FOUR

Pellek was glad to be out in the open air after spending over a week trapped on the Ebon Hawk. She never had the same affection for the ship that the Admiral seemed to have; it had always been a run-down piece of junk to her. And after she learned that it had been Revan's ship, she seemed to feel the woman's aura all over it, gray and slippery like mist. She had never been comfortable after that.

She looked around for Atton and found him trailing her, a good four hundred meters back. She was glad he was keeping his distance while she was alone with the Admiral—the man couldn't see Force ghosts and he trusted her little enough as it was. The Admiral was ahead of her by a few meters, but he slowed up and fell into step beside her.

"I don't think I've told you properly, but I appreciate you coming with us, Exile," he said. "Bastila seemed to think you would be important to the mission."

"I think you're the only living sentient still calling me 'Exile,' Admiral," she replied. He raised his eyebrows, and she realized that the words had come out like a threat. Of course they had, because why should she be able to carry on a normal conversations with living sents anymore? All she did was talk to the ghosts chasing her.

"What would you prefer I call you?" he asked. "General? Jedi? Sweetheart?"

She bit back a sharp retort. "How about just Pellek?"

He grinned. "All right, Just Pellek. But you'll have to cut out that 'Admiral' business. The last thing we need is for the people of this moon to think we're an invasion party from the Republic. You call me Carth, and I'll call you Pellek."

Calling him Carth seemed too familiar. She called him Carth. But that was better than being reminded of her crimes every time he addressed her. Pellek had stopped being the Exile when she killed Kreia. She changed topics. "How long do you think we have until those fighters send someone to the ship?"

"A good day, I think. I changed our landing vector at the last minute, so they'll have to do a visual sweep of the planet to find the Hawk. If we don't find the parts we need here, though, we'll have to camp away from the ship, just in case. This moon is close enough to the border of the Outer Rim that they probably see Republics on a fairly regular basis. If Case and Dustil managed to buy supplies here, then we shouldn't attract too much attention doing the same."

They walked in companionable silence for another half klick, and Pellek could see the outskirts of the city ahead of them. It appeared to be open to the prairie; no wall or guard blocked their entry. She was glad for that, because even in an old flight jacket, Carth looked like an Admiral on parade inspection. They'd be spotted as Republics by any sentry a klick away.

"Did you know her, before?" Carth asked abruptly.

It was obvious the "her" to which he was referring, but before what? Before Revan became Darth Revan? Before Darth Revan became Case? Before all of them became lost at Malachor? Pellek sighed. "She and Malak were a couple of years ahead of me, but yes, I knew her. She was the best with a blade I've ever seen."

Carth chuckled. "Yeah, she surprised the hell out of me on Taris, and that was while she was still using vibroblades. The woman was positively vicious once she had a lightsaber in her hand. But most of the time, she managed to talk her way out of any scrapes we were in. She was—is—persuasive as hell, even without the Force."

Pellek knew that firsthand. Revan had come to her while Pellek was mediating a land dispute on Tatooine, after they both had completed their Knight trials. Pellek could still remember the way the Force seemed to swirl around the woman. She had looked like Destiny coming toward her.

Revan grinned ruefully at the endless Dune Sea. She had her hair back in a messy ponytail, and the wind whipped the short pieces around her head. "Doesn't Vrook ever give you interesting assignments, Pel?"

Pellek smiled and shook the sand out of her Jedi robes. "Anything is better than Dantooine. I've seen enough rolling plains to last me the rest of my life. What brings you out here, Revan? I thought you were spying on the Mandalorians with Malak."

Revan got serious, and Pellek realized that this wasn't just a casual visit. Revan wanted something. "There's something strange about the attack, Pel. I'm still not sure what it is, but this war isn't predicted by their history. I think there's something more going on."

"Like what?"

She frowned. "I'm not sure, but it's a bigger threat than Mandalore, I know that. But we're never going to find out if we're defeated—the Council is just sitting on its hands and watching our people get slaughtered out there!"

Pellek knew this was all leading up to something, but also she knew that Revan expected her to play her part, indulge her ego by asking the obvious questions. "What do you suggest we do? The Council has forbidden direct involvement."

Revan's mouth twisted. "The Council thinks it knows everything, but they've isolated themselves from the Galaxy so long that they're terrified of it." She leaned in conspiratorially, even though no one at the Anchorhead cantina was close enough to overhear them. "We've sworn to protect the Galaxy. And I mean to do that whether the Council helps us or not. I'm gathering Jedi, young ones like us who can still think for ourselves. I'm going to offer our services to the Fleet."

