Hyperspace: VII – part one
Canderous Ordo:
Ebon Hawk, Lehon sector
A faint crackle emitted from the ship's long-range comm, as the Republic finally bothered to acknowledge our presence.
::Ebon Hawk, you are cleared for landing. Proceed to dock at bay F27.::
Onasi hadn't made a sound since we'd spat out from the Forge. The only visible reaction I'd spotted was a flinch from the hollow-eyed captain, when the navi-computer alerted us to the first explosion from the beast we'd left behind.
But he said nothing, not even when more messages flashed in red on the screen, listing the complete break-up of the Forge and warning of flying debris firing in our wake. Onasi merely firmed his hands on the controls, canting the freighter in smooth evasion, before steadying on a course direct to the Meridus.
I had no words to say, either. What should have been a victory had the bitter taste of failure tainting every aspect of it. The princess, Carpet, Rosh, Revan...
I'd had my own share of loss before, more than once, but damn if I felt like flying straight into a throng of cheering Republic grunts when the blood of my clan was still so fresh.
The truth was that the whole situation galled, right down to my bones – to be flying away without first eye-balling Revan's corpse for myself. Or, Malak's.
Mand'alor's balls, I hadn't known whether to take the news on jetii faith, earlier. And if it hadn't been for kriffing Malak spouting out over Revan's comm-link, I wasn't entirely sure Onasi would be sitting in the pilot's seat now.
No, I'd learned to give the man more credit. Onasi would've made the right choice in the end. Running wasn't the path of a warrior, but protecting clan was. And we were all clan here – just as Revan had been.
In that respect Malak may have done us a favour, comming through the way he did.
But if the Republic didn't guarantee that black-balled dar'jetii's death, then I'd damn well find a way of doing so myself.
Onasi's expression was bleak and empty as he glided the 'Hawk into the maw of the Republic heavy cruiser. It was plain as space that he was barely holding himself together- that the man would fall apart into a blubbering mess soon enough- but I also reckoned he had the inner grit to find a way back to himself once the sharp edge of grief dulled.
My mouth twisted, and my fingers itched for a weapon. Haar'chak, but the only thing worse than personal loss was being unable to avenge it-
We're all hurting. Some more than others. Maybe it's worth reminding Onasi of that.
I shifted, turning to stare out through the viewport into the busy hangar. Snubfighters were coming in to land on either side of us, immediately surrounded by astromechs and ground crew. I struggled to recall if I'd ever landed in a laandur Republic warbird – and idly wondered what sort of reception I'd end up with.
"My daughter was at Malachor, you know," I said, as Onasi switched to landing thrusters and the ship descended. He twitched in response, but to give the man credit, he didn't turn to face me until the freighter thudded gently on the hangar floor.
With a whine, the repulsors shut off. Onasi's hands rested quietly over the dash for a full minute before he slowly swivelled to look at me.
"You never said you had a daughter," he said quietly.
I snorted. "There's a time for the singing of battle songs, Onasi, and it ain't on a crazy mission to save the galaxy."
It wasn't just that, though. My people didn't speak of the departed to outsiders. Grief was a private matter. It was enough to remember their deeds and see their echo in the next generation.
But, for some, there was no next generation.
"I'm sorry, Canderous."
I nodded sharply in acknowledgment. "We Mando'ade mourn differently to you Republic lot. We honour our dead through the glory of combat and the raising of clan. But losing a child- well. You know how that feels."
"Yeah."
::Ebon Hawk, you are clear to disembark. Admiral Dodonna and Jedi Master Tokare await you outside.::
I wasn't done. I leaned over to speak into the comm. "We'll be out in ten. Your lot can damn well wait."
On any other day, I knew Onasi would countermand such a message to his superiors, but he remained still and silent as I turned back to him.
"Millifar was everything I could hope for in a daughter," I said gruffly. "Strong. Brave. A mite foolhardy. She demanded the glory of flying in with the Ordo contingent that flanked Mand'alor, and no father was as proud as I was, that day."
All while I'd been ordered to hang back on the fringes, commanding the remainder of the Ordo fleet.
Malachor had broken what remained of the clans. Too many of us had lost our leaders, our brothers and sisters- and our children. The ones who were left scattered. I'd only had the one child, and my wife- well. She walked away from Ordo after that fateful day, swearing herself to the akaanir dala.
I didn't blame her. It was a damn sight more honourable than what I'd ended up doing.
"I'm surprised you didn't hate-" Onasi cut himself off, mouth twisting.
"Revan?" I snorted again. "War is war, Onasi. I respect my opponents who are worthy of it."
He said nothing, but I could see the look on his face – the question of why I'd broached the topic now, of all times.
"Milli was fifteen of your galactic years." I didn't bother holding back my laugh at Onasi's startled look. "We Mando'ade grow up early. She'd been well-blooded by the time Malachor rolled around."
"Fifteen," Onasi said softly. "Younger than Dustil."
"Same age as Mission." My voice hardened. "Difference is, Mission is still a child in some respects. She'll deny it to her dying breath, but you and I damn well know it as the truth."
Onasi nodded, slowly.
"Mission has come to mean something to me. I won't deny it," I said fiercely. I wasn't the sentimental sort, but somewhere along the line I'd grown to respect the girl's spunk. "Look, I'm headed back to the Mando'ade soon as soon as I slip your Republic suits. And my people ain't no place for a soft, quick-mouthed runt like Mission Vao. She thinks she's all grown up, but that Wookiee's always kept an eye on her. He's gone now, him and Revan both, and Mission will be feeling it. She looks up to you, Republic. She'll stay with you, if you offer."
I held the man's gaze, and saw the truth of the matter reflected in his eyes.
"She's underage, on most Republic worlds," Onasi acknowledged. "She'll need a legal guardian if she's to get anywhere in life."
"Don't pose it like that," I cut in gruffly. "The girl's got pride, and she'll be hell-bent on proving her own worth. But Mission also has a soft heart. Make her part of your family, Onasi. Family is what drives us all to keep living."
I'd always claimed there was little in common between the Mando'ade and Republic sorts like Carth Onasi. This journey had taught me just how wrong I was.
"I'll take care of her, Ordo," Onasi promised, and I saw the cloud of grief lift, just a little, from his face. "You can count on me for that."
I nodded, accepting the words of a man I'd grown to respect- kriff, maybe even admire. He nodded back, and then we both turned away to unbuckle our restraints and face the music outside.
xXx
Forn Dodonna:
Meridus, Lehon sector
"Captain Onasi's certainly taking his time," Davis Tar'coya grumbled. The words were no more than half-hearted bluster, though, for Tar'coya was doing a poor job at concealing his jubilation. I'd even caught the man slyly throwing a high-five at a bright-eyed tech while we departed the bridge.
On my other side, Jedi Master Vandar Tokare was bowed and silent. The very antithesis of Tar'coya's celebratory mood.
"Carth Onasi and those with him have suffered personal losses today, Davis, in the name of the Republic," I rebuked. In truth, my heart was sitting somewhere between the two men. I felt Tar'coya's nascent joy, his burgeoning relief at the promise of peace – but I was well aware of the casualties that went along with victory. "We can afford to grant Captain Onasi ten minutes of our time."
"Humph," the Sullustan grunted, turning back to the closed hatch of the docked Ebon Hawk. Tar'coya's jowls were twitching, though, and he moved restlessly on his feet. The Commodore was keen to be amongst his own men, and I understood that – I understood that all too well.
After all, Captain Carth Onasi was one of mine.
"Our fleet is still picking up runners, Forn," Tar'coya muttered, looking down at a scroll-feed on the datapad clutched in his hands. "While we wait idly at a captain's leisure. The battle may be over, but the clean-up has scarce begun."
"Commodore," I warned, drawing Tar'coya's abashed glance. Stars, the man was both highly competent and experienced, yet his inability to give credit to anyone outside his reporting line grew more than a little tiresome. "The bridge is safe in the hands of Commodore Patton. We owe today to Captain Onasi and his crew. Grant them the respect they deserve. They are undeniable heroes."
"I suppose, Admiral," Tar'coya conceded, before eyeballing the Ebon Hawk once more. I knew Tar'coya was still smarting over the news of Revan, but he was headed straight for a public dressing-down if he thought to tar the rest of her crew with the same brush. "I suppose they are."
The telling thunk of machinery cut off any further conversation and, with a faint pneumatic hiss, the entrance hatch to the banged-up Dynamic-class freighter finally lowered.
The old man standing alone at the top of the ramp was not one I recognized.
He was either terribly ill or injured, I realized – or both. The dark-skinned Human was leaning heavily against the wall of the freighter, his bare chest haphazardly wrapped in a swathe of stained kolto bandages.
"Medics!" I called sharply to the assembled team waiting behind me, waving a hand towards what must be Jolee Bindo – a contact of Vandar's, and one of the many odd allies my captain had picked up along the way.
Although I knew the truth, no matter what my records would end up saying. It wasn't Carth – nor the Jedi Order's Bastila Shan – who had gathered together this unlikely band of misfits that had managed to topple the Sith Empire.
"Ach, give me a minute," the old man grumbled, but he didn't shake off the first medic who laid a guiding hand underneath his elbow. "I've got some words to say first."
The Jedi grandmaster at my side finally stirred. "Padawan Jolee," Vandar murmured in a sad voice. "A good thing, it is, to see you returned."
Jolee Bindo harrumphed, turning a sharp eye on the diminutive master. The Jedi Order's records listed the Human man as a runaway padawan, but I couldn't glean anything deferential in his glare.
"Vandar," Jolee Bindo muttered in lieu of greeting. "I see you're making assumptions as usual." The Human waved off Vandar's reply, turning instead to look hard at me.
I knew what personal loss looked like. It was all over the old man's lined face.
"Give us space," Jolee Bindo demanded in a terse voice, as the medic at his side started fussing with the loose end of a kolto wrap. "Aye, I know you probably want a thousand reports, but we're all grieving in there. Give us space before you lot start poking into everything."
I didn't have to turn to see my second-in-command's scowl of irritation. "Captain Onasi is a Republic soldier-" Tar'coya began, before my hand rose to silence him.
"I understand, Jolee Bindo," I said quietly. "We have a set of private suites available for those who do not require a stay in the infirmary. Whilst I must speak with Captain Onasi, I can ensure the rest of you-"
"No, no," the old man spoke over me, irritably drawing a bony arm away from a medic trying to sneak a health-sensor over his wrist. "Leave us on the 'Hawk. We're a family in there, and we've lost four of our own today. No reason we can't darn well recover in the ship that has become home to us all."
Four. The old man's words settled us all into sombre silence. Bastila Shan and Revan Freeflight I already knew, but who were the other two? My mind ran quickly over Carth's last recorded manifest- the Mandalorian general, the Cathar Jedi, that Twi'leki urchin and her Wookiee, Carth's son, of course- and-
Not Carth, I whispered inwardly, my heart clenching as it hit home that I hadn't heard from him since the Ebon Hawk had disappeared inside the Star Forge. Please, not Carth-
There was a shadow at the top of the ramp, behind the cluster of medics milling around Jolee Bindo. My gaze rose, and recognition was as sweet as the first sip of Coruscant's finest brandy.
"Carth," I murmured, as the medics parted to let the man past.
I'd seen Carth at his worst, once. Shortly after Telos, when he was determined to drown in a bottle and throw away the career that had shaped his life. Now, he looked – well, not all that much better than then, actually-
"Your son." The words fell quickly from my lips as Carth came to a standstill some metres in front of me. He lifted one hand, as if to salute, and then appeared to think twice. A great sigh escaped him, and his shoulders sagged.
The man looked as awful as one could expect. His combat armour was battered and grimed with filth, and a patchwork of bruising latticed along one side of his unshaven face. Here was a soldier who had sacrificed everything for the Republic – more than once.
"Dustil's fine, Admiral," Carth answered, his mouth twisting as if in pain. "Well. He's alive. He will be fine."
"Four," Vandar echoed, still staring at the durasteel underbelly of the smuggling freighter. Hairless brows lowered over his bright blue eyes. "Sense a few sparks of Force onboard, I do."
"Ach, darn it," Jolee Bindo bit out abruptly, jerking his arm free from the medics before turning and stomping back inside. "Give me one blasted moment!"
"Carth," I repeated, holding the man's gaze. There was no denying the grief I saw etched in the lines of his face. Revan had come to mean something to him – that had been easy to glean in his scattered reports, as well as more than a little concerning. When I had first commissioned him and sent him onboard the Endar Spire, Carth Onasi had been nothing more than a feint to the Jedi Order.
A capable man I trusted and held in high regard, but a feint nonetheless. A lure to draw the Jedi's attention away from my original operative – who hadn't even made it past the Endar Spire.
A good commander knew how to play the hand she'd been dealt, but Carth Onasi had completely outperformed my expectations. I could only hope the aftermath wouldn't break him again.
