like before — but he was staring at her, the phrase 'are you insane' written across his face.
"I'm not helping you with the clans," she said, looking back.
"I'm not asking for that, I'm stating what I will be doing. Cross me on that, and we'll have to re-evaluate the arrangement."
"Is that a threat?"
"Of course it is. Stop me, and it'll be more than that. Let me put this another way." He motioned to the camp. "We've rebuilt or reclaimed a significant amount of our infrastructure. The last time the galaxy saw fit to stop a Sith Lord, it took most of the Republic fleet — a Republic fleet that barely exists right now. If these Sith show up in force, what would you prefer? The Republic's support, or mine?"
Shit. That was an excellent case.
"Regardless of your opinion of me, or us, I am trying to undo the damage you did to my people, and I am not asking for a handout to do so. If you can trust one thing, trust this: I do not intend to see my people destroyed again, and that requires me to help you."
She held up her hand. "Fine. Fine. But it's my ship—"
"Your rules, I got that."
"And I do not want you within melee distance of the Iridonian on my crew. He's got trauma of the Mandalorian kind." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "You have—"
"I travel light. I'll be ready before you take off."
"Sure, fine. See you on the ship."
Trista turned on her heel and left the comm hub, stopping outside in the warm jungle air and staring at Onderon above them, contemplating if it'd be appropriate to scream.
"Have I mentioned that you're crazy?" Atton asked.
"Frequently."
"Bao-Dur is going to have a stroke."
"I'm aware."
"Are you going—"
"Atton." She turned to him. "Atton, I'll be fine."
"The twitch in your forehead says otherwise." He tapped it, and she frowned. "Someone has to look out for you."
"I'm so glad you have my best interests at heart. Come on, I have to warn Bao-Dur before Mandalore beats us there."
"Trista—"
"Look, I'm sorry. I don't need you to agree with me. I just need you to trust me."
Bao-Dur leaned against the wall, resting his forehead on the durasteel. "You've asked me for a lot, but this is…"
"I know. I've already told him to not—"
"And do you think that will last—"
"Call it a gut feeling."
"A gut feeling?"
"I don't have Revan's penchant for precognition, but… if the Sith show up in force, the Republic won't stop them. But the Republic and the Mandalorians together might stand a chance. It's—"
"You're gambling on Mandalorians wanting to cooperate."
"No. I'm gambling on Mandalore's connections." Bao-Dur half-raised his head. "He traveled with Revan, which means he knows the admiral that Mical works for."
"So he's the one that ran off with her. I doubt that helped their relationship."
"Force's sake, Bao-Dur, can you please just…"
"Trust you?"
"Yes, please. That's all I'm asking. I already told him to stay away from you."
Bao-Dur scoffed. "I'll believe that when it happens."
Trista dug her finger into the bridge of her nose, drawing a deep breath. "You want the engine room?"
"What?"
"I'll keep the smuggler's hold, and you bunk down in here. That way, there's a solid door between you and him. That good?"
He sighed, straightening. "For now. I should go over the drive again."
Trista echoed his sigh and turned on her heel, leaving the engine room with a quiet, imperceptible grumble of frustration. Atton was still outside, leaning against the portal that led past the medlab.
"Looks like that went well."
"Didn't I ask you to punch in the coordinates?"
"For Korriban? Already did." She frowned. "What? It's easy. I mean, I had to look them up, but apart from that—"
She waved him off. "I get it."
"You can always tell him no." Atton jerked his thumb at the cockpit. "We can burn space out of here."
Trista headed past him into the main hold. "He made an excellent case back there. The Republic's held together with a few prayers right now, and we need all the help we can get. This shadow war won't last forever."
Atton shook his head. "All right, well, offer still stands. Let me know when we're leaving so I can finish up in the cockpit."
"Thanks."
Trista settled down by the table, pressing her hand into her forehead as T3 rolled by. She stuck her leg out to stop him.
"You could have told me."
"/ T3-M4 = sorry? /"
"It's… it's fine. Any other secrets bottled up in there?"
"/ probably / T3-M4 = full of surprises! /"
"I don't doubt it."
She sat for three more minutes or so, trying to think of anything but Onderon.
She had been so close. Kavar, and answers, had been right within her reach, and yet something had put it out of her grasp. Like always. And then she'd almost lost her tenuous control over her emotions, wholesale and publicly.
The last "Jedi" out in public, and a prime damn example of it.
Heavy footfalls in the garage broke her out of her spiraling mindset, and she almost stood before deciding she didn't care.
"Whenever you're ready," Mandalore said.
Never, but okay. "Atton, get us in the air."
The ship buzzed underneath them as it revved to life, the ramp sealing shut in the garage with a hiss.
"What happened in there?" She looked up as Mandalore jerked his thumb at the garage, and Trista shrugged.
"It happened before I got the ship."
"Huh." He set something down behind her.
"Anything like you remember?"
"Synthesizer looks newer, but it's probably still shit. Different people, less gizka."
"Gizka?"
"Gizka."
"Huh." She didn't even want to ask for clarification.
"Less hair, too, unless you've got a Wookiee stashed somewhere."
"No, no Wookiees. Atton's our pilot, he was in when I talked to you tonight. You've met Mical and Mira, the Handmaiden and Visas were with me at the camp before, and there's Kreia."
"Yes, we've met."
"Oh, great, you've already met."
He crossed over to the synthesizer, inspecting it with a skepticism that translated through his mask. "Where are we headed?"
She toyed for a moment with telling him he'd find out when they got there, but convinced herself otherwise.