Pellek laughed out loud. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about the military, Revan. Corellia is a pacifist state."

"You connect with people through the Force like no other Jedi I've seen. Imagine how effectively you'll be able to lead an army." She put her hand over Pellek's. "I need you, Pel."

Pellek looked down at the hand covering hers, then up to Revan's gaze. Her dark eyes were fierce, like the core of a sandstorm. And just like that, her decision was made. "I'll join you," Pellek said.

Pellek shook herself out of the past and glanced at Carth next to her. He seemed lost in a memory of his own. "Revan didn't need the Force to be persuasive," she said. "She had the power of right behind her. We all believed we were doing the right thing when we joined the war."

"It must have been hard to see the change in her, after she—after she fell," Carth said. "She must have been a different person to you."

She should pity the poor man, give him the answer he was practically begging her for. But she shook her head, "That was the thing about it, Carth. She was exactly the same."

She saw Carth's angry eyes and clenched fist before he lengthened his stride and walked ahead of her again. Carth might deserve her pity, but Revan didn't. She had already done Revan enough favors.

Dustil could see the broken manifold of the hyperdrive engine buried deep inside the compact unit. He was on his back under the engine with a lamp between his teeth, trying to get his hand in far enough to pull the manifold out. If he could get it out, he might be able to repair the damage with the Force.

It was just out of reach. He grabbed a hypospanner from the floor and angled it toward the piece. Almost there—just a millimeter more—

The manifold sparked and sent electricity jolting into his arm. He shouted and slid himself backward, out into the hallway. He stood up and kicked the engine. "Lousy piece of junk," he muttered.

He heard muffled laughter behind him. Dustil turned to see Bastila leaning against the doorway and watching him with amusement. "Who are you laughing at?" he growled.

She straightened and affected a very serious pose. "I don't see anyone laughing, Jedi," she said. "I just see a grown man kicking an engine that appears to have insulted him."

Dustil glowered, half seriously, and tried to shake some feeling back into his fingers. "I don't know why everyone's so enamored with this falling down wreck of a ship."

Bastila held her palm out to him. "Here, let me Heal it for you."

"No, don't bother. It serves me right for poking the engine with a tool when I don't know what's behind the broken part." He strode past her and stretched his hands to the ceiling. "I'm going outside. We might have to stay with the ship, but I'll be damned if I'll give up a perfectly good day on the surface of a friendly moon when I have the chance."

Bastila trailed behind him. "That is a sensible idea. The fresh air will improve my mediation."

Dustil dropped the gangplank and strode out to the prairie. The land was as flat as could be for klicks in all directions. The gas planet the moon circled loomed high and green in the western sky. The calf-high grass was a cheerful teal green interspersed with yellow flowers that reminded him of spring calli blooms from Telos. Bastila promptly found a shady spot near the ship's wing and sat cross-legged in the grass. The tall blades reached almost up to her—

Dustil averted his eyes. Surely it was just coincidence that she was wearing a form-fitting jumpsuit instead of Jedi robes. Taunting him for his earlier comment about her clothes would demonstrate a sense of humor he was sure Bastila didn't have.

Dustil ignited his blade and forced himself to concentrate instead on the weight of the lightsaber in his hand and the friction of the air as he began some simple form exercises. In just a few minutes, he was totally engrossed in the movement of his blade and body working as though made for each other. He closed his eyes and imagined a progression of enemies attacking him, most constructed from Case's stories about the search for the Star Forge. First three angry Wookiees, then half a dozen Sand People, then a cave full of kinrath spiders. All were easily dispatched. He stretched his mind, looking for a better challenge—

—and found himself face to face with Case. She looked just the same as she had on the Sith planet, armor scuffed and mended in ten places, hair roughly cut and shoved back with a targeting visor. She even had that feral grin that told him he was about to get his ass kicked in practice. It looked like Case, but there was something wrong with her eyes. They were full of fear.

"I told you not to follow me!" she whispered harshly.

Dustil lowered his blade. "Where are you? I left to get help. Pellek Tran and Bas—"

Case's eyes widened. "Pellek Tran? She's still alive? Where is she?"

"She's with me, on a moon a few days into the Unknown Regions. We're coming back to the Sith planet—are you still there? Are you okay?" She didn't look hurt, but there was something off about her, something she was hiding.

A slow smile spread across Case's lips, like she had received an unexpected gift. "Good. The two of you together—" she shook her head suddenly, and the fear was back in her eyes. "Get out of my head! Get out of here!" She charged toward him, yellow lightsaber extended.