"Who are your casualties, Captain?" I asked quietly. "We have heard of Bastila Shan and Jen Sahara, but who are the other two?"
The false name came easily, now. It hardly mattered if the odd rumour of truth slipped into the public arena; without official confirmation, the brief resurrection of a Sith Lord come to save the galaxy would sound like nothing more than the fanciful conspiracy theory of a cantina drunk.
I should have felt relief at Revan's death. The galaxy was a safer place without the existence of Darth Revan – redeemed or otherwise. That was what I told myself.
The sentiment was more difficult to swallow than I had expected.
"You lot coming, or what?" Jolee Bindo's voice grumbled from the entrance hatch, as he poked his head outside again. "You call yourself medics or furniture? I need two darn stretchers in here!"
"Admiral," Carth said, and this time he snapped out a rigid, precise salute. "I formally request an immediate discharge from the Republic Navy."
I blinked, as two stretchers were wheeled past us in quick succession. Perhaps I should not have been surprised – but I was. "Carth, don't be hasty-"
"I'm not being hasty, Forn," Carth cut in, his voice low and simmering with emotion. Behind him, the cluster of medics had followed the old man back inside. "My son needs me. Mission- blast it, she's just lost her best friend, and- and- look, I'm in no state..."
His words trailed away, and his jaw clenched. And I realized, then, that even the strongest of men could reach their breaking point.
This is a poor time for a debrief, no matter how short I had planned on it being.
At least Tar'coya had the grace to remain silent for once.
"Carth," I said gently, stepping forward to rest a hand on his shoulder. "I'm placing you on indefinite leave from active duty. I won't accept any sort of resignation – not today. Your irascible old friend had a good idea. Stay in the Ebon Hawk. I'll post sentries to ensure your privacy. We'll talk later."
Carth swallowed, his gaze holding mine. He was a good man – one of the best, really – and I would not let one such as him go easily.
He deserved a heck of a lot more than a vacation, though.
"Zaalbar." Carth's eyes darkened as he abruptly answered the question I had put to him before. "Zaalbar fell while protecting Bastila Shan. And Rosh gave his life so my son and I could escape. Too many damn losses, Forn." Carth broke off, staring blankly over the vast hangar. The muffled cheering of mechanics and pilots suddenly seemed discordantly loud. "Too many losses," he echoed in a broken whisper.
"Rosh?" Tar'coya barked in question, as I found myself frowning over the unfamiliar name. "There was no Rosh listed on any manifest."
Vandar's walking stick tapped softly on the durasteel grating as he hobbled closer.
"Sense, I did not, my old apprentice fading," Vandar murmured, his bright blue eyes pinned on Carth.
The sound of wheels on metal preceded the two medical stretchers as they raced down the Ebon Hawk's ramp, this time both occupied. My puzzlement over the unknown Rosh temporarily vanished as my gaze honed in on the closest medi-bed.
"Vrook Lamar," I said in shock, and my words were echoed with Vandar's gasp.
"Wait!" Vandar called out, stepping in front of the first stretcher and effectively forcing the medics to halt. The Jedi grandmaster then lifted a three-fingered hand, and begun to hum softly. A gentle glow of golden light sprang to life around his outraised limb.
I elbowed Tar'coya in the side before he could say anything.
"Vitals stabilizing," a red-and-white clad medic muttered, as Vandar's green hands floated over Vrook Lamar's still body. Jedi healing. I had seen it before, and the esoteric miracle never failed to impress.
I had not expected to see Vrook Lamar come back alive. Oh, I'd been plenty aggrieved when he had absconded in that complete shell of stealth technology my mechanics had been itching to pull apart. But now, after everything, I found I could barely rustle up the faintest hint of indignation.
"Juhani's in a bad way, too," Carth snapped, and that drew my eye to the second medi-bed. The Cathar Jedi was lying prone, though she was at least conscious – even if her left leg was completely enclosed in a bacta-filled splint.
"I'm fine, Carth," the young Jedi whispered, as a medic injected a hypoderm into her exposed shoulder.
"Shh," the medic murmured, patting the Cathar's shoulder as her eyes slowly closed.
After a full minute of uneasy silence, Vandar's eyes opened again and he stepped back from the first stretcher. The medic behind the bed started moving again, and both invalids were wheeled past us in quick succession, as if Vandar's retreat had granted them unspoken consent.
The little green Jedi stared sadly after the disappearing medics. "Old friend," he murmured soulfully. "At peace, now, your padawan is."
"There." The word was snapped out flatly, coming from the other Jedi nearby. Jolee Bindo was still leaning against the side of the freighter, and his hard stare was levelled at Vandar. "There's your two Force-sensitives."
Tar'coya grunted in obvious discontent at my side. "Captain, as jolly as it is to see Master Vrook back onboard the Meridus," he said, in a bland voice that might have been convincing to one who didn't know him. "Mind filling us in on this mysterious Rosh person?"
Carth blinked, as if shaken from a stupor. "Uh-"
"Onboard the ship, Padawan, are there no other Force-sensitives?" Vandar interrupted in a high, creaky voice. He had turned back to stare at the Ebon Hawk again, hobbling a step closer with his head cocked to one side. "Sense someone else, I thought-"
"Ach, quit with the titles. I'm as much a member of your Order as you're a Mandalorian, Vandar, and you darn well know it."
"Left the Jedi Order, Padawan, you never did. Much like my question, which running away from you are also."
"Wait just one damn minute," Carth said in an almost-growl, as he spun on a foot to glare at Vandar. "There's no one onboard you need to concern yourself with, Master Jedi. No member of your Order, past or present."
Jolee Bindo harrumphed. "Eh, well, consider this my darn resignation-"
The undercurrents in the conversation were no longer perplexing, they were downright annoying. "Captain-"
"Your fourth casualty," Vandar interrupted again, his ears twitching as he swivelled back to face Carth. "Of his demise, what makes you so certain?"
"His comm was destroyed," Carth said blankly. "Uh, I mean I know that's not- but that damn Sith had already taken out- stang, there's no chance we left Rosh to die, is there?" The captain looked almost desperate as he wheeled around to stare wildly at Jolee Bindo. "Jolee, did you- did you sense-"
"Ach, no," the old man muttered, rubbing a hand over his balding scalp. "I mean, I barely felt Malak fade. I ain't exactly in the sharpest of states, sonny boy-"
"Captain!" I clipped out, feeling my eyes pinch at the corners. "Explain. Now. Who is this Rosh?"
As Carth turned back to face me, Vandar's walking stick tapped loudly on the flooring again. "My old apprentice," the Jedi grandmaster murmured. "A good man, once. A good man again, perhaps."
Carth sighed heavily, bowing his head in concession. Somehow, I knew I wasn't going to appreciate his next words. "He was a late addition to our crew, Admiral. Not exactly a name I wanted posted in a holo-message." Carth grimaced. "Yudan Rosh. Rev- Jen convinced him to help us."
There was a moment, just then, when all the background chatter seemed to wilt into silence.
Then Tar'coya erupted. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me-"
"Davis-"
"What's next? Are we going to see blasted Talvon Esan jumping up from the grave-"
"Commodore!" I snapped in a growl. Honestly, one of these days I was going to muzzle the man. "Bridge. Wait for me there. Now!"
Tar'coya's thick lips pursed as his angry gaze met mine. I could see the thwarted frustration written all over his face, and wished again that he had been kept ignorant of the more... controversial details.
Tar'coya was a good officer, but he had never learned to keep his own personal opinions in check.
The Sullustan forced out an angry sigh, following it with a tight "ma'am", and turned on a heel before stalking away. I stared after him for a moment, feeling my temper slowly subside as he departed.
Irate or not, it didn't stop Tar'coya slapping another raised hand on his way out – and the simple gesture reminded me that today, despite everything, was still a resounding victory.
"You had no other choice, Carth," Jolee Bindo was saying softly. "There was no time to wait for Rosh, and everything suggested he had fallen in battle. He chose to save you and Dustil. Don't let guilt ruin the gift he gave you."
Slowly, I turned back around. Regardless of what Carth had withheld, I had little cause to be upset with him. No, my finger was pointing directly at that secretive, cryptic relic of the Jedi Order.
"You knew," I said, as Vandar's gaze rose to meet mine. "I demanded full disclosure, Vandar, and you damn well knew about Yudan Rosh."
The little old man sighed in defeat, the tips of his ears drooping. "From Jen Sahara's last communication, yes, I did learn of his involvement."
"I said no more secrets, Vandar." It was difficult not to hiss the words out. And as I glared at the centuries-old Jedi, all I could see was a tired scion of an order that hadn't been there when we had truly needed them.
And I was reminded, yet again, of why the Republic had so fiercely loved Revan Freeflight, once upon a time.
"You are hereby forbidden access to the bridge or the command centre, Master Jedi," I bit out. Vandar's sad blue eyes almost made me feel guilty, but damn it- the time of the Jedi Order waltzing in, upending everything, and shrouding events in unnecessary mystery had gone. For how much of the past three conflicts could be laid squarely at the foot of the Jedi Order?
That was a popular sentiment now, back in the Core – and while I didn't always hold to it myself, there were some days when I struggled to see if the good of the Jedi truly outbalanced the ramifications of their fallen.
Maybe it was time for a new age, where the Republic did not need the struts of the Jedi Order to hold firm.
"Go and see to Vrook," I ordered Vandar in a level voice. "Be there when he wakes. Stars knows he'll be inconsolable with the news of his padawan's death."
Vandar had visibly wilted in front of my eyes. He said nothing, though, merely bowed his wrinkled green head in surrender and hobbled away.
The tap of his walking stick slowly ebbed and faded into the background hub of celebration.
I looked back to Carth; I expected him to be overtly uncomfortable with the conversation, or ready with a response, but instead the man was staring bleakly into the distance.
Raw grief lurked around the corners of his down-turned mouth and in the sheen of his hollow brown gaze.
"Carth, the Republic owes you more than I can express," I said quietly. He blinked, twice, and it seemed a visible effort for him to focus on me. "Go be with your family. We'll talk in a day or two."
The galaxy knew I had enough other matters to attend to. Any formal debrief could certainly wait.
Carth nodded slowly, and my gaze roved over the deep bruising along the side of his face again. I felt my heart soften, for this man who had been through so much. "I'll send in another team of medics to treat you and your crew onboard," I added. "Anything you need, Carth, you can request of the guards posted outside."
"Just-" His eyes closed briefly, and a tired sigh escaped him. "Just privacy for now, Forn."
"Go," I urged him with a smile, and hoped, one day, he would be able to return it.
xXx
Eridius Talav:
GenoHaradan HQ Bunker II, Nar Shaddaa
"Overseer," Tealia murmured, sliding a steaming mug of barli tea across the smooth ferracrystal desk. My normally-impassive personal assistant wore a dreamy smile, and the overhead lighting glinted against the large blue rock adorning her index finger.
A muted holo-figure sat frozen, paused mid-speech, atop the console embedded in my desk, but I took a moment first to eye Tealia over. Highly capable personal assistants were not always easy to come by; even if the throes of a budding romance had her walking around with a dazed look on her face, at least it had not impacted her performance or professionalism.
A good thing, that. I required the best staff around me, and I would have felt mildly grieved at replacing her. For, I knew well, there was only one way to leave the GenoHaradan.
"Am I right in assuming you have a personal request, Tealia?" I asked, allowing my gaze to linger on the crystal adorning her hand. From memory, index fingers meant lifelong commitment to Zabraks, and the colour blue was their symbol of romance.
"Yes, Overseer, if you have a moment-"
"Come back in an hour," I said in a curt tone, but allowed her a smile of indulgence. The paused holo-message was of far more importance than the personal entanglement of my secretary, no matter how competent she was. Still, I could not quite suppress a faint pang of sentimentality. After all, it had been some time since I'd overseen a GenoHaradan wedding.
Ajax Zarr was a lucky Zabrak. I would ensure he realized that.
"We shall talk in an hour," I repeated, gentling my voice. "The GenoHaradan are a family, Tealia, and we look after our own."
Tealia nodded in quick compliance, smiling sweetly as she departed, and I resigned myself to rifling through our organization's sanctioned list of honeymoon retreats later that afternoon.
Every word I said was true. A posting within the GenoHaradan was for life, but we ensured our staff – all of them – were well-rewarded for their efforts. If Tealia desired the hand of one of our own, then I had no qualms about making it so.
And Ajax Zarr was one of our top data analysts. Perhaps he did deserve her. In fact, he was the one who'd landed the scoop on Revan Freeflight-
-which brought me right back to the true matter of importance. As the door quietly closed behind Tealia's retreating back, I leaned forward to unmute the comm.
The frozen blue-edged figure above the data console returned to real-time.
"You are certain, then," I said, continuing our conversation as if it had never been interrupted.
Rulan Prolik had taken on the form of a well-built Rodian, clad in a busk-leather armour that strained around the girth of his musculature. He was lounging back in the cockpit of a customized Aurek snub he'd already informed me once belonged to the upper echelons of the Sith Empire.
