A/N: Happy last vestiges of 2022, everyone! I think it's about time for Trista to learn some, uh, uncomfortable recent history, no?
"Admiral."
Carth looked up from his sector map as Bastila approached. "What is it?"
"A priority message, and more news from Onderon."
"Great." He sighed and held out his hand, and she passed the datapad over. The first message that met him was from Mical, and he glanced at her.
"I thought I would start with the good news."
"Great," he repeated with even more sarcasm.
Admiral,
My newest report is not as optimistic as my others have been. While we established contact with a missing Jedi, the situation in Iziz has grown too volatile. The Republic must keep a close eye on the situation, as it seems prepared to boil over. We are moving on but, again, I cannot disclose our next destination.
Mical
"That's disappointing," he muttered, going to the next document.
"Don't worry, it gets much worse."
Carth frowned up at her and navigated to the next document.
The Council of Lords today confirms reports of a rogue Jedi who rampaged through the western market yesterday. Upon attempts to arrest this clear Republic agitator, Colonel Tobin, fifty of his men, and two entire guard-posts were severely injured by her mind-affecting abilities. The affected are recovering in hospital. Throughout the course of the incident, she unleashed wild beasts on further soldiers, as well as destroyed many pieces of military equipment.
It is believed that these individuals were crew-members of the agitator Republic ship Ebon Hawk, destroyed in Onderon's near-space several days ago.
"This is an obvious attempt by the Republic to continue undermining the Onderonian independence effort," Vaklu stated in an address to the Council of Lords today. "How much longer must we tolerate these agitators in our midst? How much longer must we waste away under the heels of Republic boots? They sent someone we have no protection against to attack us — where will their thirst for domination stop?"
General Vaklu is seeking the following individuals for interrogation regarding this incident and the Ebon Hawk incident. Each is armed and dangerous, and should only be approached by trained military professionals.
- Trista Morace
- Unidentified Human #1
- Unidentified Human #2
- Mandalorian known as "Ordo"
They are believed to be accompanied by a red HK line droid of an unknown model number.
Again, they are considered highly armed and dangerous. Alert your nearest military guard-post of any sightings in Iziz.
There were pictures with the briefing. Even over security footage, the first was recognizable as Trista, with HK-47 looming behind her. Even from an angle, Carth could make out an expression dangerously similar to one he'd only seen Anna wear a few times — like on the Leviathan, after Malak had pushed him and Bastila into stasis.
"I can see the family resemblance better now."
"Whatever happened, it was not in her favor."
"What do you think happened?"
Bastila frowned for a moment, thinking. "I suspect Vaklu attempted to interrupt her meeting with the Master, and then threatened those with her. That is an assumption, but it makes the most sense."
Carth flipped past a woman with red hair and landed on Mical's.
"Ah, I see Mical has embraced his criminal side." Bastila almost smiled. "And… wait." Carth hesitated on the Mandalorian's, his eyes narrowing as he looked up at Bastila. "Bas…"
"C-Admiral, Ordo is not an uncommon clan."
He narrowed his eyes further and took a step toward her, lowering his voice. "What do you lot say about coincidences?"
She frowned back. "That they happen?"
"In this family?" Bastila glanced away. "It has to be him. What is he doing on Onderon?"
"I do not know, Carth. I've spoken to him as much as you have since Anna left."
"Right, fine, just…" He handed the datapad back. "Keep me updated. Captain, I'm stepping away for a moment."
"Yes, sir." The Sojourn's captain saluted, and Carth headed for the bridge doors. Bastila jogged to catch up to him.
"Carth—"
"Don't worry," he said. "I just need some air." He sighed, closing the bridge door behind them. "I'd be getting a drink if I wasn't on duty."
The ship was stiller than ever before, even when it was just her, Kreia, and Atton. To their credit, Mandalore and Bao-Dur were steering away from each other, the former seeming cognizant of the latter's boundaries. G0-T0 took up residence at the holotable, meaning she was avoiding the center of the ship, too.
After a solid night's sleep crammed into a smuggler's hold and several hours of recharging herself in isolation, she crossed the threshold into the main hold and breathed a sigh of relief at G0-T0's absence. Instead, Mira was sitting at the table, working her way through a bottle of some nondescript alcohol on the table while cleaning at least one of her blasters.