Dustil barely got his blade up in time to block her wild slash. "Case, what are you doing?" She kept coming at him. Dustil growled low in his throat and switched forms. She wasn't going to get rid of him so easily—he had to find out where she was. He ducked her swing, then snapped his heel out into her stomach. She bent over, gasping, and Dustil flipped her blade out of her hand. She backed away, palm extended and glowing with the Force.

"Tell me where you are, Case," he asked again, voice full of Persuasion. A worried whisper in his head reminded him that he had never disarmed her so easily, not once in five years.

She looked anxiously over her shoulder. "Espol," she whispered, then flung her hand forward and Pushed him back—

Dustil opened his eyes to find the empty prairie of the moon before him. Bastila was still quietly meditating next to the ship. The angle of the sunlight and a glance at his chrono told him he'd been "practicing" for almost two hours. Dustil sheathed his blade and hung it back on his belt, trying to decide whether he'd actually been talking to Case or if he'd just let his imagination get away from him. He'd never heard of a planet named Espol. But he'd never seen Case look terrified that way, either, not even when they were in the most hopeless of fights. Something was wrong.

"Case has contacted you," Bastila remarked calmly, eyes still closed.

"How did you know that?" he demanded. He didn't have a damn Force Bond with Bastila, and he was tired of her knowing what was in his head.

She opened her eyes slowly. "You're broadcasting in the Force like a lighthouse. Visions such as you have had are not easily accomplished. Only the strongest in the Force can manage them, and any Force Sensitive in this system probably felt you just now."

Dustil hadn't considered that. It occurred to him suddenly how the fighters might have found them in hyperspace. He'd have to be more careful. "She said she was on Espol," he said finally.

Bastila paled. "Espol?" she asked. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Espol. I've never heard of it." Dustil didn't like the look on Bastila's face, like she was trying to decide what to tell him. "What, dammit?" he demanded.

Bastila opened her mouth, then squinted into the slanting sun behind him. "Someone approaches," she said.

Dustil turned and saw a low vehicle, like a large, flat speeder, crossing the plains at a fast speed. He shaded his eyes and could make out five silhouettes standing up. He gingerly felt toward them with his Force senses but could only make out a vague blur. "They're either shielded or naturally resistant to the Force," he said.

Bastila glanced back toward the ship. "I suppose it is too late to hide on the Hawk. Your father will be displeased that we have attracted attention, I think."

The speeder came to a stop about ten meters from them. Dustil decided he might as well try diplomacy and strode to meet them, hands out and empty in greeting. "Are we ever glad to see you!" he called cheerfully. "Our ship crashed, and we're looking for a replacement hyperdrive manifold. You don't happen to have one, do you?"

The aliens, which looked a bit like Rodians except for short blue fur falling from their foreheads to their flat noses, conferred quietly among themselves. After a moment, all four of them turned to them and raised blaster rifles. "Which one of you is the Force user?" the center one said in garbled Basic. It was the same accent as the voice from the fighter had.

Broadcasting in the Force, Dustil thought to himself. This was his fault. He opened his mouth to speak but Bastila beat him to it.

"I am," she said, drawing herself up to her haughtiest height. "My servant and I are here on a trading mission."

"Your servant?" Dustil hissed under his breath. He didn't know what she hoped to accomplish by this, but he was tired of everyone trying to protect him. He said loudly, "I'm not—"

Before he could get the sentence out, the alien still on the ship flung something over his head. Dustil instinctively ducked and heard Bastila gasp behind him. He turned to see her stiff and tangled in something that glowed faintly green. A Stasis net. He had only seen one other one, about three years ago on a very unfriendly planet they'd been lucky to escape. "Hey!" he shouted. "What the hell are you doing?"

The four blaster rifles were now pointed at him. "You're safe now, sentient," the leader said. "Your master can't control you while we have her in the net."

"Look, you have it all wrong," he protested.

The aliens' fur darkened ominously to gray. "Then are you also a Force user?"

Dustil glanced quickly from the blaster rifles to Bastila. He could certainly escape from these aliens, but to do so would leave Bastila helpless in the net. He had to play along. He forced a grateful look to his face. "No, no! I'm not. Thank you for rescuing me from her, kind sentients."

The aliens' fur relaxed back to blue. They leaned together to confer again, then straightened. "We would like to speak with you further, sentient. And we must question the Force user. Will you come with us?" They hadn't lowered their rifles a centimeter.

"Of course, whatever I can do," he said. The aliens nodded approvingly. Dustil glanced at the Ebon Hawk, then sighed and carefully picked Bastila up, net and all, and carried her onto the speeder platform. They started toward the city on the horizon.

Bastila was right. His father was going to be most displeased at this turn of events.