Su'cuy! I believe it's been a few months since I last got on fanfiction; my apologies for neglecting you all! I've been pretty busy lately, with mid-terms and college applications and essays and a new addition to my myriad of siblings (Well, not really quite so many brothers and sisters; more like half a dozen :P) The newest is a little boy and he's uber-cute. So, as you can see, my attention has been occupied by a variety of things. Hopefully I'm getting set for another writing marathon. Feels like it; I have all these ideas bouncing around in my head and tons of segments of chapters scribbled in notebooks scattered across the house…I'm usually more organized than that but lately I've been doing a lot of "inspired" writing. Basically my emotions have been fueling and directing the pen for me, so I've sort of been writing chapters out-of-sequence (which is normally not my style; I've always been pretty strict about writing everything in chronological order, or the plots just end up in a jumble and it's a hassle trying to tie them all together) Luckily the plot is pretty straightforward in this book, so I'm not likely to get lost.

Anyhow, enough of my ramblings. I see since I last got on everyone's been updating their stories, and I think I've even picked up a few more fans. As usual, comments are welcome and your support is appreciated. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! The title explains the content of chapter 6? Right now I'm in the process of editing chapter 7 (which is pretty awesome, if I say so myself) so expect another update fairly soon.

Also, if you have not voted yet, please go to my profile and let me know who your favorite characters are! That way, you'll be able to read more chapters from your favs' POVs.

Mando'a Phrases

Shabla auretiise! - fairly impolite; basically means "screwed up cowards/foreigners"

Kandosii, vod'ika. - well done, little brother

Beroya - bounty hunter

Kote lo'shebs'ul narit! - minus the profanities, this phrase basically means "you can keep your glory"

Mir'sheb - smartass

[What the/where the] haran - hell

Oya! (Let's roll!)

Chapter 6

"Check it out…we just kicked your butts and we were wearing skirts when we did it!" - ARC trooper.

✶ The Fortitude, 1200, 407 Days ABG ✶

Kan and Adriaan stepped off the cruiser into the docking bay of the Fortitude to be greeted by the Varactyl Clan, whose members stood grinning amongst a foreign cadre of troopers. As a security detail rushed on board to escort the two prisoners to the detention block, Kan's Master marched toward the landing party with a cocky air of familiarity.

One of the clones, whose white armor was decorated with alternating slashes of orange and black, raised his rifle at the Jedi as they approached. "Hold on, you'll need to give the GAR security codes before I can let you pass," he said in a voice that had an odd ring to it, as if he were mocking Kan's Master.

Adriaan whipped out her officer ID and flung it at him. With astounding reflexes he caught it before it collided with his breastplate. "Satisfied, you gropo?" she grunted.

Some of the others began to flank them, keeping their blasters trained on Adriaan. Kay and the other Padawans looked on grimly.

"Never seen you before, so don't even pretend you recognize us," the orange clone said.

Kan himself had never laid eyes on soldiers like these before. They were plated in armor that looked like it could take a much harder beating than the regular gear could, yet at the same time it had a unique streamlined quality that gave it a more sophisticated look than the generic trooper kit. The Mandalorian T-visor was less evident in the helmet's design, and from some of the head fins there hung boldly colored plumes. In addition to the foreign insignias marking each trooper, they each sported an asymmetrical shoulder pad, and synthleather skirts which hung from their belts to their calves.

Adriaan strode boldly up to a clone with a perturbing cyclopian eye in the center of his helmet and poked him in the chestplate. "How do you like your Commando armor, Storm?" she asked with a grin.

"That's not Storm, that's Cor," a guy with a Grievous skull tattooed on his helmet piped up.

"Nice try, Cor, but I remember you wanted a General Grievous skull on your next set of armor," Adriaan said, jabbing the Grievous-skull clone in the stomach. She jerked her chin at the skirt. "How do you like them skirts, girls?" she drawled.

"These kamas work like a charm; we tested them on Drag," a soldier with a purple cross slashed across his mask said.

"What are kamas for?" Kan inquired.

"Deflecting low-flying shrapnel and jetpack downwash," a clone in ebony armor set aflame with red and yellow paint grunted.

"They deflected Drag without a problem," a clone whose eggshell white armor displayed a mesmerizing metallic gold pattern quipped.

"Hah. Very funny," a soldier with sinuous dragons tattooed on his shoulder pads and helmet growled.

"I see your venture was a success." Kay indicated the retreating figures of the Mandos.

"Don't everyone thank me all at once," Adriaan snorted, folding her arms across her chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have some angry Mandalorians to interview…"

"It is SOP for an officer to have an interrogation specialist presiding over the interview of the POWs," the trooper with the red flames on his armor piped up.