"Still too loud for you?" Trista asked. Mira shrugged.
"Could always get quieter."
Trista hesitated, then settled at the table. "I'm sorry about Onderon."
"Sorry for what?"
"I almost lost control. The others have known me longer, but—"
Mira shrugged and returned to her blaster. "Look, you got us out of there without getting us killed, and that's what I care about."
"Stunningly pragmatic." Trista sighed. "You remind me of someone sometimes."
"Who?"
"I can guarantee you don't want to know."
Mira picked her gun back up, and they sat for a couple of minutes.
"Your sister, then?" Trista nodded. "Is that, like, found family shit?"
"No, unfortunately. She's two years younger than me. The Jedi took us at the same time."
"Sounds about right, from what I know. Which ain't a lot."
"Mira." She responded with a hum of acknowledgment. "Can I ask you something?"
"As long as it isn't swapping life stories, sure."
"Not really, no. You said you're good at finding people. It just seems like that would be difficult on Nar Shaddaa. Did you get into it because you're looking for someone?"
Mira paused, then pulled her cloth away from the blaster with a sigh.
"I said—"
"It isn't a life story. I would just like to offer my help in return."
"I don't think you can help." She looked up, and Trista looked away. "Stars' frakking — fine. I more or less grew up on Nar Shaddaa. Just kinda ended up there by myself."
"Your family—"
"Well, the war happened. The first one, against the Mandalorians. Had family right until the end. It's not a new story — you hear that all over the galaxy. It's what happens after the wars are over that flies under the radar."
Trista traced a circle on the tabletop. "Until the end?"
"I guess so. After Revan crushed the Mandalorians, planets throughout the Republic got flooded with refugees. I was just another one of 'em. There isn't much you can do after getting passage to Nar Shaddaa. I chose one of the better options."
"Finding people on the Shad seems difficult."
"Not if you know your target. Usually you get a holo or a rough description, and you sort of… listen to it, get a feel for them. Then walk."
"Walk?"
"It…" She motioned. "Nar Shaddaa has a flow to it. You see all kinds of aliens and life there, and it's got currents. If you know your target, you can feel them, know where they're going. Sometimes, you know before they do. And when they're lost, or out-of-place, it's like something's wrong inside them. That's why I hunt."
"Is it because you haven't stopped looking for your family?"
Mira slammed the cloth down onto the table. "Is it? How you could ever hope to understand is beyond me."
"Mira, I—"
"Jedi don't have family. Sure, I know what you said about your sister, but the Jedi sure didn't care about any life at Malachor V."
Trista's brow furrowed. "How could you have had family there? There weren't any colonies—"
Oh. That would explain a lot. She trailed off, staring down one of the corridors blankly.
"Take a guess, 'Jedi.' Only two groups of people would have lost family at Malachor."
"You're a Mandalorian."
She scoffed. "As much as any slave becomes one. They took prisoners on any world they conquered — and no, I don't remember where I'm from. By now, Nar Shaddaa's grown on me, so it's as much my home as anyplace else."
"But you must have been so young."
"Well, yeah, but I was old enough to carry ammo packs and munitions. They needed everyone they could get. I had a place there." She looked away, staring, and for a moment Trista watched the anger break into an almost sadness. "After Malachor, it didn't matter anymore. They lost, bad. But you know that."
"Yeah," Trista said, drawing a circle on the tabletop. "But it had to be done."
"Yeah, I know." Her voice was distant as she stared down at her cleaning rag. "I saw the worlds they left behind. It stays with you. What happened on Malachor… th-they probably deserved it."
"You don't sound sure. Though I understand why."
The venom was back. "Should I be? Should ask you if you're happy about all the Jedi that died there."
"I—"
"And yeah, sure, maybe it feels like you lost family there. Maybe you lost your sister. But I'm not buying it. I—"
Trista was still on edge from Onderon. She felt horrible for chasing such a loaded question.
More than that, she was tired of being a punching bag.
She stood and grabbed the bottle of alcohol, took a swig from it without even looking at Mira, and slammed it down on the table.
"Revan is my sister."
