Hyperspace: I
Neann Dallash:
"Ten points!" one of the soldiers crowed, his shiv-blade vibrating as it dug into a massive holo-poster pasted on the far wall. The tip of the shiv wedged into the torso of a smiling robed figure. "I got that bastard dead centre!"
I smirked, leaning back against a bulkhead as I surveyed the off-duty common room. A dozen or so Republic soldiers milled about, non-alcoholic beverages in hand, as they enjoyed a few hours respite before their next shift onboard the Hammerhead-class cruiser, the Endar Spire. Some hapless twit had tacked up an unauthorised poster of the Jedi Thirteen – the Jedi crusaders who'd been our heroes against the Mandalorians, back when our enemy was a horde of barbarians in beskar.
Back when we could still trust the Jedi.
"You wanna play, Neann?" the Rodian lounging next to me asked in passable Basic, one antenna twitching.
His name's Tal Jonson, my mind supplied. Ensign, two years' service, ground trooper. Recruited after his homeworld was bombed and his family killed. No black marks on his record.
In my line of work, it paid to remember the details.
"I'm happy to watch," I replied, taking a sip of the fruity fizz-pop the Endar Spire supplied in lieu of alcohol. "I'm still trying to work out the point-scoring system."
The soldier next to the holo-poster retrieved his shiv, handing it hilt-first to his neighbour. Frankly, I was surprised to see any of those bootleg posters still around. The Jedi Order had been pretty adamant in their decreed blackout of what they referred to as 'illegal glorification of renegades not condoned by or associated with the Jedi Order in any way.'
Ah, but the Republic worlds had loved their renegade Jedi heroes, once. Without them, we'd likely all be speaking Mandalorian.
Without them, we wouldn't now be fighting a losing war against Darth Malak.
"It's not difficult," Tal burbled, large black eyes blinking at me. "Ten points for any torso hit, twenty for a head-shot. Double if it's one still alive, triple if it's Malak himself."
My gaze skimmed over the grandiose poster. Not like there's many of them left alive, thank the stars. Each figure stood tall and proud, most clad in the beige robes of the Order they'd spurned when they joined the Fleet.
"I'm gonna win this round," a nearby soldier boasted, shooting us a jaunty wink as he took a step closer. A second man followed more slowly in his wake. "Hey, Neann. Is Tal roping you in for a game?"
I eyed over the newcomers, a perfunctory smile pasted on my face as the first one slumped inelegantly against the durasteel wall. Dakkos Bal'lal, my mind whispered. Ensign, three years' service, snubfighter co-pilot. Comes from a military family in the Core, and has a propensity to indulge in gree-spice when on leave. Easier to ingratiate myself with the grunts, when I already had some inkling of their background.
"Yeah," I offered. "Seems like harmless enough fun."
The other Human in his shadow gave us a brief smile, tipping his head in silent greeting. Trask Ulgo. Ensign, seven years' service, ground trooper. Classified records, but the crypt-keys hide nothing of note other than a commendation for bravery. Odd he's still languishing as an ensign. Also, of note: Ulgo is one of the select signed onto the Jedi detail.
Someone groaned, loudly, and my attention was drawn back to the far wall. A spattering of sniggers resounded through the room, and my gaze narrowed on the shiv-blade. It had caught on the shoulder of a holo-painted woman near the centre of the poster.
"Oh, that's right," Tal added, nudging me conspiratorially. "Minus ten if you get one who died against the Mandos. They never turned into traitorous bastards, eh?"
"Meetra Surik," I murmured, staring at the image of the blonde Human. She wore a beatific smile, having been stylized with an almost ethereal golden hue around her proud figure. I let my lips curve with fond nostalgia that wasn't feigned. "I used to have a crush on her, back during the Mando Wars."
There was a stifled grunt from the quiet Trask – I couldn't tell if it was from surprise or agreement – while Dakkos snorted in dismissal. "Nah, Nisotsa was the hottest of the Thirteen. Meetra didn't have anything on her."
Ah, but you never saw them in the flesh. I'd met Meetra Surik, once. Holo-stills didn't encapsulate the gentle grace and calm confidence the older woman had exuded.
"Never seen the appeal in Human flesh myself," Tal muttered. "So big and beefy. I mean-" He cut himself short, shooting Dakkos an embarrassed glance as he rubbed a hand through the bristling hairs on his green scalp. "Er, no offense Dak-"
Dakkos sniggered over his words good-naturedly. "The day I see a Rodian and a Human together is the day I dig my own eyeballs out with a spork." His gaze slid to mine. "Zabraks and Humans are almost as weird, Neann."
I shrugged. A half-breed myself, I didn't see the point in quibbling over the delineation of species. Having held down a career as a silent operative most of my working life, I'd never had the inclination or opportunity for any relationship beyond the most primitive. Far as I was concerned, as long as all parties were willing, it was nobody's business but theirs.
"Dakkos!" someone called. "You're up!"
"Watch this," Dakkos bragged. "I'm gonna get that chivhole Malak dead-centre." He shot us all an easy grin, before swaggering back towards the centre of the room.