"And that would be the handsome young chap in the blue and silver armor, no?" Adriaan said lightly, indicating an awkward soldier hovering at the edge of the group.

"It would be Drag, actually," a trooper in armor shockingly reminiscent of Atoya's said, stepping forward. "He's the spec ops man."

"You and Vyto would be equally qualified," the trooper in the dragon armor protested. "After all, you're a shadow trooper; part of the black ops."

"I'm a medic; I have to preside anyway," the purple-cross soldier spoke up.

"Helmets off, gentlemen," Adriaan said, passing her hand over her eyes. "All this shiny new paint is giving me a headache."

"Speaking of headaches," Grievous skull said, popping off his helmet to reveal red-tinted irises,"I would like to thank Wolf for getting rid of that horrendous blue and black paint pattern."

"I rather liked that pattern," the camoed soldier – Wolf – argued. "It was designed to make battle droid eye sensors overheat."

"It did more than make battle droids overload," a clone with a Varactyl decal above the T-visor said, "it made your poor brothers' eyes water just looking at you."

"The camo paint is fitting for a shadow trooper, anyhow," Wolf said hastily. He obviously didn't like his brothers criticizing his artistic style.

"What's with the new armor, anyhow?" Kan asked. He had only recently mastered the skill of recognizing the troopers by paint insignias. Now he would have to start all over.

"We had a complete arsenal revamp," the flame-marked trooper, Ember, explained. "Promotion requires an entire new wardrobe."

"We're not just regular troopers anymore; we're Enforcing Front Line Commandos, and we need the right kit to execute the job properly," a trooper in gold and black paint said.

"I'm totally jealous," Kay said aside to Kan.

Adriaan heard. "Well, now that you mention it, Kay, I do recall ordering new uniforms when I sent in the form for the commando kit," she said. "If you ask Commander Tem, I'm sure he'll check the ship inventory to see if the shipment arrived with the commando gear."

"You ordered us new uniforms?" Several Varactyl Clan voices chirped excitedly. Jedi so rarely got presents of any kind, and here Adriaan was, fitting them with an entire new kit, from clothes to lightsabers.

"We're all beginning to look a little raggedy," Adriaan admitted. "I like my brigade to look trim and tidy. I've always been sort of a neat freak."

"We do not merit these largesses –" Andora began, but Kay and Marya – the other females in the squad, who would never turn down an opportunity to get fresh, stylish new clothes for free – interrupted before she could protest any further.

"Thanks, Adriaan!" the two girls said loudly and swiftly, hastily bowing and galloping off in the direction of the bridge to find Commander Tem.

"WICKED!" the Wicked Club screamed. To Adriaan's astonishment, Aedan sprang to her side and hugged her around the waist before tramping off after his club members, shrieking at the top of his lungs. The Shi'Odo – who had never gotten used to the Spartan lifestyle of the Jedi – morphed into a Lightningite and quickly caught up with Marya and Kay. Andora stood like a stalwart rock holding out against the lazy drag of the tide, looking ridiculous as she sermonized to a group of Padawans who were no longer present.

Kan looked to his Master, who nodded and made a shooing motion in the direction of his peers. Taking Andora by the arm, he strode off after them.

It was just Adriaan and the clones now.

"I'd better get started," the Jedi Knight said, whirling to go. "Vyto, you're with me, of course. Did we decide who's going to be the official interrogation expert?"

She felt her boys' unease ripple through the Force like a chilly breeze. Drag and Wolf were engaged in a staring contest, each willing the other to surrender and fill in the position. She didn't blame their reluctance; no one wanted to be present at an interrogation. It could get nasty. Nevertheless, she was a bit surprised at their hesitation; she had never before seen any of her men hesitate to volunteer before. In fact, they nearly always fought over assignments.

"I'll fill in." Of all people, it was Storm who spoke. But she honestly couldn't see a better person to fill in the position. A jet trooper and the new squad tactician, he was known for his calm, calculating disposition. He was a strategist, a Type B personality, with a natural distrust of non-clones. She hadn't heard him speak more than a handful of sentences in the year she'd known him. He was perhaps the most Jangoesque clone she had ever met; he was so poised it was unnervingly contagious.

"You're a jet trooper, not an interrogator," Cor argued.

"And I'm a Jedi, not a soldier. Yet here I am, a General of a GAR brigade," Adriaan remarked. She nodded at Storm. "Follow me."