Truly, I had never doubted the man's usefulness or capability. Otherwise Rulan Prolik would have long gone the way of all my other predecessors.
::As far as I can be, without visibly checking Revan's corpse myself.::
I felt my fingers tapping, and immediately quelled the telling sign of irritation. "A holo-still of her limp body and an intercepted comm-report to the Republic does not guarantee death, Rulan. Not when there is already a historical precedent of Revan Freeflight surviving against all odds."
The shapeshifter shrugged. Sometimes, I found his apparent apathy a trifle abrading, mostly because I had never seen the man truly rattled.
::Your agents amongst the Republic ranks-::
"Report the Jedi Padawan Jen Sahara as one of the fallen." I finished, ending the sentence with a dismissive snort. "They've listed her as the apprentice of Bastila Shan, farcical as that sounds. Apparently, Jen Sahara's death spurred Bastila Shan on to confront Malak before they slew each other in a grand lightsaber duel. I'll give the Republic this: they know how to spin a tale of tragic heroism."
::Apprentice,:: Rulan echoed, allowing a smile of amusement to curve his thin green lips, but offering no other comment on the ridiculous marketing slant. ::I can give you no more certainty than the Republic, Eridius. If Revan was still alive when I departed the Star Forge, chances are the destruction of the space station took her out.::
"Hmm." I liked chances as little as Rulan did. Still, my ears seeded deep within both Republic and Jedi communications told me that everyone of import believed Revan Freeflight – and Malak Devari – had come to a final end. "Did you find anything of consequence?"
Rulan knew what I was really asking. What had Revan Freeflight discovered after Malachor? What threat had convinced her to launch an assault against the galactic federation she had spent a lifetime defending? What was her true reason for seeking out an alliance with the GenoHaradan as Dark Lord of the Sith?
I had never met Darth Revan in person. The Third Overseer had... as had the Fourth. At that time our organization took her demands seriously. Although, honestly, Overseer Vorn had always been a bit of an idiot.
::I failed to slice into the core databanks of the Star Forge,:: Rulan admitted, leaning back into the pilot's bucket seat. The comm's geolocation was masked, and all I knew about Rulan's current position was that he was floating around somewhere in the Outer Rim Territories. ::I did manage to acquire some intriguing tech... like the cloaking device embedded in this old starfighter.::
"Yes." I allowed myself a chuckle, thinking on the stealth-enabled snub the Republic had so briefly captured before allowing a robe to waltz away with it. "I will organize a rendezvous point for one of my agents to collect it from you. But back to my query-"
::In short, no. If the Star Forge held answers they are beyond us now. Although, frankly, I doubt the Darth Revan of old would carelessly leave records regarding her motivations within such an obvious stronghold.::
Considering how difficult it had been to track down the location of the Star Forge, I would have hardly labelled the Rakatan relic as obvious. Still, I understood Rulan's meaning. Darth Revan had been cautious enough with her strategic objectives that any crumbs left behind would have been hidden very carefully.
"Which leaves us right back to where we started," I mused. Ensuring the stability of the galaxy. Supporting the Republic – for now.
::Waiting. Watching from the shadows,:: Rulan murmured, echoing the eons-old ethos of the GenoHaradan. ::We pull strings in the darkness and hold civilization aloft.::
"Yes," I agreed. While also keeping one eye fixed firmly on the Unknown Regions. From a distance, of course. For a journey into uncharted space meant almost-certain death for the unprepared. Whatever Revan had sought, she must have had knowledge of her destination beforehand.
My eyes narrowed. When Darth Revan exploded onto the galactic scene, the GenoHaradan had first scrabbled to circumvent her invasion, and then later, allied to bolster her attack vectors. And then, when she fell in the skies above Deralia... we turned back. Back to supporting the faltering Republic.
The importance of whittling out her secrets had never escaped me and now, with the war ending, I might just be able to allocate the resources required for a closer look. And since the GenoHaradan did not know where Revan had once tread, perhaps we needed to focus on where she had first learned of the threat that had turned her.
"Malachor," I said softly, my mind buzzing.
Rulan knew better than to question the obvious; he merely remained still and silent as he watched me through the comm.
"Malachor V was more than simply an end to the Mandalorian Wars," I continued, as my fingers begin to tap once more. "Revan found something at that cataclysmic battle. Every commander who returned to the Core expected Revan's fleet to be right behind them. Even the missive stating her forces were chasing remnants of the Mandalorian clans came weeks after Malachor."
Rulan's expression didn't change from his standard impassivity. ::Malachor V is a ruin. Do you think secrets rest atop its crippled surface?::
"Maybe," I said slowly. "Or maybe we need to search for other survivors who may know some inkling of the truth."
His eyes narrowed. A telling sign, that, and I knew he was speculating along the same lines as I.
::All of Revan's old allies are long dead. Apart from two...::
"Yes," I concurred, feeling my lips curve. "Two who were at the centre of Malachor V. Two who walked away, lauded as galactic heroes but quietly exiled from their own order. Two, left with none of the power they once commanded."
The corner of Rulan's thin mouth twitched as he leaned closer to the holo-com. ::After all these years, Eridius, do you really expect either Meetra Surik or Xaset Terep to still be alive?::
"Who knows?" I replied with an easy shrug. "But surely it cannot hurt to look."
xXx
Carth Onasi:
Ebon Hawk, Hyperspace, enroute to Coruscant
"So," Ordo said by way of greeting as I stepped into the common room. "How'd your list of demands go?"
Mission was perched on one of the benches, a pack of pazaak cards stacked neatly on the table in front of her. I could tell at a glance that Dustil had been trying – and failing – to coerce her into a game.
I placed the pot of soup I'd been carrying down on the table with a sigh, catching my son's gaze and motioning to the shelf stacked high with plasteel bowls.
"Dish up, would you Dustil?" I asked, before taking a seat next to Mission.
She didn't say a word in greeting.
We'd been here near a week, now. The 'Hawk was quiet; quiet, with the ghosts of our fallen. Every time I woke it was to a crushing sense of loss. The word beautiful would rest on my lips, never to be spoken, as I was forced to accept that the future I had dreamed of would never be more than just a dream.
Revan hadn't believed in that future, but I had dared to.
Revan. Bastila. Zaalbar. Stang, even Rosh – sometimes, my grief was rocked by a furious surge of injustice that life could dare do this to me a second time.
And then I would see my son, hovering so patiently around the girl who was almost a daughter to me. Dustil was coping better than the rest of us, and I couldn't deny that his solicitude over Mission seemed to be bringing out the best in him.
My son was growing into a man I was proud of.
I blinked, and turned to answer Ordo instead. "Well, I got rid of Psycho-Droid. Don't expect we'll be seeing him again."
Ordo's mouth tightened. He'd been the only one to disagree on that count, but hadn't cared enough to kick up too much of a fuss about it. The rest of us knew that HK-47 – even in pieces – was dangerous. If any information of note still simmered in his databanks, then as far as I was concerned, Republic Intel could have at him.
I sighed, and held Ordo's stony gaze. "Forn agreed to pretty much everything else. Well, except paying you for the Ebon Hawk."
Ordo snorted, face relaxing, as he took a seat opposite me and lifted his boots onto the table. I didn't have the energy to snap at him.
"This ship is mine, fair and square," he muttered, but he didn't sound half as fierce as he had back on Tatooine. I had the distinct feeling that Ordo was simply looking for something to argue over. "Don't see why your Republic think they can go and claim it as theirs."
"Technically you stole it, Ordo," I said, nodding gratefully to Dustil as he ladled noodla soup from the large pot into a trio of bowls.
Forn had been as good as her word: the soldiers left us alone, the medics had patched us up, and the kitchens of the Meridus supplied fresh food on demand.
I didn't feel much like physical comforts, these days – but I wasn't going to turn down a break from the onboard synthesizer, either.
"Piracy is a perfectly legal form of acquisition in many sectors-"
"Not in Taris airspace, last I heard," I added drily. For all my gloom, there was a shallow part of me looking forward to Ordo's reaction when he heard Forn had signed ownership of the Ebon Hawk solely over to me.
The Mandalorian shrugged. "Well, I was Davik's third-in-command. Killing him and Calo grants me the rights to their spoils."
I raised one brow in hollow amusement. The hard ball of grief still sat, lodged and tight in my gut, but there was something almost cathartic about such a normal conversation. "Didn't Juhani get the killing blow on Nord?"
Ordo snorted again, but whatever he was planning to retort with was interrupted by Teethree, wheeling in from the cockpit and bleeping forth a long screed of Binary.
"Jolee's come back," Mission whispered, raising her head briefly. "Tee's opened the hatch."
We all turned, ebbing into silence as the thud of footsteps became audible. The hatch opened-
"Juhani," Mission said in surprise, her light brown eyes sparking faintly in welcome.
The Cathar was seated in a med-chair, a robotic leg raised aloft as Jolee slowly pushed her inside.
"Hello," Juhani greeted, a little awkwardly, as she parked up near the edge of the table. Somewhere, the Cathar had picked up a clean set of brown Jedi robes. Her tawny gaze danced over us all before resting soulfully on Mission.
"Figured the lot of us would do better together," Jolee muttered, sliding onto the bench next to me. "And since those robed idiots from Dantooine decided to do a bunk-"
"Jolee," Juhani intervened, all hesitance forgotten as she frowned in disapproval at the old man.
"Eh, it's true, isn't it?" Jolee waggled his eyebrows, seemingly unconcerned. "I half expected a lecture from Vrook – now there's a sent who was an old grouch from birth – but I didn't even get a chance to talk to the man-"
"The Jedi Masters have left?" I jumped in, my eyes shooting straight to Dustil.
I'd been concerned – more than concerned – about what Vandar Tokare would do if he stumbled over my son. There'd been a time, back on Kashyyyk, when I'd thought maybe the Jedi Order was the best place for him, but now-
Dustil was adamant he wouldn't go there. It seemed Korriban had bred distrust of the Order in him so deep he almost burned with it at times- and while I knew he was being irrational, I also knew I owed it my son to let him make his own decisions.
"Aye," Jolee grunted in assent. I glanced his way to see the old man also eyeballing Dustil. "So you can quit hiding, lad, at least until we get to Coruscant."
I hadn't realized quite how tense Dustil was until he relaxed.
"That's what you've been doing?" I asked quietly. "Hiding, in the Force?"
I was learning. Slowly, slowly, about the strange and amazing gifts my son had somehow acquired along the way. And each small bit of knowledge was accompanied with the sharp pang that it could've been Revan explaining these things to me.
"Yeah." Dustil's voice was muffled as he turned around to grab another pair of bowls. "Jolee gave me a heads-up when we landed."
Juhani let out an uncharacteristic huff, shooting a glare at Jolee before turning to Dustil with a softer expression. "The Jedi Order can help you, Dustil," she said. "The Force is not something to be frightened of-"
"I spent four frakking years in a damn Sith Academy!" Dustil snapped, his eyes darkening, and I felt my heart clench. "You seriously think I'm scared of the frakking-"
Ordo's fist slammed down hard on the table, rattling the bowls as his boots thumped to the ground. He half came to his feet, leaning over to glare at everyone in turn. "Stop," Ordo growled, eyes as hard as granite. "Kittycat, keep your nose out. Sithkid, act like the man you are instead of a squalling ik'aad. I'll kriffing knock your heads together if this continues."
We all dealt with grief in our own way. Canderous seemed the least affected – except in those moments when his temper snapped.
The silence that stretched out after his words was awkward, and I felt the ghosts stir again. Had Bastila been here, no doubt she would've taken Juhani's side with a prim reminder about just who the experts in the Force were - possibly cementing her argument with a pointed remark in my direction regarding parental duty.
But Bastila had never even had the chance to meet Dustil.
Zaalbar might've rumbled something wise or appeasing – not that my abysmal Shyriiwook had ever meant I could understand him properly. Rosh would've stayed silent, leaning against the wall, looking vaguely bored if he deigned to show any emotion whatsoever. And Revan-
I couldn't even begin to guess. Some sassy comment about everyone taking themselves too seriously, perhaps.
I sighed, and leaned forward to mechanically shovel a spoonful of hot soup into my mouth.
"You know you can't hide from them forever, right, sonny boy?" Jolee was the first to break the silence, raising a bushy eyebrow at Dustil as if Ordo had never lashed out at all.
Dustil was still scowling as he slouched down next to Mission, whose head was bowed back over her meal. "You're the one who told me to-"
Jolee harrumphed. "Aye, well, figured you needed some breathing space. But we're headed to Coruscant, and that place is chock-full of Jedi. You should think about what you're gonna do when they approach you, lad, because sooner or later they will."
Ordo had relaxed, again, once more shoving his dirty boots on the table. I stared at them, hard, briefly considering the merits of a pointless dustup.