"Korriban." He grumbled something under his breath. "What?"
"Figures."
"Why?"
Mandalore settled down at the table, settling his blaster point-down on the ground. "Been there a couple times."
Trista's frown deepened. "With R—her?"
"With Revan, yeah."
"I thought you'd still want to be secretive on board."
He scoffed. "The Hawk's a small ship. Word'll get around."
"What's Korriban like?"
"Dusty, healthy feeling of being watched. I wasn't off the ship much. The second time, I almost watched your…" His helmet turned toward her, and for a split-second she almost responded violently before remembering who he was. "... whatever she was get buried under a pile of rubble."
Trista frowned, staring back at the far side of the table. So, he knew somehow. Great. "Sister."
"Ah."
Mical wandered into the main hold, tapping away at his datapad. "Trista, do you have any messages for—" He looked up and stopped. "Oh, uh—"
"Mandalore's joining us," Trista said. "New exchange program."
"Who'd we leave, Atton?"
"Only if you're flying the ship."
"Not my skill-set, I'm afraid. Is there anything you wish to add to my usual briefing?"
Trista glanced at Mandalore for half a second too long, wincing when his helmet tilted back her way. "No, Mical, not at the moment."
"Of course. I'll send it, then."
"Go ahead."
As Mical disappeared into the cockpit hallway, she looked back at Mandalore. "You have something to say?"
"Who's he reporting to?"
She sighed and stood, needing to put distance between the two of them before anything started shaking. "An old friend of yours."
Mandalore was quiet for a second before chuckling. "Not surprised to hear he's up to his elbows in all this. You met him?"
"No, I've been avoiding it."
"Good, for multiple reasons."
This sent her eyebrow rocketing toward her hairline. "Such as?"
He shrugged. "He's a die-hard fan of the Republic, for one. Though, perhaps not as much anymore. Hard to say. I haven't talked to him since…" Mandalore cleared his throat, picking his blaster back up. The barrel stayed down as he stood, the only thing keeping her from considering it a threat. "Plus, given how far up in your sister's, ah, business he was—"
"Force's sake." She threw up a hand and turned. "I'm not listening to this."
Mandalore chuckled behind her as she started down the cargo bay hall, but stopped just as suddenly.
"Jedi."
She ground her teeth together before turning back. "Yes?"
He leaned on his blaster, studying her. "I don't know shit about the Force — I learned that the hard way. But I know enough. Have you come across any news of my other, ah… former companions?"
To her surprise, he sounded… sincere. Though, as she considered it, it wasn't surprising. They had gone up against a Sith Lord together, traveled together for a significant amount of time. For a Mandalorian, that was as good as family.
She cleared her throat. "Uh, yeah, sort of. Jolee Bindo is still MIA."
"He's a cagey old bastard, he'll be fine."
"I don't know about Juhani."
"Not too worried about her, either."
"Bastila Shan is with Onasi."
Mandalore was quiet for a second, but his voice contained a bit of a wry smile when he spoke.
"Good. The princess didn't have much support the last time I saw her."
"You didn't take her in?"
"I would have, if she'd asked."
"And the Twi'lek, um—"
"I know what her and the carpet are doing. She's been runnin' me supplies since I left."
This time, the corner of Trista's mouth quirked upward. "I take it Onasi doesn't know about that?"
The smile in his voice became a grin. "Nah, he'd have broken my door down years ago." Mandalore hefted his blaster over his shoulder, straightening. "Well, I'm going to do some maintenance on the ol' girl here. It's just a quick jump to Korriban. You ought to get your fledglings ready to leave the nest — I guarantee they haven't seen anything like it."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed toward the garage. Trista sighed and ran her hand down her face.
She made a round of the ship, letting the others know Mandalore was joining them. The Handmaiden seemed off, but she was too tired to pursue why.
Then she made her way back up to the cockpit and collapsed, sighing, into the copilot's seat. Atton glanced over at her from where he was shuffling his side-deck.
"So, how's our three hundred pound bantha settling in?"
Trista slumped down into her seat with a groan. "I don't know, Atton. It was probably a mistake letting him on board."
He didn't answer for a moment, the cockpit silent save the chirp of equipment and the shuffling of cards.
"He was right," he admitted with a sigh. "The Republic doesn't have its teeth back yet, and we don't know what Sith forces are like. I doubt Visas even knows. So, if we've got to cozy up to the tin-heads to get this taken care of, well…"
"Yeah." She stared out into the mesmerizing whorl of hyperspace ahead. "Here's hoping that's all it takes."
"What happened on Onderon?"
Trista rested her arm over her eyes. "We got through to Kavar," she said, after struggling to find her words. "But our meeting got interrupted by that Tobin guy."
"Mm. Let me guess." She looked over as Atton stared into hyperspace. "Short guy, balding, big gun 'cause he's compensating?"
She replied with an undignified snort. "Spot on."
Atton laced his fingers behind his head, leaning back with a smug smile. "Yeah, I can spot 'em. I take it your meeting, then…"
"Yeah." She frowned. "Kavar had to run, and we hardly made it out of Iziz ourselves."
"Mm."
"How'd you know something happened?"
"Well, ah… just a feeling. Nothing to write home about."
Trista narrowed her eyes. "Atton."
"I'm telling you, nothin' serious." He stood and leaned over the back of her chair, kissing her forehead. "Want some caf or something?"
She shook her head, still frowning. "No. I should try to sleep at some point."
"Suit yourself."
He left, and Trista stared into hyperspace with a frown.
"Bonds," she mumbled, forehead creasing.
Great. Just what she needed.