Kan strode down the corridor of the Varactyl Clan's section of the barracks to the sound of a dozen surprised and delighted squeals penetrating closed doors and bouncing off the walls. He grinned, listening to the excited chatter of the Clan females as he passed their quarters. Apparently Adriaan hadn't skimped on their new gear. As he rounded the corner and hurried with no small amount of eagerness to his quarters, a door to his right hissed open, allowing several small blue shapes to cannonball into him. He was knocked head over heels but stopped his erratic flight path and landed catlike on his feet, holding his arms out to keep the Wicked Club from suffocating him. "Whoa, kids, what's the big deal?" he said, half-amused at their high-pitched ecstatic screaming.

"She got them! She finally got them!" Heatrian the Pyronite howled, magma frothing from his lips as he capered around Kan, showing off a trim lime-green lava-proof armorweave full-body jumpsuit. The lava-being had always been partial to the color green, but unfortunately clothes that could withstand his incredible body temperature were hard to come by. As a result, he had been forced to wear the same garments for over a year, and the bright emerald hue of his outfit had been blackened to a vomit green by ash and lava flares. Kan could see that Adriaan had gotten him an incredibly expensive heatproof armor suit that was flexible enough to accommodate the fluid anatomy of the Pyronite. Unlike his original outfit, this one was more streamlined in design and sported a full helmet, which was devised to minimize damage inflicted by the perpetual fluctuations in Heatrian's body temperature.

"The paint is camouflage! WICKEDLY watch!" Heatrian shouted, solidifying into a semi-hardened state. As he coagulated into black obsidian, the suit shimmered and darkened, blending into his "flesh" tone.

"Wizard," Kan breathed. He wouldn't have minded having a suit like that, himself.

"And we got these WICKED skirmish jumpsuits!" Aedan screamed, halting abruptly so Kan got a full view of his new outfit.

He was a little surprised. She had completely discarded the traditional, bulky Jedi robes in favor of figure-conforming, militarized flightsuits. The material was memory-armorweave, hugging the contours of the person so that it gave the appearance of being custom-tailored. The light armorweave would protect against smaller shrapnel and debris – those sharp, flaming bits were responsible for the majority of casualties, so the new suits would obliterate the need to constantly duck and dodge through the battlefield, costing the Jedi precious time. Jahn Pal and Sai'wer had donned the dark grey stiff leather skirts which the ELF Commandos were now wearing. Kamas, Kan believed they were called.

"GOODS, take those GOOD girly things off," Aedan commanded, noticing the kamas at the same time Kan did.

Andre emerged from their quarters, twirling his kama as if it were some sort of sling weapon. "I can't believe GOOD old Adriaan thought we would wear these," he commented, flinging a withering glance in the cousins' direction. The two blonds stuck their thumbs in their mouths and took no notice of the sneers their companions offered them.

The flightsuits came in various colors, to suit each Padawan's preference. Aedan's was an aqua blue, Andre's was red, Heatrian's was green. Kay strode out of her room clothed in a flattering fuchsia jumpsuit and indicated Kan's room several doors down. "Go on, try yours on," she said. "She gave us three different sets of outfits – I think we're supposed to wear one of the other ones while en route, but I like these flightsuits the best."

Kan stepped into the room he shared with Klamin. The Shi'Odo was standing almost completely naked in front of a mirror, holding a gossamery-grey garment out at arms' length. He barely glanced in Kan's direction as the Padawan strode to his bed, where three sets of clothing had been neatly laid out.

"She actually got the chameleon-skin sept-armor cloth," the Shi'Odo said, poking a bare toe into the shimmering material. As he morphed into a dark-skinned human, the grey stuff darkened and browned until it slid into the exact skin tone of the shapeshifter. He shrugged the suit all the way onto his leg, shapeshifting into a green-skinned Falleen as he did so. The jumpsuit quickly followed suit. "Amazing stuff. It must have cost her a fortune." His voice was quiet, in awe.

"The money came from your account," Kan reminded him. The Shi'Odo had done a brief stint serving as an advisor to the Queen of the Syleeto system before joining the Varactyl Clan. Obviously, working in the royal court had its benefits – one of them a hefty salary.

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't exactly going to drop to the ground and kiss her smelly feet in gratitude," the Shi'Odo muttered, a weird yellow glint coming into his eyes as he pulled the rest of the suit on. The Padawan turned, shuddering involuntarily, remembering his strange conversation with Adriaan before they had interdicted the Mando vessel.

"She had quite a few interesting things to say about you pre-interdiction," he commented lightly, trying to draw some sort of reaction from his companion. Klamin was the closest friend he had in the Varactyl Clan ever since Jordin had been removed from active duty, so it had greatly surprised him when Adriaan had told him about her mishap with the Shi'Odo. The shapeshifter was more closemouthed than he seemed.