"What d'ya think that bunch of hu'tuun robes can do, old man?" Ordo said dismissively, one hand scratching idly at his unshaven jaw. "I'd like to see them try and wrest away the son of the Republic's golden hero in the middle of their kriffing victory parade."
"Hero," I said blankly. "Uh, say what?"
"Heh, suppose you've got a point," Jolee chuckled. "And Dustil is well beyond the age they usually admit students, but then I don't reckon they'll be ignoring a Sith-trained kid wandering around with a shiny medal hung about his neck."
Ordo turned to face me with a lazy grin that didn't reach his eyes. "Haven't you been listening to what the grunts outside this ship are saying, Onasi? We're all heroes of the Republic, now. Even being Mando'ade doesn't stop your women throwing themselves at me-"
"Canderous," Juhani hissed. "Show some decorum-"
"I don't want a stupid medal." Mission's voice was no louder than a whisper, but we all stuttered into silence at the sound of it. "And I don't want to go to stupid Coruscant."
She was staring down at the table again. Her lekku trailed limply down her back, as if all the fire in her soul had been quenched. I rested one hand lightly on her shoulder, and felt as useless as a tach caught in a scent trap.
The Meridus had been in hyperspace for near a week, while we remained safely docked in the hangar. The remaining Republic fleet was headed to the Core, where Forn had flat-out ordered me – and my crew, by proxy – to attend a damn medal ceremony being overseen by the Senate themselves.
I didn't think any of us particularly felt like being lauded as heroes, even if it did get Ordo laid along the way.
So far, I'd only left the confines of the 'Hawk for Forn's compulsory debriefs, but as far as I knew Mission hadn't budged from the ship at all. Mission – the one who'd snuck out pretty much everywhere we'd gone.
She hadn't said anything about our destination until now – stang, she'd barely said a word at all – and I had no idea how to reach her. None. Without Zaalbar, without Revan, she'd completely retreated into no more than a wraith-like facsimile of the ebullient girl that had been the heart of our crew.
"The medal ceremony isn't for us, not really," I said softly, feeling her shoulders shake beneath my palm. "It's for everyone else, everyone who's had to live with war for so long-"
"It won't bring Jen back," she mumbled, dropping her head into her hands. "It won't bring Big Z back."
"No," Ordo said, his voice gruff. Damn if his eyes weren't sharp with emotion as he stared at her bent head. "That's only something we can do, ad'ika. We tell their stories. Their memory lives on through us."
"Do you know how the Wookiees mourn, lass?" Jolee asked. Mission didn't lift her head, but her shoulders stilled. She was listening, at least. "Much like Mandalorians, the Wookiees share tales of their lost. They celebrate the lives that have gone. They eat a lot, of course, and howl a bit-"
"No one knew Revan as we did," Juhani added softly. "No matter her past, we are the ones who saw what she became. Bastila, too. And I do not think anyone on Kashyyyk can claim to have known Zaalbar like you, Mission."
"I lost someone," Dustil said, hard and abrupt, his eyes almost black as he, too, stared at Mission's bent head. "Someone on Korriban. Mex and I- we never really spoke of her after. She- but- I think..." he trailed off, uselessly, before catching my gaze. I hated the almost-desperate look in his eyes, the more so because I understood it all too well.
After Telos, I never mentioned Morgana or Dustil to anyone. The grief sat like acid in my soul, as I tried to smother it with whiskey first, and when that failed, the ongoing demands of war. Only after Revan stormed into my life, and Dustil was returned to me, did it somehow became possible to even think Morgana's name again.
"I'm going to Kashyyyk." Mission's head jerked up, tear-tracks glistening almost proudly down her pale blue face. "I never met Big Z's dad. He should hear what happened from us."
My breath caught as the idea sparked in my head. It'd be possible- Forn had promised me a direct trip to Telos after I attended her blasted ceremony, as well as immunity for Dustil, adoption for Mission, not to mention the 'Hawk, and a lengthy leave of absence I was still considering turning into that resignation I'd first thrown at her-
We could fit in a trip to Kashyyyk. With the way things were, Forn didn't seem willing to deny me much of anything.
"We could all go," I said slowly, looking first to Juhani and then Ordo. He met my gaze steadily. "After Coruscant, we could take the 'Hawk and make one last trip together."
"Canderous?" Mission asked in a tiny voice.
He gave her a short, sharp nod. "I'm headed back to my home, ad'ika, you know that. But if I'm gonna let the kriffing Republic adorn my neck with gold, first, then I've certainly got time to honour Carpet."
It had surprised me, earlier, when Ordo agreed to visit the Core. I wasn't sure if receiving a medal from our side would be any sort of trophy to a Mandalorian war general, or if he was simply loathe to leave Mission so soon.
We all clustered around her, I realized suddenly. As if Mission's grief was the glue still binding us together.
"I, too, would like to visit Kashyyyk one last time," Juhani added. "Freyyr is an honourable Wookiee, and Mission is correct. He deserves to hear his son's story from us."
Jolee slanted a look sideways at her. "Ain't you going to be tied up with the Order, lass?"
"I belong to Dantooine, Jolee, not Coruscant. Vandar reminded me of as much before he left." The Cathar's face tightened, but her eyes shone with resolution. "I shall make my way back to the Enclave after I pay my respects."
The conversation was devolving into leave-takings, I realized, and my heart clenched again. Without Revan, it sometimes felt like the crew had already broken up. But there was one matter of import I hadn't raised yet- everyone's grief was still too raw to think about the future-
"Mission." I cleared my throat awkwardly, pressing down on her shoulder to gain the girl's attention. Slowly, her head raised to meet my gaze. "Will you, uh, will you come back to Telos with us? With me and Dustil? I'll have lodgings there, and I'm on leave, and there'll be space for you..."
I trailed off, unable or uncertain what words I really wanted to say. Stay with us. Be part of our family. Let me look after you, as much as you'll let me-
Mission's light brown eyes widened, shining with emotion. But she didn't say anything.
"I can, uh, adopt you- like as a legal guardian, I mean." My words stuttered, sounding stupid and heavy-handed even to my ears. "I don't know what you want to do with your life, Mission, but I can offer you a home while you figure that out. You, and Dustil, and me."
She blinked, as if dumbstruck, and I was just waiting for blasted Ordo to say something scathing-
"It'd mean a lot to me. And- and-" I glanced around wildly, my gaze resting on old man Bindo who was staring at me, narrow-eyed, as if in deep concentration. "Jolee, you could join us too. I mean, it'd be good for Dustil to learn from someone other than a psychopathic Sith headmaster-"
"Dad!"
Jolee's bushy brows shot upwards in surprise. "Now wait just a minute-"
"That ain't a bad idea, Onasi." Ordo added, as he finally broke into the conversation. "Someone should keep your kid's head knocked on straight-"
"Hey!" Dustil all but yelped. "What the frakk would you know-"
"Jolee, that is a dangerous idea and you know it." Juhani's voice was tight as she leaned forward in her med-chair. The tips of her ears twitched before flattening against the side of her head. "Proper training can only come from the doctrines of the Jedi Order. Do not even consider-"
The sound of Ordo's boots scraping along the table muffled the last of Juhani's impassioned invective. He snorted, eyeing over Dustil in disparagement. "What I know is that you kept losing your kriffing head on Lehon, Sithkid. A true warrior trains both his mind and body."
"Call me an irascible grouch, if you will," Jolee was grumbling. "But whenever a darn Jedi tells me not to do something, I automatically start considering it."
"Jolee Bindo-"
"I know, I know!" He flapped a hand at Juhani and, surprisingly, it ebbed the Cathar back into silence. With a heavy sigh, the old man turned to stare hard at me. "Thing is, I've trained someone before and made a right royal mess of it. Not the sort of thing I care to repeat."
There was something in his words – a break in his voice, a crackle of emotion – that effectively killed the conversation. I had no idea who was in Jolee's past, but I could tell the experience haunted him.
"Dustil ain't your wife, Jolee," Mission said softly. "He's already been trained. And I reckon you ain't the person you were back then, either."
Wife? Wife? My gaze swung back to Mission in shock. It shouldn't be surprising that Mission had been a part of all the confidences that went on in this ship, but to think that the old man had once been married, and then tried training his wife in the Force-
She went dark. Or died. Or both. I felt hollow and drained, again, as I realized that Jolee, of all people, might understand my grief the best.
"Well, I'll have some time to think on it, what with Coruscant and Kashyyyk on the table first," Jolee muttered. "Ach, don't start again, Cathar. I'll make my own decision clear of what you or your Order think about it. Anyway, seems to me that no one's bothered to ask Sithkid what he wants, anyway."
All eyes turned to my son. He blinked, shuffling away from Mission, running one hand awkwardly through his hair. "Uh," he began. "I, um, I guess it'd be okay to have you around?"
"Bah, don't throw a party on my account, Sithkid."
I fought back an irritated urge to snap at Jolee for the overused moniker even as Dustil's eyes narrowed. "How about you stop calling me that, old man, or I'll start naming you my frakking Jedi master."
To my surprise, Jolee erupted into a surprisingly deep belly laugh, one hand thumping at his chest. Even Mission cracked a smile. "Alright, alright, I know when I'm beat. Guess I'll just have to come up with something better."
"Ad'ika," Ordo cut in. He was leaning back, his arms folded behind his neck with his legs stretched out covering the end of the table. He was relaxed, casual even, like he didn't have a care in the world – apart from the intent gleam in his eyes. "You haven't answered Onasi."
The hitch in Mission's breathing was audible; she glanced between Ordo and me, eyes wide and glistening even as her forehead bunched into furrows of consternation. Up until now, Mission had always followed Zaalbar – an outside observer might've considered her the leader of the pair, but it'd been the Wookiee who'd pledged himself to Revan. Mission had left her only home with barely a protest just to be with him-
She imagined a future with Zaalbar. Or with Revan, if Zaalbar returned to Kashyyyk. And now... The heart-breaking emotion on Mission's face as she stared at Ordo was plain to see. I didn't know how such a bond had sprung up between sentients so different, but there it was.
I knew the girl cared for me as well. Maybe, just maybe, it was Mission's big heart that might just have her coming out whole on the other side of all this mess.
"I'd take you with me, ad'ika, if I wasn't going back to the clans," Ordo said gruffly. "But I am. Onasi can give you a home, and even I'll admit he's an alright sort."
Mission breathed out hard through her nose, a mulish expression slowly forming on her young face. "Sheesh, Canderous, don't get all soppy on me. 'Sides, I'd make an awesome Mandalorian."
Something eased in my heart, to see that faint spark of her cheek bubble back to the surface. Ordo barked a laugh, leaning back, the side of his wide mouth twitching. "Yeah, well, just because you would, ad'ika, doesn't mean you should."
"Maybe." Mission shrugged, darting a look sideways at me. "Thanks, Carth. It means a lot to me that you'd offer. I'll- I'll think about it, okay?"
"Okay." I cleared my throat, looking away from her to scan around the room. My gaze dropped on Ordo's dirt-encrusted boots, which had started to leave tracks of grime on the far end of the table. "I suppose the only thing I have left to report is that Admiral Dodonna has signed ownership of the Ebon Hawk over to me."
Ordo choked in surprise, and I felt the beginnings of a grin as I took in his expression of disbelief. "So, Ordo, get your damn boots off my table."
xXx
Yuthura Ban:
Hyperspace, approaching Nar Shaddaa
The seventh galactic media-stream I switched to headlined the same bulletin.
Lord Malak is dead. The Sith Empire has fallen.
I leaned forward to turn off the console, and tried to pretend my hands were not shaking.
A true Sith knew how to grasp opportunity. As long as one survived, the ashes of defeat were nothing more than a setback. A chance, for the clever and the strong, to strive for a future victory.
But I was not a true Sith anymore. I wasn't entirely sure I ever had been.
Should I rejoice, at our liberation? No longer need I keep an eye at our back in case of Lord Malak's wrath. Or do I grieve instead, at the deaths of those once on my side?
I did not know what to feel. As momentous as the news was, I had a more personal matter concerning me. Surprisingly, even the Lord of the Sith's downfall did not supersede that for importance.
I rose silently, before striding from our shuttle's cargo hold and slipping into the sole living quarters. The room stank of sweat, undercut with the faint tang of something sweet I did not immediately recognize.
I frowned. "Mekel. Wake up."
The naked man sprawled on the bed face-down did not move. My fingers twitched, and a tight rope of Force lashed out, licking against his back.
His howl was loud, immediate, and vaguely satisfying. "Frakk!" he yelled, twisting around to jack-knife into a seated position. "Yuthura, what the actual frakk?"
Mekel's jet-black hair was rumpled and messy, and his jaw shadowed with bristle. One of the things I liked least about Humans were their overactive follicle glands. Mekel had never dared to forego daily presentation back on Korriban.
"Get dressed," I snapped. "You should have been awake hours ago."