"He's never won yet," Tal muttered in an aside. "Good thing he's not a gunner, with his crap aim. Mark my words, he'll flub his throw somehow."
"I'm gonna take down Darth Malak!" Dakkos yelled, before wrenching his arm back to throw the shiv-blade. I watched the arc of the weapon with a half-smile, tracing its trajectory towards the centre of the poster.
The shiv quivered as it missed Malak by mere inches. Instead, its point dug deep into the faceless mask of the central figure.
A loud cheer resounded throughout the room.
"And right into the brain," Trask muttered. I glanced sideways, to see an odd grimace twisting his broad face. He was staring fixedly at the poster, eyes narrowed.
Tal, on the other hand, was cackling gleefully. "Forgot to mention what happens when you land on Revan. Get that piece of betraying scum, and you owe everyone in the room a beer. Well, a fizz-pop, but we can pretend, right?"
Revan Freeflight. Darth Revan. Revan Freeflight had directed the Republic forces as Supreme Commander, against the Mandalorians. Darth Revan had started the current war by leading the vanguard against the Republic. Now Revan was dead, and Malak was the evil bastard out there burning our worlds in the name of the misbegotten Sith.
"Hah! That makes it your round, Dakkos!" someone gloated. "Pay up!"
My eyes narrowed on the flamboyant poster as Dakkos pulled out his shiv with a rueful shrug. The artist had taken definite liberties. Every figure, no matter the species or gender, stared righteously into the room. In the middle of the fallen heroes stood the now-defaced form of Revan, a spectre of mystery the other rogue Jedi cloistered around. Cloaked and masked, Revan was brandishing a single lightsaber that flared golden above all their heads. Not accurate, for I knew the dead Sith Lord had always used two.
Still, the sweeping brushstrokes of holo-paint represented how the galaxy had once seen the Jedi Thirteen. They really had been larger-than-life heroes: saviours of the Republic, defenders of the innocent, guardians of the peace. Revan's Guard of Twelve, the Fleet used to call them, honouring Revan above all.
If only they'd all died at Malachor V.
The hatch behind me opened with a pneumatic hiss.
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me-" a voice grumbled. I turned, to see an exasperated expression on the face of Captain Carth Onasi, Republic leader of the Endar Spire.
He was staring hard at the offending holo-poster. A muscle twitched in his jaw.
Ah, crap. Can't think he's going to approve of this type of off-duty entertainment.
The hum of genial conversation slowly stuttered into silence. A Bothan standing next to Dakkos gave him a rough nudge, before jerking his head in the direction of the hatch. Dakkos turned, his swarthy Human face twisting in sudden embarrassment.
"Get that poster down," Onasi ordered, striding into the room. "Have you lot forgotten who's in command of this ship?"
"Er-" Dakkos muttered, his gaze sliding away from the irate captain. The sheepish silence of a dozen grunts mulling over their actions hung thick in the air.
The Endar Spire was a Republic cruiser, but Captain Onasi didn't hold true command. One of the reasons I was here was to find out exactly why the Jedi Order had appropriated jurisdiction of this starship. And exactly what manner of ruins they planned investigating once we reached the desert world of Tatooine.
Mystics and their damn secrets. The Jedi Order were heavily embroiled in our war against Darth Malak's Sith Empire. Flipside of the previous war, when the Order had refused any sort of direct involvement, leaving it up to Revan and the rest of the Jedi Thirteen to aid the Republic against the Mandalorian threat.
The brass hadn't forgotten. Revan Freeflight's name might be black as tar-mud now, but once Revan had been the first to join us, to lead us, to throw the mighty power of the Force behind the Republic front.
Once, the Jedi Thirteen had been heroes.
"If one of the Jedi onboard walk in here and see that blasted poster, your ears will be ringing into next week." Captain Onasi folded his arms as he levelled a stern expression at Dakkos, who was artlessly trying to conceal the shiv-blade behind his back.
"Sorry, sir," Dakkos muttered, free hand reaching up to pull at the holo-poster. It crackled as he unceremoniously ripped a large segment of it clear from the wall.
I couldn't deny a flare of inner satisfaction as I saw Malak's holo-form torn haphazardly in half.
"Easy, soldier," Captain Onasi grumbled, his voice calming as his gaze roamed the room. "I won't begrudge you downtime. Just be mindful that we report to the Jedi. Revan's Guard used to be their people. No one likes a reminder of traitors, even in harmless fun."
There was a general murmur of agreement around the room. Captain Onasi was seen as a fair sort around the Endar Spire, sharp under pressure and well-liked by most. This was an odd posting for the likes of him, but I hadn't heard any of the grunts remark on it. No doubt they're too busy wondering why the Jedi are calling the shots to think on his recent transfer.
The man himself turned to face me, brown eyes shadowed with the heaviness of war.
"Lieutenant? I'd like a word."
I nodded in compliance, and slipped out of the room behind him.
xXx
Carth Onasi:
Lieutenant Neann Dallash stood at ease, an expression of mild deference pasted on his lightly ridged face. Dallash was my senior navi-pilot; a man both competent and experienced. He was the type of officer sharp enough to do his job, benign enough to stay out of trouble, and genial enough that every soldier underneath him agreed he was a good sort.