Adriaan certainly hadn't skimped on the Varactyl's new wardrobe. Though Kan found her too taciturn and two-faced to develop any close relationship with her, he sincerely hoped she had outfitted herself as well as she had geared her Padawans. Three outfits, and one of them was a body glove with gription panels designed to hold the clone armor plates stacked neatly beside the clothes. Kan picked up the chestplate and held it up to his body. The kit was sized down to fit his smaller frame. It was even marked with his regiment's insignia – a green krayt dragon. Green and grey paint, to set his armor apart from the clone troopers' standard gear.

He picked up the adapted clone trooper helmet, staring into the baleful eyes of the krayt dragon head rearing over the T-visor. He never been fond of clones, nor had he ever considered himself a soldier, but he was strangely pleased and excited about his new gear. He picked up the black shiny boots from beside the bed and barely concealed a squeal of delight when he discovered the space in the leather meant to conceal a lightsaber shoto or other small weapon. He could now hide a dagger-size Jedi weapon in his boot – what teenage male wouldn't be excited by that?

"She gave me a washed-out grey," Klamin said from behind, tossing a dishwater-colored pauldron onto Kan's bed, where it connected with the green plates with a solid clunk.

"You could always repaint," Kan said, puckering his lips in distaste at the wishy-washy color.

"Nah, I like it. Favorite color."

Aliens. Kan smiled, slightly baffled.

"I heard the report. Adriaan would have been in a mess back there if she hadn't brought you along. Just as I predicted; she couldn't handle that objective by herself," the Shi'Odo continued, his voice muffled by the body glove he was attempting to put on.

Kan put the armor plates down. He didn't particularly want to be reminded of what had happened on the Mando ship. He hadn't exactly used a gentle method to extract the suicide pill from Rune. Even now the sound of her violent retching filled his ears, the smell of her bile lingering in his nostrils…

"Shabla auretiise!" she spat, heaving up enormous quantities of half-digested food at the Jedi's command. It was a cruel but necessary method to purge her bowels of the poison. It had to be done.

As the woman wretched on the floor, Adriaan hauled Atoya by the scruff of the neck as if he were merely a child, and not nearly twice her size. "Kandosii, vod'ika," she said. "Hang on while I get this kriffing dinko secured in the detention cell I know they have somewhere on this ship. No jate beroya – that's 'good bounty hunter' – ship is without one."

"What's up with the Mando'a?" Atoya spluttered, his chest heaving as his dark gaze locked on Rune. Kan could sense the worry rippling off the man like a tempest.

"Thanks for completely wrecking my ship – GAR procurement is going to be mad about that," Adriaan said, ignoring the warrior's question. She suddenly leaned in, her lips grazing the man's ear. "Don't worry, beroya, we wouldn't dare bring in half-intact prisoners for interrogation. Your girlfriend will be safe…if you cooperate."

Rune raised her head a centimeter from the floor, her face swimming in her own vomit. "Kote lo'shebs'ul narit!" she yelled defiantly.

Adriaan tutted disapprovingly. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?" she asked, hustling Atoya away.

"Mir'sheb," Rune muttered when she thought the Jedi was out of earshot. Unfortunately for her, Adriaan was never out of earshot.

"Yes, I am a mir'sheb, and I'm proud of it," Adriaan called from over her shoulder. "But let me tell you, you'd rather deal with me than with some of the kids in my Padawan clan – now those kids have mir'sheb down to an art."

He looked at the last two outfits. The flight suit was obviously for light combat situations, made of flexible armorweave with a plastoid alloy reinforcement in the upper body area. A navy blue jacket with silver epaulettes and a matching kama were obviously to be worn over the jumpsuit so that the outfit could function as a mess dress – a semiformal uniform.

"Don't pay attention to anything she says about me," the Shi'Odo said suddenly, picking up the conversation that Kan had attempted to initiate several minutes ago. "She's a pathological liar."

"You know, it's okay to admit that you used to like her; you have to face facts sometimes, Klamin, even when the facts aren't very pretty," Kan said, trying on the flightsuit for size. Military-style suits were never his style, but he found he was not displeased with the uniform. It fit him well, and gave him a professional, groomed appearance.

"Kan, you trust me, don't you?" the Shi'Odo asked.

The Padawan contemplated the last outfit to buy himself some time. It was a question he did not think wise to answer completely honestly. Oh, he'd trust Klamin to watch his back in a war zone any day, but there were just some things he couldn't discuss with the Shi'Odo. He was too opinionated, too biased. He was also something of a hypocrite – he acted as if Adriaan was committing a felony by being closemouthed about her past, while he had no qualms about keeping everyone in the dark about his own history. No one except Heatrian knew anything about the Shi'Odo before the Zylxxian mission, and the Pyronite was too loyal to his oldest friend to spill the beans, even to his Wicked King.