He slumped to the side instead, glaring at me balefully. His forehead glistened, his shoulders sagged, and his blue eyes were glassy and unfocused-
"Are you ill?" I was striding forward already, at his side, raising a hand to touch his brow. Through the Force, I could sense his heartbeat racing unevenly. "What is wrong with you?"
"Is that a frakking joke?" Mekel twitched away, and once more I smelled that sickly aroma. Like candied vox cut through with kolto. "Because it's about as funny as a fart in a flight suit."
He may have had reason to snap at that comment, but I could recognize a diversion when I heard one. "You didn't," I said, hearing my voice ice over. Mekel rolled away from me, but even when he had the Force his speed could never match mine.
I leaped forward, throwing him back against the hard mattress and pinning him down by his shoulders. I knew that scent now, and my heart churned with a blend of distaste and despair.
Dark blue eyes glared up at me, the pupils abnormally large. "You know, there's better ways to wake me up-"
"Glitterstim." I said flatly. His biceps tensed beneath my palms. "You imbecile."
Mekel's eyes dropped closed as he sagged back into the bedding. "Nothing else was bleeding working, was it?" he muttered. "Days of you rifling through my frakking mind-"
"Shavit, Mekel, have I taught you nothing of patience?"
It had been easy to ignore the vast chasm of years between us, back on the Academy. Survival and strength ruled there, and no one blinked twice at the chosen lover of a Sith Master, even if he was two decades younger and a different species to boot.
But things... things were different between us, now.
Even before Mekel had lost the Force, our relationship had been changing. The structure of master and apprentice had shifted the moment we left Korriban. Now, at times, it felt like we were little more than companions forced together by circumstance.
"I only took half a derm. Look- maybe I am sick." He scowled, shifting beneath me, and with a cut-off sigh I moved away from him. "There are some diseases that eat the Force out of you, right?"
"Not without additional symptoms." We had already spoken of this. I had no explanation for Mekel's sudden collapse in a cantina, nor why his power had been completely gutted when he awoke. All I knew was what my senses told me: the Force flickered in him as muted and weak as any other null in the galaxy.
"Spice enhances the mind, Yuthura. It's not a frakking bad idea, not really-"
"Lord Malak is dead." Sometimes, with Mekel, the best approach was to cut straight through his banthacrap. "The Sith Empire is no more."
"Wha-" Mekel blinked, his jaw going slack. He sat upright again, his gaze roaming my face. "You're serious. Tits on a bantha, you're actually serious."
"I am," I said in a low voice. "Mekel, there is one avenue of assistance that we could... consider."
"Frakk," he muttered, barely hearing me. "Never thought I'd see the bleeding day. Dead! Who skewered the bast- wait, wait, Dee, have you heard anything of Dee-"
"Alive." My voice tightened. I had never thought overly much of that boy, but it certainly seemed the entire galaxy did now, if the holonet headlines were anything to go by. "And on Coruscant, apparently."
A dead woman whispered in my mind- I nudged Thalia towards Coruscant. It's a valid option-
Mekel's gaze was still clouded over, but his forehead bunched in thought. "We're, what? Fifteen days out from the Core?"
"We shall reach Nar Shaddaa in less than one sleep cycle. A jump to Coruscant from there is another sixteen. We may catch Dustil if we travel immediately, Mekel."
If there was one sent who might draw Mekel, it was Uthar's old bootlicker. Whether Dustil was still on the planet when we arrived mattered little; for by then, we'd be close enough to a hive of Jedi that I could strong-arm Mekel there if I needed to.
"You're don't give a womp rat's arse about Dee." Mekel's eyes had narrowed. At times, I forgot he was quicker than he let on. "Coruscant means the bloody Jedi. Frakk, Yuthura, you'd risk going to them?"
"This is a Force-related matter, Mekel. We require a Force expert's prognosis. According to the holonews, there are no Dark Jedi of note still alive to consult." But even if there were, trusting a fellow Sith with the well-being of my lover was a hard ask. "That leaves us with the Jedi Order. You know my opinion on them, but I do consider that pack of antiquated cowards a step up from resorting to glitterstim."
Mekel snorted, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, before turning back to pin me with a look. "Maybe they're a better choice. Doubt they'll be as much fun, though."
I felt my lips pursing. "Get up," I ordered again, before turning my back on him and standing up from the bed. "If we are going to face the Jedi on Coruscant, we need to research exactly what sort of situation we shall be walking into."
I left the room, feeling Mekel's hard stare boring into my back. I'd never asked his opinion on whether we should approach the Jedi, for my own mind had always been firmly fixed against the Order.
Until Mekel had lost the most important part of himself.
I do not trust the Jedi Order. I do not like the Jedi Order. But I would be a blind fool not to admit they might have something to offer Mekel... and perhaps to me, as well.
Twice, that notorious Jen Sahara had tried to coerce me toward Coruscant and the Jedi. It seemed oddly ironic that – now the holonets proclaimed her dead – I would finally end up travelling there.
xXx
Kavar Kira:
Stadium of Triumph, Galactic City, Coruscant
Bright banners of celebration snapped in the breeze, slashes of colour that demarcated the grey sides of scrapers bordering the massive stadium. The air glinted with hundreds of hovering media-cams, and buzzed with the thousands of sentients all gathered together in one place.
"...my pleasure to present the highest honour the Republic can bestow..."
At the far end of the Stadium of Triumph, a raised dais was bedecked in Republic orange-and-black. Senate dignitaries stood there addressing the crowd and proudly presenting the champions of the Republic, the heroes of the Star Forge – the survivors of Revan Freeflight's last gasp at atonement.
"...to the farthest reaches of the Outer Rim, you will be known as the saviours of..."
I could barely make out the faces of the Republic's new heroes, but the amplified voice of Senator Akku rolled crisp and clear over the crowds who had been admitted to view the medal ceremony in person.
Billions more, I knew, would be watching it streamed live on their holo-screens.
I repressed a sigh, quelling the urge to move restlessly on my feet. The Jedi Order's position so far from the front was yet another sign of our falling favour. The decline of our influence sat heavy in my soul, sharp with recrimination, all the worse because there seemed no obvious way to halt or reverse it.
"A Jedi is more than the Order, Kavar," Zez-Kai murmured.
I slanted a look sideways at my old friend. Worry had etched deep lines into his brow, but Zez-Kai Ell stood firm, facing the dais solemnly, clad in neat brown robes and exuding the air of a Jedi Master at peace with the galaxy.
He had always been more proficient than me at pretending.
"Atris is doing what she can to preserve our status," I admitted grudgingly.
That was enough to startle Zez, and maybe that was why I'd said it. My old friend's composure slipped, his mouth dropping slightly ajar as he turned to stare at me in disbelief. He cleared his throat. "That is... very charitable of you, Kavar."
"I'm trying," I muttered, turning back to face the front.
I was. Atris had been an idiot for releasing the news of Revan to the Senate the way she had, particularly without any input from the High Council, but she remained our only link to the inner circle of government, the only Jedi Master still allowed within the sanctum of the Senate's debating chambers.
Much as it galled me, I knew it was pointless to do anything other than support her efforts.
Currently, Master Atris Surik was standing still on the dais, dressed up in her usual frigid finery, tight-faced and expressionless. Atris was there to accept the Cross of Glory on behalf of the fallen members of our Order, as the chosen Jedi representative to the Senate.
Of course, we hadn't been the ones to actually appoint our own damn representative.
"Atris will be angling for Grandmaster, soon." The moment the comment left my lips I almost winced at how childish it sounded – regardless of the inherent truth in the statement. Grandmasters were scarce, and limited to no more than one per Enclave. Coruscant had been without a grandmaster since the close of the Mandalorian Wars.
"The Senate may have recommended her ascension," Zez admitted, and I fought to rein in an instinctual scowl at his confession. Zez-Kai had always played peacemaker between us, and I knew Atris responded well to his graciousness. "But remember, Kavar, that while the Senate may select our ambassador, only the High Council can appoint a grandmaster."
There was a note of reproach in his words, and grudgingly I could admit the remark had been beneath me. Grandmaster or not, Atris still held to the doctrines of the Order – in her own skewed, blinkered way.
"Speaking of grandmasters," I murmured, eyeing over the Republic brass and senate politicians flanking the heroes on the ceremonial platform. "Vandar is conspicuous with his absence."
"Hmm," Zez hummed, his gaze shifting to a nearby holo-board that had zoomed in on the faces of the Ebon Hawk crew. I could see a blue-skinned Twi'lek – no more than a girl, really – stare sullenly at the crowd before a Human boy whispered in her ear and brought a quick grin to her face. "The given story is that Master Vandar departed for Dantooine to ensure Master Vrook made a full recovery. I suspect we shall hear more at the next High Council meeting."
There was something in Zez's tone... a lilt of curiosity, perhaps, that led me to believe my old friend knew more than he was letting on.
I frowned. "Vrook would have been just as well taken care of on a Republic dreadnought." My gaze drew back to Zez, and he turned to face me, almost unwittingly. I could feel my eyes narrowing. "Zez, what have you heard?"
The corner of his mouth twitched, and I knew then that Zez had always planned to divulge whatever nugget of information he was about to slip forth. "Senator Akku informed Atris in no uncertain terms that the Jedi Order are not permitted to harbour or exonerate war criminals from Republic justice. The Dantooine enclave was specifically mentioned. Apparently, there is suspicion amongst the Republic brass – Admiral Dodonna, to be precise – that Vandar's hasty departure may have had to do with one of his old padawans."
I felt my breath escape me in a rush. The Republic had released one official transcript of the Star Forge mission thus far, and it had openly described the late involvement of Yudan Rosh on our side – while also making it abundantly clear that a last-minute change of heart could hardly undo the damage he had inflicted beneath the banners of both Revan and Malak.
But the party-line was that Yudan Rosh had met his death onboard the Star Forge.
Zez met my gaze carefully. "Vandar would have sensed the death of his old padawan. If it's true... if Yudan Rosh really found the strength to turn back to the light and still lives... he will not find the Dantooine Enclave the haven it once was."
I could feel my eyes narrowing, as I glanced back to the holo-board. The stuffy senator was stretching high on his toes in an awkward attempt to dangle a medal around the neck of an armoured man who refused to bend. "You think there will be eyes on Dantooine soil," I murmured.
Zez didn't answer. He didn't have to.
The Jedi Order had always been a sanctuary for the lost, but there was no denying our power to offer that sanctuary had been doomed by generations of Jedi-trained villains.
I cleared my throat as the senator stepped away from the mercenary. "Pay attention," I muttered, more to distract myself than anything else. "Atris is about to receive her medals."
"...recognition of her service to the Republic and acts of selfless heroism to safeguard the galaxy from the Sith Empire, the Jedi Order has agreed to posthumously promote Jedi Bastila Shan to the full rank of Jedi Knight..."
The holo-board focused on Atris as she accepted a beribboned box enclosing the medal awarded in the name of Bastila Shan. Atris kept her expression impassive, but there was a pinched look about her eyes as the crowd cheered and the senator retrieved a second box.
"Atris is holding up well," Zez commented, voice ebbing back into neutrality, as he folded his hands neatly into the front of his robes. "This cannot be easy for her either."
"...Padawan Jen Sahara, the apprentice of Jedi Knight Bastila Shan..."
"Oh, no, Zez, you are not going to ruin my only enjoyment today with a surge of sympathy for Atris Surik," I drawled. Zez glanced at me quizzically, but I kept my eyes fixed on the stern countenance of Atris as she stepped forward to collect the second medal.
"Whatever do you mean?"
Was it my imagination, or was there a flash of banked fury in Atris' silver eyes? Did her mouth thin with displeasure, or her fists clench tight around the farcical honour bestowed upon the alias of a dead villain?
"The sight of Atris, accepting a medal on behalf of Revan Freeflight," I clarified, trying not to chortle. "Do you think she'll throw it into the nearest trash compactor?"
"Honestly, Kavar-"
"Come on, Zez, better to laugh at the black irony than choke on it." I could feel my lips twitching. Damn, but it was going to be hard not to throw this moment back in Atris' face. "Can you imagine if she'd been forced to say a eulogy as well? Padawan Jen Sahara, innocent victim of Darth Malak's tyranny-"
"Kavar!" Zez's rebuke was lost in the crowd's cheer, as Senator Akku moved on to honour Captain Carth Onasi – the man the Republic spin was labelling as the leader of the Star Forge mission, as they completely ignored that this had been a Jedi-led mission from the outset.
Yes, but one that wasn't sanctioned by the High Council. Yet another adventure that Dantooine spearheaded on their own, without a care for the consequences.
Just like that, my mirth vanished. A great sigh escaped me, and suddenly I felt weighted down with the reality of the times we lived in. I'd blamed Revan for that, once. Now, I simply wondered if we'd done it to ourselves.
"The Jedi Order is dying a quiet death, Zez."
Zez-Kai might believe we were more than the Order, but without the Order, without the ability to advise the Senate and safeguard the Republic, what would we become?