With that, she turned on her heel and left. Mira scowled after her, though something about it felt half-hearted.
"Oh, yeah, you didn't know."
Mira turned to glare at Atton, leaning on the doorway from the cockpit. "How long have you been there?"
He shrugged. "I heard raised voices and figured I'd watch."
"You could have warned me."
"Why would I?" Mira threw her cleaning cloth on the table. "Don't take it so hard. She accidentally told the rest of us."
"Now I feel like you."
"What?"
"An idiot."
Atton responded by pulling the bottle of alcohol to him with the Force and retreating down the hallway, throwing an obscene gesture back at her. She rolled her eyes.
"Show-off."
Mandalore made his way into the garage, glancing for a second at the Iridonian fixing a few rivets on the Hawk's half-assed repair job. He didn't fail to notice his shoulders tense, the spanner in his hand pausing for the slightest second as he realized who had walked in behind him.
He made his way to the workbench and set his carbine down on it, rubbing the side of his helmet as he did. The gold ridges of Mandalore's mask integrated into his helm were still unfamiliar, even this many years later, and a small part of him still felt like an imposter for daring to wear it at all.
After a few moments of silence, he cleared his throat. "I understand you fought the Mandalorians."
The tapping of the spanner on the Hawk's hull stopped.
"I was part of the war effort, yes." So he could speak. "I was a technician, though."
"On the front lines. To a Mandalorian, there is honor in that."
The atmosphere in the garage grew frosty.
"I could do without your Mandalorian honor. I saw the results of your 'honor.' And what did it get you? Mandalorians are little better than mercenary thugs. What's honor to someone like that? All they care about are credits."
Mandalore set the tool he was using down, the noise echoing in the garage. He turned just before a sharp, female voice cut him off.
"It was a compliment, Bao-Dur, not an insult."
Trista stood halfway into the garage, her arms crossed as she stared both of them down.
She definitely walked quieter than Revan.
"If I were you," Mandalore warned, "I would choose your words more carefully, Iridonian."
"That's enough. Bao-Dur, the riveting is fine. Take a walk. Mandalore."
"I was not in melee range."
Bao-Dur stormed by her, but Trista grabbed his arm and stared at him. He frowned, but nodded, and she released him. He disappeared into the hallway beyond, and Mandalore turned back to the workbench.
"That was why I asked you to avoid him." Trista leaned on the wall next to the workbench as he began dismantling the gun. "I would like that conversation now."
He glanced over at her again, still unreadable behind that damnable mask. "Which one?"
Trista glared at him. "The one where you tell me about my sister, Canderous."
"Ah yes, that one. Well…" He dismantled his gun, analyzing the parts for, she presumed, any damage. She'd forgotten just how complicated a repeating carbine was. "I assume you know about the amnesia."
The shock hit her like a charging bull rancor. It even took her a second to find her voice. Of all the options she'd expected, that had not been one of them.
"The… what?"
"Oh…" Mandalore set down the piece he was working on and took a step away from the bench, studying her through his helm. "You, ah, didn't know about the amnesia, then?"
"What, I — of course I didn't! What the hell happened? How did she get amnesia?!"
He leaned on the workbench, still facing her. "Your Council."
Trista stared at him. She couldn't describe the whirling morass of everything that had settled over her — from the anger warming her face to the disgust settling in her gut, to the pain freezing her limbs.
Horror, perhaps.
"Th-the Council?"
"I'm not the best person to ask. You'd want to talk to Shan about it, given she was involved from the start. Onasi too, if you can get him to stop moping after asking him."
"Just tell me what you know, Mandalore."
He shrugged, the action rather irreverant given the subject matter. "The way I was told, Shan dragged Revan back to the Jedi on the brink of death after Malak shot her. Figuring they wouldn't look a gift drexl in the mouth, they used that bond Shan had to figure out why the Sith were kicking their asses. So they gave her a whole new set of memories and sent them out together.
"When that Hammerhead exploded over Taris, she hit her head a couple times and lost whatever the Jedi shoved in there. That's according to her and Onasi, at least. That's when I met her."
"So when you met her—"
"She didn't know, no. Neither did I. They were hush-hush about it."