"You've never said anything to make me mistrust you," Kan said carefully.

If Klamin noticed how he hedged around the question, he didn't say anything. "Then take my word for it: nothing of consequence happened between the General and I. It was all just…misinterpreted emotions. That's all."

"Of course," Kan said, shaking out the matte black soft-fiber robes which appeared to be a Jedi tunic/Taikaido ceremonial chatarangans hybrid. The fabric was sept-silk soft in texture, obviously supposed to be used for ceremonial or training purposes. He shrugged off his flightsuit and slipped into the luxurious, brand-new fabric, enjoying the soft, woolen texture against his skin. It was a welcome replacement for his old sweat-stained ratty beige tunic and leggings he had grown out of over a year ago.

Klamin whistled under his breath. "Lookin' sharp, mate."

The Shi'Odo had been given dull grey robes. Kan gently pushed him out of the way so that he could observe himself in the cracked full-length mirror.

His breath caught. The Shi'Odo hadn't been exaggerating in the least. He had never worn black before, which probably explained why he never thought of himself as a particularly good-looking male specimen. But something about the somber colors of the tunic brought out the pale grey of his eyes, the contrasting darkness of his skin and hair – it even seemed to accentuate the stubble of hair sprouting across his upper lip. For the first time in his life, Kan looked…handsome. More of the man he felt in his bones than the youthful body he still miraculously possessed.

He swayed and swung his arms and legs, enjoying how the supple yet resilient fabric slid over his chapped, war-weary skin like waves of water washing over the gritty sands of a beach. Just then his wrist snagged a sharp corner on his cuff, and he heard the stiff crackle of flimsi. Surprised, he pulled out a small, folded note marred with his Master's tiny, uniform writing.

It might interest you to know that I personally designed these Taikaido/Jedi hybrid outfits several years ago, to accommodate my and my Master's rather unorthodox lifestyle. These were my Master's training robes – it astonishes me to think that my own Padawan can wear my old tutor's clothes, but then you are no longer the thirteen-year-old boy I chose as my first Apprentice. I know you will wear the clothes of your Grand-Master proudly.

So these were not new robes – though the quality of the fabric stated otherwise – but a relic. He shuddered, feeling a sudden sense of frisson – to think that he was wearing the robes of a great Jedi Master! The other Apprentices would have probably found it weird to wear the hand-me-downs of a Knight, but Kan was more honored than anything else. She probably knew that I would be the only one who would appreciate the gesture, he realized. So she does care about me, after all…His gaze went blurry for a moment, and he hastily slapped something hot from his eye before his roommate would notice.

Wear the clothes of your Grand-Master proudly. Bear your lineage proudly. Bear your coat of arms proudly. That was what she meant, in giving him the robes of her tutor. Kan was the student of a splendid Taikaido warrior, who had been the youngest Jedi ever Knighted as well as the protege of the mysterious yet awe-inspiring Jacen Palgwebb. Master Palgwebb in turn had been trained by the greatest warriors of their own time. He was part of a dynasty of conquerers. His coat of arms was the insignia of Ade Verda Brigade – the Legion of the Children Warriors – and the pennant of his own regiment, the Green Krayt Dragon. He was a member of the first Padawan Clan in millennia – he was the Apprentice of a Master who was writing her own legacy among her much older Jedi peers.

It was a shame a person with so much potential and ambition would fall because she tried to erase the past.

He entered the detention block to find that the entire Varactyl Clan had assembled outside. Kay was pacing the waiting room impatiently, while the Wicked Club amused themselves by toasting foodstuffs on Heatrian's magma skin. Andora was content to sit in blank, unruffled silence, while Marya sat with a meditative scowl as if her eyes had the power to melt the cell walls.

The Shi'Odo deliberately stepped into Kay's path, but Kan had enough bruises to remind him to steer clear of the strawberry blond when she was pacing.

He was unsurprised but nonetheless flinched as Kay's cupped hand connected to Klamin's ear with a sharp clap that would awaken the dead. "Outta my way, Hutt-face," she growled.

"Speaking of Hutt-faces, where's the General?" Klamin asked lightly.

"Supposedly, she's in there," Marya grunted, nodding at the cell door. "Though to tell you the truth, I haven't heard a single peep come from within."

Maybe that was good news – or maybe Adriaan was using the Force to mute any screams issuing from the prisoners. It was not impossible – Klamin and Kan had done it themselves a few days ago when they had been interrogating Darc. The Padawan swallowed, looking uneasily at the grim, silent doors.