If only he didn't turn into a love-struck imbecile in front of Jedi Bastila Shan-
I reached over my private desk to disable the room's surveillance. Holding back a sigh, I suddenly felt every parsec of my thirty-eight Core-standard years.
"We're exiting hyperspace in four hours, Lieutenant," I said, getting straight to the point. "It's time you knew our intermediary destination."
This blasted mission had been a covert one from the start. The squad of robes onboard let slip nothing I hadn't already been briefed on, but it was their jittery behaviour that put me on edge. Sure, Jedi were well-known for being cryptic and mysterious, but this lot had ramped it up a notch, with the way they kept jumping at shadows and snapping at anyone who dared linger in their proximity.
"Sir," Lieutenant Dallash acknowledged in a neutral tone.
Dallash wasn't the sort to dig for reasons why I'd kept our docking point classified; I was glad of that, at least. The Jedi had put so much emphasis on secrecy that I was starting to doubt everyone. "We're docking at Mavis III."
"Mavis III," the half-Zabrak echoed, brow ridges lowering in thought. I wondered how long it would take him- "Taris," he breathed. "That's- that's a tad on the risky side?"
Yeah. Yeah, it was.
"Not my call," I bit out, trying to edge my tone into impartiality. Mavis III was a neutral docking station run by the Exchange, but its proximity to Taris hardly made me leap for joy. Still, orders were orders, and we simply had to make the best of them. "Mavis III is the most direct route to Tatooine. Yes, Taris is Sith-controlled, but more in name than any meaningful force, these days. Our signature's forged, we should be in and out of the sector before any alarm is raised. The Exchange might sell our docking info later, but we'll be long gone by then."
Lieutenant Dallash hummed, his dark gaze clouding in thought.
The Endar Spire was flagged as a support and supply cruiser; even should the Sith learn our identity and location, the 'Spire wouldn't be seen as a particularly tantalizing prize. Not unless they found out who was really onboard.
The Jedi may have concealed their presence for the first few days of hypertravel, but hiding a famous war figure like Jedi Padawan Bastila Shan was always going to be a losing game against time.
Near-on three hundred souls onboard with a fistful of Jedi. Who thought this was a good idea again?
The Jedi. The blasted Jedi. Couldn't they actually disclose their objectives and work with us in good faith for once?
Admiral Dodonna believed whatever they were up to might be instrumental in the war we were slowly losing. I doubted the greying Admiral had little more to go on than the faith of the Jedi Masters – and sure, the Jedi often had a trick or two up their robed sleeves, but they also had a tendency to get blindsided by the more practical and visceral elements of war.
Or, fall, and turn into murdering Sith bastards.
"Who else knows our refuelling point, sir?"
"The Jedi. Myself. Now, you." I sighed. "Report to the bridge in two hours, Lieutenant. I need the sharpest dock and refuel you can manage. Frankly, I won't be resting easy until we're enroute to Tatooine."
"Yes, sir." Lieutenant Dallash snapped out a tight salute. "Is that all, sir?"
I felt my mouth twitch. Neann Dallash was a likeable sort, but he'd rather embarrassed himself last time the Jedi had infiltrated the main bridge. "Don't talk to the Jedi, Lieutenant. Commander Shan already believes you're a blundering idiot. I'd rather not be forced to list your credentials again."
"Sir." Dallash bowed his head in overt contrition, his chagrin stark enough that I regretted my words. But he'd made a right fool of himself over the uptight young Jedi, clumsily stumbling into her and stuttering like an awed greenhorn. Out of character, for an experienced officer like him. Ah, well. I've seen enough soldiers turn into halfwits over a pretty face. I expect Dallash will keep his head down, now.
"Wait a minute." The lieutenant shot me a sharp look, all traces of discomfort gone. "Sir. Did you just say commander?"
"I did." I felt my mouth tighten, and leaned over to toss a datapad across the table. "Read this."
Dallash's frowning countenance focused on the utilitarian datapad. I gave him a minute to digest the official command order – the order that'd been signed off by the Jedi Master leading the six-man squad of robes on board.
"Sir." Dallash's head lifted, fixing me with an intent look. "This is dated four days ago."
"Yes." The word was almost a growl. I'd been giving the Jedi a chance to redact the damn order, but, just like with everything else, they were intractable.
The Jedi here consisted of one master, a quartet of seasoned knights, and a lone padawan who was as gifted as she was inexperienced and socially awkward. And now, inexplicably, she was also in possession of full commanding privileges over a cruiser from the Republic Navy.
Again, I fought hard against showing my distaste of the whole mission. Too many things just weren't adding up. Even Commander Shan had looked like she'd swallowed a sour-plum when that master informed me of the change in manifest command.
Dallash placed the datapad back on the hardened plasticeel table-top. "Is she going to be snapping out orders on the bridge, sir?"