There was no way. The Council sucked, sure, but to go that far? They couldn't have. That…
That would be perfectly in line with Zez-Kai Ell's thoughts.
It was something so mind-bendingly un-Jedi-like that it hadn't even occurred to her. Gaslighting, brainwashing, blackmailing, hell, even some type of control chip. All that seemed like something the Jedi could (or did) stoop to for 'The Greater Good.' But erasing someone's mind to that degree? Let alone Revan, who had been one of the greatest minds of their generation?
Force, she could even smell Kavar all over this. Unconventional strategy was his forte, after all, and this fit that perfectly. She hoped desperately that she was wrong and jammed her palms into her eyes with a groan.
"Yeah, I can't be much more help on that. Like I said, Shan would be the one to talk to. The rest of us got thrown into the deep end when Revan did."
"Wait." Trista dragged her hand down her face. "They didn't — when did they tell her?"
"They didn't."
She stared at him in horror as the only real alternative hit her. "No."
"Yep."
"Malak told her?"
"In the middle of the Sith flagship, too."
Trista groaned. "I suddenly need to beat my head against something."
"I get that."
"So, wait." She waved her hand, struggling to hold on to any semblance of this making sense. "The admiral."
"Which one?"
"Onasi."
Mandalore shrugged and returned to the workbench. "Right, he got promoted, didn't he?"
"When did he find out?"
"The same time she did." Mandalore paused. "I think he said Karath told him."
"The Republic admiral?"
"He changed sides early on, back when Telos got bombed."
Trista dug her palms into her eyes again.
"Onasi had a bit of a vendetta against him. I guess he figured out the two of 'em had a thing and ruined it. He didn't take it well, but Shan was gone by then—"
"Where—"
"Oh, Malak had her, so we only got the half-explanation those two could give us."
"And you and the Mandalorians really don't—"
"I told you, only a few of us carry a grudge. Revan kicked our ass. Getting to fight alongside her — even if she had mild brain damage — was an honor."
She groaned again, resting her forehead on her palm.
"Apart from the mild brain damage… well, what did it do? The amnesia?"
"I don't know what she was like—"
"Tell me what she was like then."
"The smartest person on this ship. I'm still surprised she didn't guess it herself. Couldn't be assed with rules, wicked sense of humor, high-strung. The type of charisma you'd expect."
"So… not much different from before."
Mandalore shrugged. "Like I said, I wouldn't know. You remind me of her, though — which makes sense, all things considered."
Trista bristled. "I'm nothing like her."
The way his helmet tilted left nothing about his expression to the imagination. "I could tell after spending ten minutes with you in Iziz that you were related. Sure, you're more responsible, and you pick who you're going to mouth off to, but you're not that different." He paused. "She's your younger sister?"
"Regrettably."
"I could tell."
"Is the amnesia thing well known? I mean, I thought someone would have told me by now…"
"I don't think so. Someone leaked she was Revan, but I don't think they mentioned that. You'd have to look. It may just be the old crew and whatever's left of the Jedi who know." He paused, looking up. "Some people in the Republic — your intelligence services, maybe. Some people in the Exchange."
"Okay. Well… yeah. I need to go make sense of this."
"Suit yourself."
Trista stepped out of the garage and immediately went blank.
This wasn't her first time, though the episodes had decreased since Malachor. If she was a droid, she would have called it a shutdown. A power loss. Since she wasn't, though, it was simply nothing.
Unconsciously, she started moving, her feet pacing a familiar path to the front of the Hawk. Atton glanced back as she entered.
"Hey, Tris." When she didn't answer, he looked back again. "Tris?"
Something in either the blankness of her expression or her posture made him move and grab her arms.
"Tris, you okay? What happened?"
She shook her head, somehow, and Atton pulled her in and closed the door behind her.
"All right, just come on in." He guided her over to the pilot's chair and settled back down, pulling her onto his lap. "Stay here until you get your brain turned back on, okay?"
She never had a great sense of time in these episodes, but it'd been at least a couple of hours before she regained limited control over her movements. Trista shifted, aware of the burning pain in her neck, and felt Atton stir from the nap he'd fallen into an hour earlier.
"Hey. You okay?"
Trista drew a deep breath, resting her head back against his shoulder.