"Storm came out half an hour ago with the female," Cor reported, sliding off his helmet as he popped into view. He spit on his glove and rubbed at the Grievous skull painted on the helmet.

"Really, why?" Kay asked, doing an about-turn to face the clone.

Cor shrugged.

"She wanted to talk to the man – Atoya – alone," Ember said gruffly, as he strode in after Cor, followed by the majority of the ELF squad. "Wolf is currently interviewing Rune in a separate detention area. Interrogating the prisoners separately is a SOP designed to discriminate fact from fiction."

"I get it: that way, if one of them – say Atoya – lies so he can get out of torture, there's no way Rune would know, so she would either have to tell the truth or make up her own falsehood…unless, of course, a falsehood had already been established pre-capture," Kay said thoughtfully.

"The Captain is employing different techniques than the tactics the General has been using on Atoya, to account for that possibility. They'll be able to spot a glitch in the Intel even if both the Mandos tell the same lie," Onor said confidently.

"And how long will that take?" Kay demanded. The virtue of patience characteristic of a Jedi was lost on her.

"Well, let me see – Wolf's supernaturally efficient, and Adriaan's pet peeve is wasting time," Ammo said, swiping a cup of steaming caf from a passing service droid, "I would say they'll both be out any minute now."

Nano, his helmet on, cocked his head, as if listening. "Wolf's just commed in his report. He's heading back," he reported. As if on cue, Adriaan herself strode out of the detention area, face wan and hollow…and spattered with blood.

Heatrian looked up and screamed. "Kumylixyyshrria!" he yelled in some strange, clacking Zylxxian dialect. "What is that?" The Pyronite didn't have what Kan would describe as blood, and killed things by incinerating them – so it was altogether likely Heatrian had never seen blood before.

"My report," Adriaan said flatly, stacking a thick pile of flimsi. She thumbed through and began dividing the pile, spattering the material with her red fingers. "I'll feed this into the squad database. Your mission files should show up on your pads soon," she said, tapping a few keys on the datapad strapped to her forearm. The Padawans and clones circled her warily, as if cornering a wild animal.

"The prisoner?" Kay prompted, swallowing.

"Eh?" she looked up momentarily. "Oh, he's not in any pain…anymore, that is."

"He's not…what?" There was a mass exodus from her general vicinity. Kan felt his stomach acid curdle as his gaze locked on Klamin's frightened eyes – not even they anticipated this degree of brutality from Adriaan.

Maybe we are right to investigate her after all…

Gung ho, perverted Cor, eager to see the Jedi's handiwork, crashed into the detention cell. He returned moment's later, visibly deflated. He strode right up to Adriaan and tugged her on the sleeve. "There's no mark on him!" he said accusatorially.

She looked up, mildly puzzled. "I never said I left any marks," she said impatiently, her gaze drifting back down to the pad.

Cor impulsively reached down and slapped the pad away. "He's not even dead!" he shouted, his livid face centimeters from hers.

Now she was extremely taken aback. "What the haran are you talking about? Of course he's not dead. No need to get your pants in a knot over a spared life."

The rest of the squad – who did not share Cor's bloodlust – breathed a collective sigh. So Adriaan really wasn't the barbarian they had supposed her to be. Even Ember appeared relieved; no one except Cor particularly liked the idea of torturing a prisoner to death.

"Then where the haran did this blood come from?" Cor fairly screamed, pulling his hand away from her arm to reveal a blood-soaked palm.

Her eyes widened slightly, but after a moment she shrugged. "Weird; I honestly have no idea."

Vyto edged closer, examining her keenly. He stifled a rather colorful Huttese word. "It's your blood," he stated, "it's seeping out of your pores. Ma'am, are you sure you're all right?"

"Sending files," she murmured. She started and looked up. "Yeah, of course, just slightly stressed out."

Vyto stepped closer and said in a lower tone, "Ma'am, hematohidrosis only occurs in a highly stressful situation. If you feel only slightly stressed, your body is weeping blood to warn you that something bad is going on internally. An electrolyte imbalance, possibly. I would strongly advise a medical examination before you –"

"I'm fine, Vyto," she snapped.

"You're lying to yourself if you think you're fine," the medic said firmly, folding his arms across his chest. Vyto was one of the more gentlemanly, deferential soldiers, but he could be extremely stubborn when he had to. A sick General is a useless General, he always said.

She stared cooly at him. "And what are you going to do about it if I am?" she challenged.

"Well, as squad medic, my authority in medical matters overrules your own, General, so I could report this and have the GAR confiscate your CO code cylinder until you are discharged from a medical center –"

Her nostrils flared. "You wouldn't dare –"

"Oh, yes, he would," Lance, who got injured often and therefore was well aware of Vyto's stubborn streak, warned.