"From what I've been told, Lieutenant, Jedi Master Galdea will retain command in actuality." Which made the directive nonsensical – it had the feeling of a technicality, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out why. Maybe it's a sop to Shan's famous battle meditation. But, then, why had the Jedi Order sent Bastila Shan out on a clandestine operation, when her talents would be far better put to use on the frontlines?
I had no idea, and the Jedi certainly weren't enlightening me. Admiral Dodonna was going to be highly unimpressed at my next grilling, and for the umpteenth time I wished she hadn't pulled me out of a snubfighter to place me here.
"That will be all, Lieutenant." I gave the man a perfunctory nod. "I'll see you on the bridge in two hours."
Lieutenant Dallash cracked out another efficient salute, before turning on his heel and departing silently.
xXx
Neann Dallash:
Two hours to do some much-needed digging.
I stepped out of my private quarters; mind clear, an automatic smile on my face, and one hand slipping a modified datapad into a pocket.
Stars, but I wished Onasi had briefed me earlier. It'd been an irritation, not knowing our refuelling point until now, but I'd held back from running my own routines in the 'Spire's navi-system. My portfolio didn't require those details, and I'd been ordered to follow Onasi's lead.
The inane command order from the Jedi, however- that would have been useful to learn four days ago. If only Onasi knew we reported to the same person, then he might've been more forthcoming.
"As far as everyone onboard is concerned, you are simply the Endar Spire's senior navi-pilot." Admiral Forn Dodonna's expression had been stern, the last time we'd spoken in person. "Captain Onasi is a good man, and a good front. The Jedi will see him exactly as what he believes he is: my agent to find out what they are up to."
Captain Onasi was a good man. I'd read his dossier numerous times before boarding the 'Spire, and already had his personality pegged. Commended for valour during the Mandalorian Wars, he was a staunch Republic loyalist with a strong moral code and a streak of honesty that would hinder him climbing much further up the officer ranks.
Onasi had adapted well to his assumed role of advising the 'Spire's navi-pilots and leading the troops onboard, while failing spectacularly at drawing any information from the closed-mouthed Jedi. He'd be highly pissed if he knew the truth: he was no more than a feint, a distraction for the Jedi to dodge, while I did the discreet digging.
Which I have little time to do before we spit out next to Mavis III.
I glanced down at the chronometer on my wrist, a shiny alusteel replica of a famous Coruscanti brand. The latest model from Republic Intelligence, it housed a hidden processor that could interface with my ocular implants, and send intel directly to my retina.
With a tap on the pretend chron, a set of tracking coordinates flared briefly in my vision.
::Starboard training sector, blue corridor, floor 4E.::
I began walking.
It was my batch-routine in the 'Spire's surveillance system throwing Shan's last known public location to me. No audio, though. With the lack of holo-cams in the Jedi quarters, and the fact that my discretely placed comm-tracker had shorted out with Shan's last sonic ablution, I was blinder than I was comfortable with.
Hadn't harvested much before the comm-tracker bit the dust, either. Padawan Shan recited the Jedi Code a pinch too obsessively, Knight Seris had a disturbing interest in parasitic diseases, and Master Galdea's pep talks were about as riveting as a holo-doc on bantha farming.
Still, there'd been two words of note. Two words I'd caught in an uttered aside from Shan, before Galdea had shushed her. Star Map. It sounded like a kid's astrological project, but it was Galdea's immediate censure that piqued my interest.
It'd be going into my next wire to Dodonna – and I had to hope the lead made up for Shan now viewing me as a stumbling oaf enraptured by her presence. Her vexation at my clumsiness served its purpose, though: Shan had been too busy sticking her nose in the air to notice the bug I'd slipped into her ornamental hair-braids.
I couldn't chance playing the same trick twice, and especially not around that chubby master. Dry and dusty Galdea might be, but I hadn't missed the sharp glance he'd thrown my way the last time we met. If I could just catch Shan alone-
My thoughts flat-lined into nothing as a pair of brown-clad Jedi slowly cleared the corner ahead and strolled in my direction. Two women; both young, attractive and wearing identical expressions of serenity. The one leading the pair looked up at my approach, red lips pursing in recognition.
Jedi Knight Kylah Aramai. The name rose in my mind, but I kept it small. Always paid to keep the thoughts hidden, around Force-users. Human, suspected mix of Mirialan ancestry given the yellowing skin and tawny eyes. Well-known spokesperson and confidant of Bastila Shan.
My eyes slid to her companion: the battle meditation champion herself.
I ducked my head, stumbling to a stop within arms-reach.
"Master Jedi," I squeaked. "Er, it is good to see you." I let my gaze rise to Shan's, before dropping it deliberately back to the grilled flooring. "Can I- can I help you in any way?"
"I am a knight, soldier," Kylah Aramai drawled. Her tone lilted with amusement. "And I am certain you must be aware that Bastila is a padawan."
"Lieutenant," Bastila Shan acknowledged. Her enunciation was crisp, cold and stiff. "We do not require any assistance."
"I, ah, I was looking for you," I admitted, running one hand briefly over my fore-horns, while the other fingered the datapad in my pocket. "Captain Onasi has informed me of your change in rank. I have a set of operating protocols for you to peruse – at your leisure, of course."