Safeguard the Republic... and that is exactly what Revan Freeflight pledged when she stormed off to join the Mandalorian Wars.
While we sat back, dabbled in political intrigue, and kept ourselves safe.
"Today is a victory, Kavar," Zez murmured, nudging me gently. "For the Jedi Order as well as the Republic. Look to the crowd. They are celebrating Bastila Shan out there."
"Yes, the masses will honour Bastila Shan and her padawan Jen Sahara," I said, not liking how dark my voice suddenly sounded. "They're doing that because Bastila is marketable, Zez – because Bastila is dead."
I could feel the heavy weight of his gaze on me again. "Knight Juhani is not, Kavar."
"But she's not the shining star, is she?" I snorted, raising an eyebrow at my old friend. Around us, the crowd erupted into roaring cheers as the captain finally received his medal along with a public promotion up the ranks. "The official transcript barely even mentions the only Jedi left standing after the Star Forge fell."
"Kavar." Zez held my gaze calmly, as if it were his turn to comfort me. On my other side, Master Vash began politely applauding along with the rest of the Jedi contingent. "This is not the end. You know that. There is no end."
My friend was right. Again, again, Zez always seemed to embody more wisdom and acceptance than I had ever managed to. I sighed, bowing my head, repeating his words silently to myself.
"And, so, we keep faith in the Force," I said at last, before making a belated effort to join in the round of applause. For all of my discontent, I knew the survivors of the Ebon Hawk more than deserved the honours of today.
"Faith, yes. We stay true to the light, and shine a candle in the darkness," Zez added, also bringing his hands together. "And, perhaps, actually work with the Senate in good faith and transparency for once."
If they will let us, Zez. I pasted on a smile, turned back to the front, and clapped louder. If they will let us now.
xXx
Yudan Rosh:
Ancient grove, Wildlands, Dantooine
Rays of early morning sun whispered through the fronds of blba trees, warming the cracked flagstones and half-metre pillars that marked this place with the echoes of a people long gone.
I recalled, clearly, stumbling across this ancient grove in my youth. Renni grass grew thick through the topsoil even then, strangling the ferracrete flagstones as nature strove to reclaim her territory. The farmlands of civilization were well back to the west; here, the wild reigned supreme. Flying brith, flocks of iriaz, and horned kath hounds roamed the land. No sentients would discover my presence in this grove unless they were actively hunting me down.
The Force hummed gently, deep within the earth, resplendent and golden through flora and fauna alike in a symbiosis of balance that was more soothing than I would readily admit. My first twelve years may have been spent navigating the throes of politics on Ryloth, but I would always consider Dantooine as the heart of my childhood.
That was before Coruscant. Before the Wars. Before... before everything.
The shadow of her death rose sharp again, armed with claws of grief that tore into my own sense of self. Our conversation on Lehon mocked me: I could still see that deserted shoreline bathed in a pre-dawn glow that had kissed her face and glinted against the green of her eyes, as I had sworn that my next steps – should we survive the Star Forge – would be my own, and not hers.
Perhaps I had expected the both of us to die. Or merely myself, in one last dramatic exposition of faith – taking a bullet or a blade meant for her, so she could carry on to do what she had to.
I had not, in any of my internal monologues, thought on a life where I existed and Revan did not.
Her downfall was different, this time. Worse, in a way. The dark had shackled me after Deralia, imprisoned me in a boreal cage of hatred and corruption that allowed me to ignore my despair over her first death. Now, I no longer had the means to escape from grief, but neither did I know how to accept it.
I felt like damning Revan for illuminating the path back to reason and then abandoning me to a galaxy she was no longer a part of.
Revan. I vowed I would not follow in your shadow again... but I was to prove that while you still lived!
That the Star Forge was destroyed and Malak overturned afforded me only the vaguest sense of comfort. Revan had accomplished her end game – and I was glad of that – but I simply could not count this outcome as a victory when it had resulted in her sacrifice.
For Revan had been the centre of my life for too long.
My pupil, my friend, my hero, my master... and something deeper, in those final, twisted days before she fell to the twin threats of Malak Devari and Bastila Shan. There's more, isn't there? Between us? She had asked that on Lehon, curious and ignorant, probing into a dangerous section of our past that had been tempting to reveal to her.
In the end, I was glad I had not.
The dark-edged passion of those few weeks still haunted my dreams, at times, but I preferred to think of her as the driven, reckless hero who had blazed a trail through the galaxy. Or perhaps, something even greater – the re-forged warrior who had kept fighting, despite every stumble, in order to repair the disaster of her past.
Revan had been the Force's own luck embodied, and the Force had loved her... I had loved her. A large part of me, I knew, always would.
A bit on the tragic side there, Yudan, her voice teased in my head. I felt my jaw tense as another wave of emotion threatened to submerge me. Something flickered in the Force nearby, and I stilled, glad of the distraction, allowing instinct to master my thoughts and caution to bring me to my feet.
I turned, looking out to the wild vista beyond the outcrop of overgrown blba trees and crumbling ferracrete. I could recognize my old master's presence in the Force well before his short figure became visible in the distance.
Vandar Tokare could move fast, when he desired to. Today, however, was not one of those times.
"Vandar," I greeted, a good ten minutes later, after he had stopped to examine just about every flowering shrub he wandered past.
The short grandmaster leaned against his knobbed walking stick, tufted ears twitching at the chirrup of an iriaz roaming nearby. "Dangerous, here, life can be," he mused. "But there is also a grounding simplicity, hmm?"
I cocked my head in silent acknowledgement. Vandar's meandering would hardly dovetail me into impatience – he had taught me too well for that – but neither was I interested in gallivanting down irrelevant conversational detours. "Have you come to entice me back to the Enclave again?"
Vandar had tried, some days ago, the first time he had tracked me down. I had not been ready for our reunion, for all that I had left my cursed snubfighter behind in Khoonda township to travel to a remote location only Vandar Tokare would associate with me.
The little green Jedi master did not reply. His eyes, wide and blue, held mine sadly, as he answered my question with silence.
"You have not," I said slowly, wonderingly. "But why..."
My voice ebbed away as my thoughts raced. The High Council must know of my survival. I was last a Coruscanti Jedi, no doubt they would demand... demand what? My deportation? But Dantooine had always found the backbone to refuse Coruscant when they desired. The skeins of corruption fading from my skin spoke a truth that called to the Jedi here – Jedi, who prided themselves on judging a sentient for what they were now, not what they had once done. Many would not call it justice – I understood that; my jaded soul even agreed – but the likes of Grandmaster Vandar Tokare looked at justice from a difficult angle, and it was near impossible to think of a champion with more clout than him.
"The Republic," I whispered, suddenly encumbered with a deep exhaustion as I thought I understood. "They know – or suspect – of my survival."
I had once told Revan the Jedi Order would offer her a safe harbour, if they could.
If they could.
"Hmph," Vandar muttered, hobbling over to the nearest blba tree and poking at it with his stick. "Not very subtle, was your shiny black ship. Already uniforms it has, nosing about it."
"I confess to not exactly thinking matters through when I landed," I said, somewhat drily. "I did have a few things on my mind, you see."
"Hah! Always one for thinking too much, you were!" Vandar turned back, peering at me sharply. "Your eyes are clear," he commented, creaky voice sharp with satisfaction.
I looked away. "Perhaps if I am not discovered on Dantooine, the galaxy will believe I jumped ship and flew off-planet." There was a sound reasoning to that logic. If – or when – I left Dantooine, I would not do so in such a distinctive vessel.
"The activation passphrase is 'nexus'," I added, staring blindly into the cerulean Dantooine sky. "You should find a way to slip that to the Republic, or better yet, leave the cockpit open for their scouts to stumble across. Let the Rakatan technology act as a feeble gift of my atonement rather than the snub be relegated to a Khoonda scrap-heap."
Vandar shot me a long look that, if coming from any other sentient, would no doubt be accompanied with an exasperated eye-roll.
"Ill befits you, melodrama does," he muttered, turning back to his tree. Thin threads of gentle Force traced from his hand, curling slowly into the dry bark. "Many times I have said as such, but listen, will you?"
I sighed, my gaze tracking the trajectory of a brith as it flapped its large mammalian wings in the sky. "There are eyes on the Enclave," I said in a voice that dared him to disagree. "That is why you do not wish me to return."
Vandar hummed, leaning his forehead against the trunk of the blba. He had always spent his time communing with nature, from the largest of creatures to the smallest of plant-life. For a sentient who so treasured life, I had never understood how he could have sat back from the Wars the way he did.
They fear the Dark Side, Revan had once told me, a lifetime ago. They fear what would happen if they fall. The casualties of Exar Kun's war are not just those who died, but also those who lived through it and survived.
"Time heals wounds and settles tempers," Vandar murmured, still not turning around. Through the Force, I could sense the placid, ancient life of the blba shine just that little more brightly. "Today, I can say with truth that the Dantooine Enclave does not harbour Yudan Rosh. But your home, the Enclave remains. Allow time to pass, and a sanctuary it will once more be for you."
Perhaps. I did not have the same faith as Vandar in the galaxy's forgiveness or the Jedi's power to shelter the likes of me, but he could be right. The bigger question, however, was whether I even desired Vandar's promised sanctuary.
Vandar patted the tree, pulled back, and swivelled around to peer at me again. "Stay," he beseeched. I did not think Vandar would intrude upon my mind unwanted, but it was nonetheless uncanny the way he still picked up on my thoughts. "Hold you here, I cannot. Resourceful enough you are to find passage from Dantooine. But a true Jedi, once more, you remain, no matter the doubt in your heart. So stay, my old padawan."
I paused, breaking away from his gaze. "What is truly here for me, Vandar?"
I could not bring myself to use the honorific he deserved. It seemed – hypocritical, perhaps, to speak the Jedi titles I had once respected and later scorned.
"Peace," Vandar returned simply. "Faith. The Force. The Order, if you will permit yourself the patience required."
Peace... peace meant acceptance, and I did not know if I could ever accept Revan's death. And while the planet of Dantooine was a balm to my grieving soul, I was uncertain if the same was true for the Jedi Order.
After all, I had not entirely held to their doctrines even before I had left Coruscant.
There is always Ordo's offer. His words lingered in my mind, as unexpected as they were tempting. An offer of clan from a warrior I respected, to a life that would be rewarding in a simpler way than mine had ever been. It could be a good life.
I had not discounted it, yet. But I also felt like I owed Vandar something. Whether that something was a few months of my life or a return to the Jedi, I simply did not know.
"I will stay for awhile," I said slowly. Living in the wildlands on Dantooine was not a particularly onerous task for one such as I. My skills were more than a match for any predator, and I hardly lacked the means to gather or hunt any sustenance I required. "I will stay until I figure out where my path lies. And that is something only I can decide, Vandar."
"All I can hope for, that is." Vandar hummed under his breath and hobbled closer. "News of the outside world, there is. Those you befriended are honoured with medals and glory."
"Good," I said vaguely. In truth, I had known Revan's followers little, but the old man from Kashyyyk and Canderous Ordo were two I found myself holding in high esteem. Regardless, the entire crew more than deserved their moment of victory even as I doubted it would dent the magnitude of their loss.
It surprised me, at that moment, to find myself hoping Revan's soldier would find some measure of peace. Revan's death was a boulder crushing my spirit, and I had seen first-hand how he – how all of her crew – had loved her.
They loved the Wookiee, too. And Bastila Shan.
I glanced sharply back to Vandar. "How is Vrook holding up?"
Vandar moved to stand next to me, tipping his wrinkled head up to stare into the sky. "Ill-tempered. Heart-broken. Understand, I do, that you met his padawan?"
"Briefly." Bastila Shan had joined the Dantooine Enclave as a young girl, perhaps a year before my transfer to Coruscant. I only had the vaguest recollection of a quiet slip of a thing trailing after Dantooine's most acerbic master. The memory did not mesh at all with the fallen and passionate woman I had encountered on the Star Forge.
My eyes narrowed as that scene replayed itself in my mind. "Vrook... Vrook would not have known what happened after he fell. He was the catalyst for Bastila's return, did you realize that?"
Vandar stilled but said nothing as his bright blue eyes fixed on mine.
"Revan could not reach her, Vandar." I would not – I refused to divulge Revan's brief stumble into the dark. And the matters of the Unknown Regions that had so driven Bastila Shan could be discussed another time. "It was the Wookiee Zaalbar who made Bastila truly see Vrook's sacrifice on a personal level. If Vrook had not come for Bastila, matters would have played out differently."
Revan would have returned to herself, regardless. I would not believe anything else. But Bastila Shan, I suspected, might have met a darker end.
"Interesting, that the Wookiee played such a part," Vandar murmured. His comment surprised me, but perhaps it should not have – I had seen, over the years, how Force-users of all alignment tended to focus on those with power, and forget how even a pawn could win or lose a game. "Relay your words to Vrook, I shall."