"Sorry," she whispered.
"Nah, don't be. What happened? Need someone taken out? If it's the Mandalorian or the Murderbot that could be tough, but I'll see what I can do."
Despite the painful dourness of her mood, she almost laughed. "No, no, nothing like that. No one's…"
Well, it was the fault of some notable people, but no one on this ship. No one reachable.
"I, um, I talked to Mandalore. About Revan."
"That good, huh?"
She raised her head. "Can I ask you something?"
"Can't guarantee I know the answer, but sure."
"Did anyone figure out why Revan went back to the Jedi?"
Atton shrugged. "Not really. There're a few theories. I only kept up to make sure I avoided runnin' into her."
"Can you think of any?"
"Hate to say it, but Blondie's gonna be more useful here."
She frowned. "Except I'm here right now."
"All right, stars. Uh…" He stared into hyperspace, rubbing her arm. "One said she just reconsidered, which I doubt. The rest were all pretty standard — some sort of mind control, or control chip, or some Force bullshit. A lot of that gets pretty fanciful, so I ignored those. They went over the mind shit in training. Figured that, if I didn't hear it could be done, it was just a bunch of speculation."
Trista stared out the Hawk's viewports.
"Mandalore said that she had amnesia," she said.
"Yeah, that tracks."
"That's not it. The Council did it."
The hand on her arm stopped.
"The — wait, the Jedi Council did it?" Trista nodded. After a brief pause, his thumb started idly circling on her arm again. "I know you're gonna hate to hear it, but that also tracks."
Trista was quiet for a while before agreeing. "It does."
The thumb stopped again. "I wasn't expecting you to agree with me."
"But you're right. What made them go this far? It goes against everything in the Code. Of course they would hold us to a standard they couldn't meet, we all always knew that. But to get rid of someone's identity, especially to that extent?"
Atton was quiet for a few moments. "Are you going to be okay?"
"There's a part of me that just wants to stop looking. Why bother? Who cares if the Order gets rebuilt? But…" She sighed, resting her head back on his shoulder. "Then, well, something that doesn't teach a Force Sensitive how to not go power-crazy with it should exist. And if I do it, I can lay a foundation to keep it on the rails."
"Better you than them."
"Atton, I just…" Trista motioned, her frustration leaking into her voice. "I spent so long hating her for what she did. But whatever she did… she didn't deserve that."
They sat in silence for a while, Atton still stroking a circle on her arm as he stared out into hyperspace. Trista closed her eyes, trying not to think. Trying to do anything but think.
"Well," Atton said, interrupting her valiant attempts to not think. "I can always turn us around. We can give up the whole Master business and do… I don't know, something else. Take a vacation or something."
She forced a smile. "I appreciate it."
"I take it that's a no."
"Yeah, I still think we need to do this. The Sith won't stop looking for me, so we may as well keep going."
"It was worth a shot." Atton rested his head on hers. "Stay up here tonight?"
Trista raised her head, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why?"
"I'm not allowed to worry about you? You just checked out for almost four hours, Tris. Don't worry, Republic Standard rules again. Clothes stay on."
Almost despite herself, she laughed. "Okay, fine. You have a point."
"Especially since we'll be on Korriban within the next day."
"Yeah…" Trista looked out the window again, back into hyperspace. "I'm not looking forward to it."
"Well, don't think about it then." Trista stood, and Atton followed. "Now, the sleeping situation up here is a bit janky."
"I've been sleeping in the engine room."
"Point taken." Atton pulled on the jump seats behind the cockpit, flattening them out into something resembling a bed. "A nice thing about these spice freighters is that pilots like sleeping up here. So we just tug this down, hijack the headrests." He grabbed a blanket and threw it over the seats. "And there we go."
"You weren't kidding."
"I've seen where you sleep."
Trista did one last pass of the ship and returned to the cockpit, happy that her hands had stopped shaking. Atton hadn't returned either, so she settled down on the bench seat/cot with a sigh and stared out at the haunting and strangely soothing passage of hyperspace.
"It's surprisingly calming," she said, already feeling herself drifting. Atton closed the cockpit door behind him.
"Isn't it? Not bad to sleep to, either."