The ice on Shan's face hardened further as I pulled out the standard-issue datapad, now loaded with all manner of Republic Navy procedures and policies. Let her take the implication this was Onasi's doing – if he called me on it, I would merely bluff it out as the initiative of the hopelessly enamoured.
"This is hardly necessary, Lieutenant." The frost in her voice could've frozen a Zeltron in heat.
"Er, sorry, it's just that it's standard operating procedure, Master Jedi- or, or should I call you ma'am, now?"
"No!" she snapped, before her eyes closed briefly in defeat. A thin hand rose to snatch the proffered datapad. "Fine," she managed in a carefully modulated voice. I had the distinct feeling she was biting back curses. "I shall review it when I have time. Thank you."
Somehow, I doubted Shan would get past the first twenty pages of dry discourse, but so long as the datapad made its way to the Jedi quarters I'd have one more set of ears to scan. The bug nestled in the 'pad's processor emitted on a low frequency that wouldn't be picked up by any orthodox scanner.
"I, er, understand we'll be briefed on the main bridge shortly," I continued, allowing a hopeful smile to emerge. "I can offer you an escort?"
A caustic snigger from Aramai rang down the corridor, one sec before Shan's porcelain skin flushed an embarrassed red. "I do not require anything from you, Lieutenant," she bit out, lips thinning. "In future, I would prefer it if you kept your distance and focused on your job."
"Yes, yes, of course," I mumbled, rubbing a hand over my face. "I- ah, I am sorry to have taken your time, Master Jedi."
Aramai snorted. "Come, Bastila. Let us move on before you completely short-circuit this one's brain."
I bowed my head in fake contrition as the Jedi departed. But, rather than following the amber sidings that eventually led to the command deck, I saw them turn sharply into a side corridor. That leads to the crew quarters. I allowed a frown to form after the Jedi had disappeared from sight. It was an interesting destination, this close to a hyperspace exit.
Might be worth following up – although this time I'd wait until Shan had left the area. Somehow, I didn't think she'd appreciate yet another encounter with me.
xXx
Bastila Shan:
"It is hardly amusing, Kylah." My shoulders stiffened uncomfortably. Certainly, I had been acquainted with my fair share of Republic soldiers during my tenure, but most stayed a respectable distance away.
There was a barely repressed giggle from my oldest friend. Peace, but sometimes she behaved like five years my junior, rather than the opposite.
"That poor half-breed is completely smitten. I'm starting to think he's stalking you around the Endar Spire."
"Perish the thought," I muttered, earning another giggle from my erstwhile friend. At least the behaviour of that incompetent lieutenant halted any further tirades from Kylah. Master Vrook always admonished me to search for the silver linings, so to speak, and Kylah's terse enquiries into the true nature of our mission were becoming both tedious and awkward to deflect.
"He's right about one thing, though," Kylah continued, and already I felt myself tensing in apprehension. "You should be heading to the bridge. Honestly, you don't need to micromanage our support staff. Leave the underlings to Galdea."
"Master Galdea," I murmured. Avoiding Kylah's no-doubt exasperated eye-roll, I focused on placing one leaden foot ahead of the other. I had a duty, an obligation, a shackle on my soul that I dearly desired to share with my oldest friend- but I could not. "Are you certain you do not wish to accompany me on the bridge?"
Kylah snorted. It was odd, but her character had certainly devolved into something more irreverent of late. We are all tense, I scolded myself. No doubt Kylah would espouse that I am more uptight than usual.
"I'm sure Galdea will look after you adequately, Bastila." Her tone edged into frostiness. "That is, unless you plan to take charge."
My lips pursed. It had not escaped me that Kylah felt belittled, perhaps even thwarted, by the token rank of commander bestowed upon me. After all, she was the knight, the Jedi who had shielded me from the holo-press when Master Vrook could not, the friend who had always kept a watchful eye over me-
Kylah is a true Jedi, and will know to accept even what she cannot understand.
For the first time, I felt something akin to relief as I closed in on my destination. At least the upcoming conversation would distract Kylah from her ill-feeling.
I knocked firmly upon the entry hatch to one of the standard crew bedding quarters. A utilitarian, durasteel door that was commonplace throughout the starcruiser, and yet this one always seemed so ominous.
The hatch opened, and a hesitant, plainly clothed woman blinked in the entrance.
"Jedi Shan," she murmured in greeting, before devolving into a poorly executed bow that was as unnecessary as it was patently ridiculous. "What- what can I do for you?"
I bestowed her with what I hoped was a benevolent smile. "I have come to remind you that we exit hyperspace in little more than three hours, Jen. I know you are ill-used to hypertravel; as long as you remain safely secured during the transition you shall be fine."
Jen Sahara's bright green gaze darted to Kylah. "I- I'm sure I'll be okay. Thank you."