Vyto sighed. "General, can you just tell me what's wrong?"

She lowered her eyes, then stepped in and murmured something into the medic's ear. His eyes widened, but he didn't react otherwise. After a moment he jerked his head down in a nod and stepped away. "Have you talked to a doctor about it?" he asked abruptly.

She lowered her eyes. "It's nothing a doctor can fix," she replied quietly.

Kan's comm buzzed, indicating he received a text. He flipped open the device and read from Klamin, Wonder what that was about?

He was about to reply, when Adriaan sent a message. Call Jordin and request a sitrep while I finish organizing the mission objectives. He looked at the Shi'Odo, shrugged, and stepped outside to take the call in private. Klamin edged away from the group, hovering within earshot.

Jordin didn't pick up, so he hung up and dialed again. She answered on the final buzz. "I'm kind of in a situation right now –"

"Which is probably why Adriaan told me to call you," Kan said, his stomach tightening. What could possibly be keeping Jordin busy? "What's going on?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said, her cheery voice sounding a bit strained. Kan glanced at his chrono and did a mental calculation, realizing he had called her at 0200, Coruscant time.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"I was already awake," she said abruptly. The Shi'Odo was frantically mouthing, "Jedi Archives" but Kan turned away. Why was Jordin awake at 0200? He was about to ask her, but she cut him off. "Listen, I don't have much time. I successfully acquired the information you wanted."

Kan clutched the comlink tighter, struggling to hear over the chatter of the Wicked Club. "Yes?"

"Well, I'm kind of at the police station right now because of this spat between Rez and his girlfriend's ex, but I looked up those files and I think I should go visit Goba Shag, except I don't know how I will justify taking a detour to Goba Shag to Adriaan –"

Her voice seemed to dim out, either through a faulty comm connection or because of other things on Kan's mind. "Wait, what do you mean you're at the police station? Was Rez arrested? How? Why?"

"Well…yes…no…I mean, not really –" He didn't hear her garbled explanation at all. He didn't think he had said it all that loud, but Ember seemed to have the capability to hear a fly sneeze from a kilometer off, for his ears pricked up and he stepped ever so politely yet menacingly towards Kan. "What? Rez was arrested? How? When? Why? It was that woman, wasn't it? Give me that!" He tried to snatch Kan's link away, but the Padawan quickly dodged his grasp.

"Call him yourself!" he retorted. He suddenly became painfully aware that all eyes in the group were fixed on the confrontation between the two men – it became so quiet that every breath seemed to be as loud as a starfighter engine.

The comm buzzed and crackled, occasionally vomiting out snatches of Jordin's confused, prattling voice. "Well yes, no…really, there's no trouble, just a jealous kid trying to give us a hard time…Kan?"

The squad erupted into a cacophony of bickering. Adriaan and Kay roared for silence, while Andora ineffectually stood up and began to preach in a quiet, mousy voice that no one paid any heed to. The Wicked Club began to raucously sing, "Rez and a GOOD sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Amidst the confusion, Wolf burst into the room, shoving a comlink into Adriaan's ear.

"He's fine!" he shouted over the din. "Jordin got the kid to confess he hired some slicer's and computer geeks to doctor holos of Rez to make him look like he was –"

Adriaan put a hand over his mouth to silence him. "Rez!" she barked. "If the holos were doctored, why are they detaining you?"

"Well, ma'am, they found out I was a clone trooper and didn't have citizen papers and somehow the media got whiff of this misunderstanding so the big issue now is hushing this matter up –"

The General rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. "I know some of the Cor-Sec officers," she said finally. She began typing furiously on her pad. "I'm sending in an executive order for the GAR to immediately terminate your furlough and send you back to the battlefront. You're going to leave in 0200 hours, so say your goodbyes and get back to the Fortitude pronto. The HoloNet won't be allowed to come near you. FYI, you're to take the Corellian Run instead of the Hydian hyperspace route. You are going to RV with the team I'm dispatching to Goba Shag."

There was a long pause on the other end. "G-g-g-goba Shag?" Jordin wavered. Kan and Klamin were just as astounded.

"Yes, Goba Shag," Adriaan said impatiently, not sensing her Padawans' astonishment and blissfully unaware that she was aiding them in their investigation of her past. "Take the Corellian Run and RV with the team on Goba Shag. Is that clear?"

Hardly believing their good fortune, Kan and Jordin chorused, "Perfectly."

"Good luck." Adriaan cut the transmission and strode off.