"I was not there at her end," I said, hearing my voice ice over. No, instead I had been gallivanting through the Star Forge in order to rescue Revan's soldier. Would it have made a difference, had I refused Bastila's request and stayed to guard her, as Revan had ordered?
I did not know what happened, only that Revan and Bastila had fallen together as Revan said they would. Malak must have cut Revan down – but then why had the Wookiee died?
If Malak – my once-friend, my adversary, the man I had briefly bent knee to – had found his way to the meditation chamber and caused Revan's death by killing her bond-mate after I left, then I did not think I would ever forgive myself.
It was a disquieting, bitter thing, to realize I would have to live with the lingering suspicion that I might have had the chance to save Revan and Bastila both-
At the cost of Carth Onasi and his son. The death of Revan's soldier may have been the final push to send Revan permanently into the dark, and that is why I went.
I took a deep breath, and attempted to force the melancholy down. "If you send Vrook here, Vandar, then I will speak with him. I cannot promise our words will be harmonious, however."
Vandar's snort was loud and irreverent. "Do you both good, a battle of words might. Trust you, I shall, not to let the words cut deep. Vrook grieves the same as you."
I nodded. Vandar snorted again, before thumping his stick on the ground. "A gift for you, I have," he said abruptly, before shrugging off a small rucksack and rummaging around inside. He grunted in satisfaction, retrieving a bundle of cloth that he offered to me with both hands.
I could feel one brow rise in curiosity as my fingers gripped around the soft material. Zhar Lestin's lightsaber still hung on my belt and, other than that, I did not particularly desire any other possessions.
"Well, go on, then!" Vandar prompted, nudging me in the ribs with his gnarled stick.
The worn cloth fell open, and resting in the middle of it was a plain mask of red-and-black, etched with a horizontal slit at eye-level. "The mask from a Mandalorian helm," I said faintly, as Ordo's offer of a future once more rose in my mind. The common soldiers of the Mandalorian offensive all donned similar masks, most made from beskar like this one, but most also etched in clan sigils this one lacked. The distinctive armour of the Mandalorians had marked them as a recognizable sight the galaxy had once feared.
That had been part of the reason Revan had taken up that mask she had- "Revan," I choked, suddenly understanding. My eyes stung. "This is... this is Revan's mask!"
Vandar nodded, looking far too placid and serene for such a moment. "Took it from her ship, I did, when Bastila Shan first brought her to Dantooine."
"Why?" The word came out in a strangled gasp. I looked down blindly, my fingers gripping around the sharp edges of the infamous mask. It had been an anonymous symbol, an icon of hope, the mark of a villain- Suddenly, all my twisted memories of Darth Revan threatened to re-emerge- "Why would you give this to me? Darth Revan is hardly how I wish to remember her!"
"Her journey is what you should remember," Vandar said sharply, poking me with that damned stick again. "That even the darkest of paths can return to the light. Forced Revan into that, perhaps we did, but her choice it was to stay true. You, my old padawan, found the steps to take yourself."
"I-" I did not know what to say. I couldn't drag my eyes away from the ominous piece of beskar now held within my grasp.
"The birth and fall of a hero, that mask has seen," Vandar murmured. "But more important is what happened after that mask was lost."
I felt like I should curse Vandar for the gift. But I said nothing, sinking to my knees in the soft grass instead, still staring at the forged metal that had once covered the face of a woman I had adored.
Vandar sighed, then, and patted me softly on the shoulder. "Return, I must, for a time. Keep your faith in the Force, my old padawan. The Force will lead you home."
I glanced up at him, nodding jerkily, not trusting myself to speak. The little old Jedi smiled in benevolence, and I rather thought he knew what matter of roiling emotion he had just stirred within my soul.
Damn you, Vandar. I cannot bring myself to refuse this 'gift', but nor am I sure if I should hold onto it. Vandar might believe he understood what our lives as Dark Jedi had been – but he did not. Not without having lived it himself.
Shavit, given Revan's amnesia, not even she had fully understood.
My fists clenched tight, and it took a supreme effort of will to calmly wrap the mask back into the worn cloth and put it aside. Vandar had already commenced his meandering trek back to the Enclave, by then. With his pace, I doubted he would be back by sundown.
With a long, deep intake of air, I closed my eyes and tried to relax.
Vandar's parting phrase was an interesting one. Home... he clearly believed that Dantooine and the Jedi Enclave were my home. It had been, a long, long time ago. Now, the planet merely felt like the dull echo of a childhood I had outgrown.
A place to rest and recover, before I moved on.
I had promised myself, back on Lehon, that I would look to my own soul first, that I would not allow Revan to remain the centre of my existence. Yet this was the cruellest way for fate to make that promise a reality. Somehow, everything was just that touch more muted, more dull, with the knowledge that I would never see her again.
Her memory remains in my heart, though. There is no death. I know that. I understand it.
I simply have to find a way to live with it.
xXx
Meetra Surik:
The Vineyard's Curl, Alateev Colony, Outer Rim Territories
"Another one, Em?" Jorjo asked, motioning to my empty mug.
I smiled at the old Ithorian, giving him a short nod of assent. His droopy eyes crinkled in pleasure – sometimes, I wondered if his greatest joy in life was serving others.
"You're off early, Em," he commented, as he topped the mug up with the smoking green wine peculiar to Alateev. It bore a mild malt flavour, and the alcoholic content was low – despite the drink's rather provocative presentation. Likely the wine's popularity had more to do with appearance than taste, but I had to admit the beverage had grown on me after all these years.
"College had a half day," I explained, leaning back against the high-backed bar stool. "Today's the end of term, Jorjo. Twenty days of freedom for us profs."
Jorjo chuckled. "It always comes around quicker than I expect. Any of your colleagues headed this way?"
I shook my head briefly. "Sorry, Jorjo. There's a fancy do at the Senatori."
Jorjo looked at me silently for a moment, a stare I returned with equal measure. I'd known Jorjo for years, and it was not difficult to read his solemn expression. Sure, Jorjo desired the additional business, but more for my own sake than his. He wanted to see me spending time with my fellow colleagues on a more social level.
Jorjo was a sentimental sort, but he was wasting his time with me.
The Vineyard's Curl was appealing because of its low clientele and relative quiet. The pub was situated down a back alley, closer to the rundown starport than the colony's centre, and that meant Jorjo's customers tended to be anonymous spacers rather than local regulars.
That was how I liked it. My days were already filled with lectures on divergent astronavigation – I'd rather my free time wasn't as well. And I had zero interest in fostering any sort of friendship with my peers.
The past had seen to that. Relationships were for other people.
Jorjo gave a short shake of his flat head before wandering away, absently flicking on the pub's only holo-screen as he wandered past. A news channel – that was unusual for him. Even turning the dratted thing on was unusual for him.
I preferred to ignore the galaxy that had turned its back on me years ago, and was about to move to the far corner of the room, but - despite myself - the words spewing forth from the screen snagged my attention.
::-day twenty-six after the Republic's glorious victory in the Lehon sector, and the Sith War has been declared officially at an end. Republic forces have crushed the only remaining offensive in the Mid Rim, taking Sith Admiral Sara into custody and mopping up the fleeing remnants of Darth Malak's once awesome armada. Nearly all hot sectors embroiled in conflict have had emergency states lifted. I am here with the Senate's official correspondent, Ularic Gren, to ask some of the many questions we all have.::
The red haze of blood swam through my vision in a sickening rush. The war... the war is over? My lips felt numb. And the Republic... the Republic actually won?
Despite myself, despite the years of detachment that had shackled me into an existence even I would admit was hollow, the names of those I had once cared for – those few still living in the depths of corruption – rattled through my mind like a useless prayer to a damned deity.
Shar... Yudan... Nisotsa... Malak...
There was a reason I avoided the intergalactic news. Alateev's peculiar religious doctrine frowned on anything bar the most cursory of glances at events beyond our borders, but that had nothing to do with my abstention. No, the truth was nothing more than survival at its most basic.
Once, the well-spring of the Force had sung through my veins, connecting me to all life in the galaxy. Once, I had been unique in my empathy for sensing the emotions of all who surrounded me.
Once upon a time, I had truly lived.
I swallowed against a dry throat, staring blindly at the prettified Twi'leki reporter smirking on the holo-screen. The war is over, I repeated to myself dully. That means... Malak. He must be one with the Force, after all this time.
And Shar, my old apprentice, who spent years denying the parasitic desires of his own species before Revan corrupted him?
Yudan, my noble friend, who followed Revan just as blindly and faithfully as Malak?
I did not wish to know the answers. But I made myself listen, regardless.
::The Sith War is the wrong terminology,:: a suited Cerean drawled in a voice dripping with condescension. ::This conflict is correctly named the Jedi Civil War, and is now at an end.::
::The Jedi Civil War?:: the reporter parroted, one painted brow arching in question. ::But these past four years have been the Sith Empire trying to conquer the Republic!::
Four years. Had Malachor V truly been so long ago? Four empty years, echoing with nothing more than bloodied memories and devastating loss that still hammered at my soul whenever I dropped my guard.
::Yes, the Sith Empire – which was led by fallen Jedi from the Jedi Order,:: the suit shot back in overt disapproval. ::We must never forget their origins when we look upon the calamity and devastation they have wrought.::
The reporter changed tack. ::Can you comment on the rumours that Darth Revan was part of the Republic's effort to overturn the Sith Empire, dying in the attempt to stop Darth Malak?::
I could feel my face spasm. Certainly, the holonews often came with a ludicrous rumour or two, but I could never quite halt that nauseating lurch whenever I heard Revan's name.
I could still remember the day the holonews blared out that Malak had killed her. I had hated myself for the unbearable grief that had overtaken me.
The senate representative snorted in disdain. ::Darth Revan died more than a year ago. Jen Sahara was a young Jedi apprentice who aided Captain Onasi and Jedi Knight Shan in their mission. Let's not sully Padawan Sahara's death with such a ridiculous rumour, merely because they share the same hair colour.:: The suit – he was a polished Cerean dressed to the nines - shot an imperious glare at the camera. ::The true heroes are the courageous men and women of the Republic, who have risked their lives to stand against the atrocities of the Jedi Thirteen and all those traitors who followed them.::
I blinked. The Jedi Thirteen? He's not... he's not labelling them as Sith? This was the senate's official correspondent. He would have been primed and prepped by politicians for the exact angle to take. There's a schism between the Order and the Senate, I realized with a shiver of foreboding.
I didn't care. I didn't! This had nothing to do with me, and I would not let emotions overcome me. I had no emotion left.
The reporter, a heavily painted Twi'leki male, shifted his free hand to a scantily-clad hip. ::We understand that the sole survivor of the Jedi Thirteen, Yudan Rosh, is rumoured to be hiding within the Jedi Enclave of Dantooine. What is the Senate's position on this?::
Yudan… the bottom of my stomach fell out. The sole survivor…
Cariaga had been the first to topple, during the Wars. Back when the Jedi Thirteen had been a name of triumph and hope rather than a curse whispered in the night.
The infamous, damned, fallen Jedi Thirteen.
Oh, how I'd tried to avoid hearing of my friends, as they killed each other one by one. The names, the faces, the people of my past when I had been a different person, a whole person – I vowed I'd left that all behind, but the media reports still found a way to reach my ears eventually, and every death pierced through my detachment with poisoned darts of remembrance.
Talvon, Jexer, Rab.
Jonn, Arran, Alaki.
Revan.
I swallowed convulsively. And, now, Malak and Nisotsa.
The news was wrong, though. I still stood, a brittle husk of the woman I had once been. And Xaset...
We had travelled together, after Malachor, after that excruciatingly painful audience with the Council. Xaset and I had seen so much together. Lost so much. Some days, the only way I could feel anything was by losing myself in the forbidden pleasures of the flesh.
The Jedi had named us both exiles. So what did it matter if we flouted their ethos?
Xaset had been more of a mess than me. I was numb, afloat in a sea of nothingness, ripped away from the matrix of sentient emotion I had always been immersed in. Xaset... Xaset had once been a master healer. What had the pain of so many deaths in the Force done to a being that had always striven to regenerate life?
Malachor tormented us both. It broke me, and it shattered him.
For a time, we only had each other. That might've been enough for me: a grey life where the only shards of colour came from our wild lovemaking. But as the months rolled on, Xaset grew worse. His eyes darkened, his midnight skin paled, and his voice slowly weakened to a dying rasp. Eventually, he left me alone in a spaceport, leaving nothing but a scrawled data-note containing a half-hearted wish for my future happiness.
Even now, years later, I wondered where he was. If he was still alive, still in pain, still, at times, thinking on me as I did him.
We might've had something together. A pale echo of our glory days, of the power of the Force – but something tangible nonetheless.