She looked so young, freshly scrubbed and ill-at-ease as she hid behind a short mop of dark brown curls. Sometimes, I found it hard to remind myself that Jen Sahara had a couple of years even on Kylah, that she was-
I reined my dangerous thoughts back in with habitual precision, and kept my attention firmly fixed upon her. "You have everything you need?" I asked, searching around for a conversation starter that would not discomfit the shy scholar.
She glanced back to me, holding my gaze for only the briefest of moments. "Yes, Jedi Shan," she answered quietly. "Everyone has – has been kind."
"I notice you have downloaded many archaeological journals in the last few days," I continued doggedly. Force, but she was difficult to befriend. Even like this. "If you have need for more information, do not hesitate to ask me."
She nodded, her expression downcast and demure. She sees me as someone she can trust. Jen Sahara has never left her homeworld before. I must remember that, and be the soul of empathy. With a step forward, I rested my hand gently upon her shoulder.
"Do not be afraid to talk to me, Jen Sahara. I promise I will not bite."
Kylah, in my shadow, did a poor job of stifling her snort of disparagement. I saw the answering burn of embarrassment on the scholar's wan face, but her glance back to me was grateful.
"Thank you, Jedi Shan. I shall."
I allowed the forced smile on my face to grow, and counted our interaction as a minor victory. Next time I seek Jen Sahara out, I shall ensure Kylah is not with me.
With a nod of farewell, I retreated from the room, motioning Kylah to follow.
"Honestly, Bastila, she is just a simple scholar," Kylah drawled in a quiet murmur. "Why you feel the urge to check up on such a quiet little mouse, I do not know."
The hiss of the hatch closing behind me was audible, and incriminating. I pinned Kylah with a stern frown, even as I doubted it would have any effect on my somewhat cavalier friend. "Kylah, she likely heard that," I admonished. "Jen Sahara is one of our crew, and we have an-"
"-obligation, I know," she huffed. "I am little concerned with the opinions of Force-blind academics, Bastila, and this constant hovering of yours distracts you from your studies." She loosed a pent-up sigh, before patting me on the shoulder. I was not sure if the gesture was meant to be apologetic or commiserating. "Perhaps hypertravel is wearing me down somewhat. I shall retreat to our meditation chamber – you'd better head to Master Galdea and the bridge. You'll want to be there early, if you're going to lead the hyperspace descent."
"I am not," I replied, somewhat tartly. I had certainly taken note of the disbelief in Captain Onasi's countenance when he perused the official command missive, and had no desire to tread on the toes of either the experienced Fleet officer or Master Galdea. "But I shall seek Master Galdea out, now. Have a restful meditation, my friend. May the Force embrace you."
Sometimes, even in conversation with Kylah, I still had the impression that my words came across as pious instead of supporting. Sometimes, I dearly wished for my earlier days on Dantooine, before- before everything.
"The Force is with us all, Bastila," Kylah murmured, her face breaking into a warm smile of camaraderie. "I'll catch up with you during the refuelling."
xXx
Neann Dallash:
::Crew quarters Red-7A. Designated occupants: Republic Ensign Trask Ulgo and civilian Jen Sahara.::
Maybe Shan's brief detour wasn't that odd, considering Ulgo and Sahara were both part of the Jedi support staff. While Ensign Ulgo had sworn his oaths to the Republic Navy, he'd been inserted as one of the soldiers who reported directly to Shan and that Jedi Master, Galdea.
Frustratingly, I hadn't found anything of use on the dozen soldiers attached to the Jedi. All were experienced, loyal Republic grunts with impeccable service records. They'd undertaken a stint of active duty on Dantooine, before swearing into Jedi service for the duration of the mission.
The civilian academic, also, seemed to hold no mystery other than a tragic past. Her dossier was brief: a childhood in some religious Outer Rim commune followed by years of archaeological study at a backwater academia. A refugee from the Sith bombing of Deralia, and stars knew that mess had been almost as ugly as the decimation of Telos, even if the holo-press had barely picked it up.
The only point of interest I could garner about the bint was her expertise in the Massassi era. Surely, that was a tip-off regarding the nature of the ruins on Tatooine – why else would the Jedi drag a wide-eyed civvie along on a covert mission?
Ah, well. It was another jot of intel to pass along to Dodonna. Might as well see if I can glean anything else from the recalcitrant scholar, while I'm here.
I knocked firmly on the entrance hatch. It was almost a full minute until she answered.
"Hi there," I said, keeping my voice non-assuming and friendly. "My name's Neann. I hear you're a civvie stuck onboard with all us troopers?"
The woman called Jen Sahara blinked at me owlishly, before biting her lip. It was an insecure expression echoed in the hunched set of her shoulders, more at home on a pimply teen than a twenty-something scholar.
"Um, hi. I'm Jen. Do you need something?" Her voice was hesitant, and her gaze dropped from mine. It gave me time to appraise the woman properly. She was tall, but not unusually so. Her skin was pale and wan, with the dusky look of too much time spent indoors. Give her a season or two in true sunlight, and I'd wager Jen Sahara would bear a natural olive tone. Cropped dark curls framed a face that looked older than her service records – which was an incongruous observation when contrasted with her behaviour.
"I understand you know something of the Massassi era?" I asked, immediately ditching my first instinct to ask the woman out for a drink. Somehow, I didn't think the overly timid Jen Sahara would reciprocate well to a friendly gesture from a stranger.
"Er, a little bit. I mean- yes, yes I do. It's my area of study." The woman looked up again, and a genuine spark of interest deepened the moss-green of her eyes. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I've always been interested in pre-Republic times," I lied. "The Massassi – fascinating creatures. Connected to the Sith, weren't they?"
"Well, there's records suggesting they were a sub-species of the Sith." Her nose wrinkled in thought. "It's all a bit muddied in fragments of records, though, because the Sith are seen as a religion or doctrine, not an actual species. We know the Massassi built temples and effigies on Yavin IV and Korriban, but those planets are notoriously difficult to fund expeditions to."
"That's... very interesting," I said faintly. Far as I was concerned, the Sith were a bunch of murdering bastards, same as the Mandalorians – both consisting of a vast cross-section of species all united under the same banner of inhumane bloodlust. The only difference being the former filled their upper ranks with Dark Jedi. Frankly, the idea of a Sith species seemed slightly on the absurd side. "Did the Massassi ever inhabit Tatooine?"
"Tatooine?" Jen Sahara blinked, visibly startled. "Oh, no. The Massassi didn't expand very far, even at the height of their empire. And Tatooine- that's always been a remote location. Other than the indigenous Tusken Raiders, the only sentients who have settled there are the recent colonists and trade conglomerates."
I faked a smile. Diffident and overly shy Jen Sahara might be, but it seemed I'd discovered the way to reach her. "Well, the upcoming expedition will certainly be fascinating," I offered. "Guess you'll be one of the lucky ones shuttling down to Tatooine's sandy surface?"
"No." Jen shook her head, eyes widening in alarm. "No, I'm an academic. I don't ever plan on leaving Deralia- I mean, um, I didn't plan on it." She blushed, then, and looked even more uneasy than earlier. "I'm sorry, Neann, but I have research to attend to. It was, um, nice to meet you."
She took a step back, gave me an awkward wave of farewell, and swished the hatch shut in my face.
It was my turn to blink, at the grey durasteel staring me in the face. Smooth, Neann. Real smooth. Looked like even the mere thought of stepping outside the Endar Spire had shy Jen Sahara scurrying back to her bunk.
With a rueful sigh, I turned on my heel and made to depart. If I wanted to befriend the introvert, I'd have to brush up on my ancient history. I was still debating the merits of that when a muted beep echoed from my chron.
A ping, detecting a captured transmission outside the parameters I'd set in my tracking software.
Over an hour before I'm due on the bridge. I concealed a frown at the unusual source of the alert. I should have enough time to check this out, send that report to Dodonna, and get to the bridge before Onasi frowns at my tardiness.
It'd been a busy day. After the dock and refuel, once the Endar Spire was safely tucked in hyperspace towards Tatooine, I might actually let myself have a nap.
xXx
Jen Sahara:
I leaned back against the closed hatch, feeling the comforting press of hard metal at my back. The Zabrak, no doubt, was walking away and leaving me in desired solitude. I wonder if his horns ever catch on his clothing? It seemed a bizarre thought. He'd been friendly enough, but I'd never met a Zabrak before in my life. Deralia was populated almost entirely with Humans, descended from the Godsworn missionaries who'd travelled there some centuries back.
It had been hard not to stare at the dark ridges on the man's face, and I'd felt like a stumbling teenager navigating the throes of conversation with the opposite sex.
Opposite... species. If there is such a thing. I'd spent years researching different cultures and peoples, but meeting them face-to-face was something entirely different. My whole experience onboard this intergalactic starcruiser had been, so far, overwhelming.
It's good for me; good for my career. I knew that, and the compliment of the Jedi Order seeking out my services still stunned. But I couldn't deny the yearning to be safely ensconced back home, away from this melting pot of sentients, away from dangerous desert planets that were a lot more interesting reading about from a holonet screen than actually setting foot upon.
Jedi Shan has assured me I will remain on the Endar Spire. I have nothing to be alarmed about. World-wise people like that friendly Zabrak might jump at the chance to visit Tatooine, but I knew enough about that planet to ascertain it was hardly safe.
Deralia was a peaceful, remote world, and the Godsworn commune even more so. There was no overt crime, no violence, never had been until- until-
My mind blanked.
Until... what? The sting of nausea assailed me, and I laid a shaky hand against the durasteel walling. Metals were scarce, back home; most of our dwellings were made from a patchwork of native timber and hardened clay. Until nothing. I have nothing to be alarmed about. There's never been war on Deralia. I'm fortunate to hail from a planet far removed from the ugly violence so rampant elsewhere.
The dizziness subsided, leaving only a residual exhaustion in its wake. My gaze darted to the utilitarian bunk as a deep lassitude settled achingly into my bones. I was so often tired these days. It's the onboard food. I'm simply not accustomed to the synthesizers here. Mass-produced food like that, it's probably deficient in half a dozen vitamins.