The holoscreen flickered, a sure sign its energy cells were on the way out. A glower had contorted the suit's face as he glared angrily at the unruffled reporter. ::The Jedi of Dantooine deny his presence, but if Yudan Rosh still lives then he will face trial for his atrocities against the Republic. The Senate will no longer tolerate the Jedi Order seeking clemency for their supposedly-redeemed criminals.::
::But we understand that Yudan Rosh switched sides and proved invaluable, in the end, to the success of Jedi Knight Bastila Shan's secret mission?::
The glower deepened, if that was possible. ::There is so much misinformation in that ridiculous statement. First, let me clarify that this stealth operation was a joint venture between the Jedi Order and Republic HQ – not Jedi Shan's personal endeavour. All of the members of the Ebon Hawk are equally credited with their victory. Do not forget that the pilot, our Navy's own Commodore Onasi, recruited most of the Ebon Hawk's members and commandeered the strategic plan for uncovering and destroying the Star Forge.::
::Okay, okay, but about Yudan Rosh-::
::Yudan Rosh is a war criminal, and a late change of heart does not magically undo all the monstrosities he oversaw as Darth Malak's Supreme Fleet Commander. As for his actions, we remain sceptical that he had any effect on the outcome in the end. Regardless, this is for the courts to decide. Whatever good Yudan Rosh did will be measured against the bad.::
My heart fluttered wildly in my chest. The scent of death and the screams of thousands echoed in my ears. Memory... cursed memory bubbled to the surface in a blinding panic attack, threatening to break through the numb wall of disengagement I had so painstakingly maintained over the years.
Breathe. Breathe in, breathe out. Just keep breathing.
The pounding of my heart slowly faded, the sweat dried up, and a maelstrom of thoughts took its place.
Yudan, my oldest friend... could he really have switched sides? Maybe. Maybe it'd all fallen apart for him when Revan died. He had loved her as deeply as Malak had, for all that he had tried to hide it.
And Shar... they say nothing of Sharlan. But he must have been captured- or killed- or captured and ready to be killed-
The Dark Side had rotted through all the people I had once loved. All of them had fallen. All who had dared follow Revan after Malachor.
I had once sworn to the Jedi High Council that, had I not lost the Force, I would not have done the same. But knights did not turn into Sith overnight, and sometimes in my darkest moments, I couldn't help but wonder if the loss of the Force might even have been a blessing.
The suit had stalked away from the camera, and now the Twi'lek was chattering breathlessly into the holo-recorder. ::Stay tuned for a complete profile of all the Ebon Hawk's colourful personalities. Join us live with Life & Style correspondent Juli Starring, who has the scoop on the forbidden and tragic love between Commodore Onasi and Jedi Knight Shan-::
The holo-screen switched off, and my burning eyes slowly closed. I was shaking, I realized dimly.
"Yellow press," Jorjo was muttering next to the deactivated screen. "Holonews kills brain matter. It's all rubbish designed to turn sents into mindless drones."
I lifted my drink, moving on automatic, and took a large swallow. The cool wine trailed a blister of sensation down my throat, and at that moment it was the only thing I could feel.
But my mind was racing.
It's time. It's time to move.
Alateev was on the arse-end of a little-used hyperlane, with no known resource planets or supersystems nearby. War had never really touched this place. Even the Mandalorians hadn't bothered.
I had nothing to do with any war, not anymore. The Force had left me, and I had left the galaxy behind, in a desperate bid to shed the stranglehold of my past.
And yet, what sort of life did I have? Teaching bright-eyed sents gave me a vague sense of satisfaction, but I avoided any personal attachment beyond the most fleeting. Stars, Jorjo probably knew me best – and all the old Ithorian really knew was that I had once hailed from the Core.
I couldn't go back. I couldn't. But... living on Alateev was no more than days spent breathing in oxygen to inflate my lungs. Maybe- maybe now that the war was really over- now that whatever Revan had started after Malachor had finally come to a grinding halt- maybe, just maybe, it was time for a change.
A time to find a way to start living again.
xXx
Atton Rand:
Cerilian Detention Centre, Xappyh sector
"Move," the smug guard grunted, one meaty fist shoving hard in the small of my back.
"Okay, okay! Give a guy a chance!" I spluttered in a desperate voice, moving with a calculated stumble, letting the guard see nothing but a beaten, cowed mark caught by the winning side.
Unfortunately, that was exactly what I was.
The interrogation room was one of those pristine white cubicles: nothing more than a footstool gracing the centre, the air thick with cloying sans-spray, and the far wall lined with blaster-proof transparisteel separating me from my newest chum. A surly-faced Quarren, who couldn't even be arsed to look up from his datapad.
"Name and designation?" the sent behind the screen drawled in a bored voice
This isn't the first time I've landed behind bars, I reminded myself. And it probably won't be the last. So time to chin up and spin the right sob story.
I pasted on a conciliatory smile and took a seat, resting my shackled hands limply on my lap. Ole Squid-head still didn't bother to make eye contact.
"Atton Rand, Ensign, strikefighter pilot AE204H4," I replied, rattling off the id-card designation I'd memorized before the capture crew had stripped me clean. My legs stretched out, crossing at the ankles, the durasteel nerve restraint on my left chafing something awful. "Say, cozy place you've got here. Are you my arbiter?"
The Quarren didn't answer. Behind me, the heavy-handed guard barked a scornful laugh. "You're in processing, Sith scum. Arbiters are for those who might actually be innocent."
Processing. Shavit, it'd taken the Republic almost a galactic month just to get me into processing – and I was hardly the last idiot left on their roll. At least I'd divested myself from any high-end weaponry before shooting out from the Forge in a snub that'd been netted before I could blink. Far as the Republic was concerned, I was just another dumb pilot cowed by the scary Dark Jedi. Would've been better if I could've posed as a simple ship mech, but the armour I'd been wearing underneath my flight suit made that a hard sell.
Damn good piece of Echani workmanship, too. I was kriffing pissed the Republic had pinched it. Supposedly it was in storage until my release – hah! – but I knew how these things rolled. Amazing how prisoners' equipment could get 'lost' during years of penitentiary.
Years. It was what the grunts were saying. Years stuck in a detention centre for any sucker picked up from the dying Star Forge, that symbol of Sith power which had so nearly toppled the Republic.
I could wait out months, but shavit! Years was too much to ask.
I'm free of the slayers, though. They're dead. All karked it, like I knew they would. Better a jailed mark waiting for a chance than a puppet still dancing to the tune of a madman-
I cinched the dangerous thought back. Flicked over a deck of cards in my mind, and kept my passive smile fixed steadily on my face.
The Quarren looked up, finally, his fingers stilling over a keypad behind the glass barrier. Beady black eyes narrowed on me. "Human, Sith strikefighter pilot, two years' service. Odd, you don't look much like your ID-pic."
My easy smile didn't slip. "Years of warfare can be quite aging for my species."
The Quarren's chin tentacles twitched beneath his jaw. "Turn your head-fur brown, did it?"
I remembered the mark I'd rolled before collaring his life story. Chubby guy, fair hair, ugly mug. Same species and gender as me, though, and with the raft of prisoners here I didn't think any admin chump would bother looking at me twice unless I gave them a reason to.
"The missus prefers this colour on me, sir," I clarified, slipping in the honorific in a crass attempt to curry favour. Who knew, could be that the way to soften this rube was to act suitably subservient. "Sir, so many of us were only doing what we had to, to survive. Piloting was the only job I could find to feed the kids, after our farm was bombed-"
"Says here you reported to Squadron Leader Tobias." The Quarren spoke right over me, as if I'd never said a damn word. "Along with the battle of the Star Forge, your squad was also involved in the Lannik conflict and the battle of Mon Gazza. Do you have anything to add or dispute on that accounting?"
Damn Quarren wasn't going to budge on sympathy. But even prisoners had rights- "Shouldn't I be going over this with an assigned arbiter?"
The guard behind me snorted, while the Quarren merely raised one scornful brow-ridge. "Prisoner is uncooperative," he stated to the room at large, before tapping loudly on his console.
"Hey, hey!" I protested, leaning forward. Shavit, this guy isn't going to bend, time play hardball- "Of course I'll cooperate! We're all glad this madness is over, right? But the Republic's charter regarding the legal rights of detainees-"
"Does not apply when the Republic's resources will be tied up for decades in restoration endeavours from the war your lot threw upon us." Squid-head's voice had frosted into ice. "Of course, if you have personal funds to appoint your own arbiter then matters can be arranged with more expedience."
The guy looked smug. Expedience. Suuuure. Even if I did have something squirreled away, giving the keys to this lot would do nothing but seize that something under the guise of reparations, or whatever bollocks the Republic would come out with.
"I thought not," the Quarren said in disgust, just as I realized I'd ballsed-up by hesitating too long. His tiny eyes narrowed, before he jerked his head at the guard behind me. "Take him. We're done here."
I knew when to call it quits. I stood quickly, silently, turning around to face the meathead full of smug as he strode forward with a raised hand and an ugly grin.
"The war is over, Sith scum," the guard drawled, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the exit. "You lost."
Yeah. The war is over. Glory be to the kriffing Republic.
It was time to play it dumb and quiet while I was herded back. Back to my pen, crowded with all the other bantha waiting for the slaughter. Not exactly the sort of escape I'd banked on when I'd ditched my fellow tools.
"You're small fry, Rand," the Quarren called after me, as the door opened and I walked through. "Be glad of that. You might be out before your 'kids' hatch their own spawn."
The guard sniggered, but I kept my silence as he marched me down the utilitarian corridor that led back to the holding cells. It was too soon, I realized. Too soon for any sort of sympathy-play or negotiation regarding my circumstances. The Republic was punch-drunk on the high of victory, and no one here gave a ronto's arse about keeping to the charter of their glorious constitution.
Not yet, maybe. But once the dust settles, sooner or later the media will hone in on us prisoners. Let someone slip news of mistreatment during peacetime, and the heart-strings of the masses will suddenly ring bright. The tide always turns, in the end.
I just had to hope it was a matter of months, and not those kriffing years my bedfellows were bleating about.
The guard stopped at the cell block, taking a moment to unshackle my hands before unceremoniously pushing me inside. The room beyond was the common quarters for my lot; forty or so sents clad in greys, each one emasculated with a nerve restraint rimmed around a limb, ready to be remote-activated if our geolocation shot red on the damn prison's network.
There were other cell-blocks, of course; I didn't know how many, but the guards liked to label us with pet names. We were the Slugs; grey like our jumpsuits, grey like the slop ladled out to us three times a day. Couldn't give the guards any marks for imagination, but if they got their jollies sniggering over verbals, well- it was better than a beating.
The meathead who'd led me back in grabbed another inmate before disappearing, and I was left to make my way to the hole in the wall brimming with lines of half-full bowls. Dinner, and today's flavour was: pureed sludge.
I hated being so directionless, and I was fast running out of ideas on what to try next. Sure, I could be patient if I had a flip-card up my sleeve, but I was surrounded by guards I couldn't charm, walls I couldn't escape, and subdued inmates – most of whom were low-level wingmen who'd only fought to score a pay check. The exact justifications I'd thrown at Squid-head - even if they weren't mine. Just a job. A living. A way to make ends meet.
Right now, the only thing I could think of doing was creating allies on the inside. I had no plan, no glimmer of hope, yet – but laying the groundwork for a future purpose was one way to pass the time. I'd skimmed over the pilots and honed in on the handful of techs already; but they were all button-pushers, admin schmoes, none who had any useful skills outside of a damn command center.
There was a sole engineer who'd come in some days back. Spent weeks in the infirmary, apparently, and hadn't said a word to anyone since arrival. Sure, an engineer might be useful if I ever found my way to a kriffing ship, but the thing was, I just knew the sent's backstory gleamed with about as much truth as my own did.
I could tell a lot about a sent from observation. With the engineer's stance alone, I knew I was dealing with an experienced ground soldier – at the least. Special ops, maybe. Insertion. Intel agent. Shavit, if it hadn't been for the electrolyzed Force tests we'd suffered through on capture, I would've sworn she was something else.
Something highly dangerous, something I had experience in recognizing.
I came through blind on those kriffing Force tests, though. And apparently I can touch the-
I cinched the thought back in. I hadn't heard that Jedi scow's voice in my head since I'd run from the slayers, and I wasn't going to rouse her ghost now. Maybe it was simply that potential to use the Force didn't show up in the Republic's kriffing drug trial.
Or maybe I'd been told wrong, and I was just another Force-blind null.
I grabbed my dish of slop, and headed to the tables. Either way, the engineer intrigued me, and the one thing I had in this cursed place was time.
I slapped on a smile and strode over to the sent. As I slipped down on the empty bench seat next to her, moss-green eyes glanced over to meet mine.
xXx
Author's Note:
Coming up next: part two of a three chapter arc concluding the tale of the survivors.
Millifar Ordo, daughter of Canderous, belongs to kosiah's 'verse in Memory.
A medal ceremony's worth of thanks to kosiah for the beta.