The dreamless safety of my bedding called me, and before I knew it I was already seated on the hard mattress. There was a second bunk on the opposite wall; Trask Ulgo's, the soldier who'd been assigned to look after me. Between him and Jedi Shan, I knew I was well taken care of. As long as I followed their lead I'd be just fine.
I lay back, resting my heavy head on the flat pillow. Trask had been called out for the hyperspace exit, but he'd assured me he'd be back as soon as it was over.
"...as long as you remain safely secured..."
Jedi Shan's words rose in my mind. Hyperspace exit was meant to be as disconcerting as the initial jump, and I'd slept through that. With the way my head was starting to pound, sleep was becoming more and more desirable.
My hands fumbled for the safety harnesses attached to the underside of the bunk. The clips were some sort of electronic mechanism; back home, we just used simple hooks and eye-loops for fasteners. I grimaced as the enclosures refused to affix, and another wave of exhaustion submerged me.
I'll just lie back for a minute. So tired. Jedi Shan had said... what, three hours? I had slept so much recently that surely all I needed was a quick moment of shut-eye.
The restraints fell from my limp hands. I'd sort them out in a minute. Just, first...
My eyelids dropped closed, and I allowed the headiness of slumber to embrace me.
xXx
Neann Dallash:
The report of the captured transmit was unusual. It came from the Jedi communication quarter, having been sent over half a day ago – but my routines only did a sweep there every twenty hours, hidden in the sub-function of a maintenance backup. Caution balanced with risk – I didn't want the Jedi finding out I was tracking their communications if I could help it.
So far all their transmits had been encrypted with Jedi protocols I'd been unable to crack, and sent directly to the Dantooine Enclave. This one... went somewhere else. And the encryption matrix used was simpler, as if it'd been hastily done.
I was required on the bridge within an hour. The Jedi had a habit of settling there early; this seemed a fortuitous time to sleuth in their comm room. I made sure to seal the hatch locked behind me.
I twisted an upgraded spike into the central console, and input the batch routines that would grant administrative access. The comm records were quick to pull up, and it only took a minute to run the decoding program alongside the offending transmit.
With bated breath, I launched the execute command.
The transmit was text only. A set of coordinates. My gaze narrowed. That's... that's the jump point for Mavis III. An icy shiver coursed through me as the implication hit with the force of a ferracrete brick. Someone's sent our refuelling location out... somewhere. More than half a standard day ago. Well before Onasi briefed me, before anyone else knew-
A Jedi. My breath caught. A Jedi sent this.
Why? Why would they do that, unless-
I had to tell Onasi. Frakk it, I had to move, quick, before he pulled the Endar Spire out of hyperspace.
With a mash of fingers on the keyboard, I erased the screen and logged out, jumped to my feet and-
The locked hatch opened behind me. A robed figure stood in the doorway.
"My my, what do we have here?"
Instinct warred with the hot adrenaline that fired through my bloodstream. I'm an engineer, I thought wildly, ducking my head and dropping my gaze. Years of intel training had taught me exactly what to do in cases like this, and exactly how to think fake thoughts around any Force-user that might employ mind-reading. There's a logged fault with the computer, but I can't find it, and I've given up and just want a quiet cup of caffa-
"Excuse me, Master Jedi," I mumbled, hunching my shoulders in an attempt to emulate that meek Jen Sahara. Internally, my thoughts still whirled. A quiet cup of caffa with the other grunts, before my superior tells me what a crap engineer I am. "I was called in to investigate a fault, but I'm afraid-"
In the periphery of my vision, I saw a hand raise. Immediately, my words stopped of their own volition.
"This is the Jedi's personal communication bunker," the woman drawled. "What are you doing, snooping in here?"
"Um, is it?" I squeaked. I don't want to upset the Jedi. I forced the thoughts to the forefront of my mind, ignoring the hot rush of fright that spiked in my gut. Maybe I got the room wrong? My superior's gonna fry my arse! "I was sent to comm-room A3, Master Jedi. If I've offend-"
Another swish of the hand, and my words died again. I had to do better-
"Why, I do believe it's Bastila's little stalker."
Oh, frakk! The expletive shattered my internal monologue, and my mind raced like a stimmed-up junkie, trying desperately to formulate a plausible excuse-
There was a clacking noise as the Jedi strode deeper into the room. Clacking, as if she wore damn heels under those brown robes, and wasn't that the most absurd thought?
"I despise loose ends," she murmured. "And with so little time left, I can afford to take a risk."
The snap-hiss that echoed through the room froze my mind with a real, genuine terror. I wrenched my head up, to see tawny eyes glinting at me from behind an amber beam of plasma. Painted red lips curved in malicious pleasure. "You chose the wrong room to snoop in, Lieutenant."
I jerked to the side, one hand wrenching futilely for the blaster at my hip- but my limbs were suddenly frozen, as frozen as my mind, as damned as the entire ship was about to be-
The Jedi's- the Sith's- eyes creased in satisfaction, and somehow, I knew the bitch had picked that last thought straight from my mind.
xXx
Author's Note:
Many thanks to kosiah for the beta, and suggestions as to what works and what doesn't.