Kan opened the file on his pad as he redialed Jordin. She was up on the line in seconds. "Why are you going to Goba Shag?" she asked breathlessly.

He scanned the contents of the mission objective. "I'm not," he said. "Klamin and a few others are escorting Darc to his homeworld, where he will be established in long-term care at his medical facility."

"Darc?" Her voice was confused, quavered. "Who's Darc?"

"Of course, you probably don't remember him. He's Adriaan's friend…or ex-friend, I should say. You thought he was handsome," he added, quite unnecessarily, but the memory gave him a strange twinge of bitterness. It's ridiculous to be jealous of Darc, he told himself, He's a nobody, and she doesn't even remember him. Besides, I'm going to be single all my life – I'm not going to make the same mistakes my Master made and become attached to someone.

But something inside him quailed. Something within his heart and body had awakened in the past month. He was changing: he heard it in his voice; he saw it in his face, his physique; he felt it in his bones. No longer was he the weak little boy with tousled hair and slightly androgynous voice – he was older and stronger and taller and sadder, shaving was now included in his early morning routine, and when he had donned the black robes of his grand-Master Jacen Palgwebb, he had looked like a Jedi Knight.

But even though he enjoyed his blossoming manhood, it was not without its pains and trials. He felt even more awkward around Adriaan than he had ever been, painfully aware that he was now taller and heavier than she. He seemed more sensitive to beauty; several times he caught himself staring at the way the sun caught and shone in Kay's red-gold hair, or the way Marya's wiry body was all sharp, muscular edges coupled with a subtle soft roundness in the face and hips and chest. And he remembered all too clearly Adriaan's words in the dark, comforting closeness of the cockpit. "We all fall in love at some point in our lives. You are meant for a very special, lucky woman." But there wasn't any woman for Kan – his fate was to serve others, to give his life to the billions of beings in the galaxy instead of just one. "And how do you know that?" Adriaan's voice echoed mockingly in his head. It was a question to which he had no answer.

"What happened to him?" Jordin asked innocently. Jordin had grown too; she was a woman now, dark and sad and strangely alluring. Yet she seemed unaware of her new maturity; she still loved as innocently and compassionately as ever. And she was close to the man who had watched over her in all her weeks of deep, troubled sleep, though she would never admit it. A blush seemed to come into her cheeks whenever she spoke of Rez. Did she love him? The idea did not altogether seem impossible, and it troubled Kan, though he did not know why.

"A cultist attack," he said briefly, squirming.

"A what?" she asked.

They had both grown up and had become distant. This was something he could never tell her. "Nothing," he said.

There was a pause that went on for too long. "Okay," she replied finally, nonchalantly. "May the Force be With You, Kan." Now her voice sounded harried, as if she had other things to do and needed to get off. Or…or she was hurrying to cut the transmission before Kan asked too many questions.

Kan grasped at her haste and became suspicious. Why was she in such a hurry? And why had she wanted to go to Goba Shag before the order came through? He chewed over his doubt and put the question forward. "Hey, why were you going to go to Goba Shag in the first place?"

"Uh, because the mission objective said so," Jordin said with a high little giggle that sounded just slightly nervous.

What is she hiding? "Before you were given your mission instructions," Kan prompted.

Another silence, this one poignant with fear and doubt. What was going on? This was not the Jordin he knew before. Jordin Skraps never kept secrets from him. She had never kept secrets from him until…until he had started keeping secrets from her. Does she know? He wondered, probing past the terror that emanated from her mind. But he couldn't delve more than skin-deep into her thoughts; he only felt her sense of dread, which served as a thick fog to mask the impenetrable fortress of her mind. Jordin Skraps was no longer effervescent and upfront; she had grown into a little Adriaan-clone, taciturn and brooding with mind unassailable. She did not know, nor probably even suspected Kan's guilt in Darc's illness; but she did sense that he was keeping something from her, and that made her mistrust him.

"Jordin, you can trust me," he said, allowing the Force to weave soothing thoughts through his words.

But Jordin retreated from him with a laugh. The distance between the two seemed to reach from end to end of the galaxy.

"Have we fallen so low we must be mind-tricked into trusting each other?" she said reproachfully, slipping easily into his thoughts.

"Kan," she said aloud, "you recall that Adriaan spent a great deal of time on Goba Shag during her Padawan years – she had led the Six Slaves Rebellion that crushed the sith cultist pirate operation on that planet. Her profile said she was registered as a Goba Shag citizen, and claims it as her homeworld. I found something else on her profile that demands further investigation, and for that I must go to Goba Shag."

Her explanation made sense, but she was leaving little pieces out of the puzzle. "Why?" Kan persisted.

"Kan," she said slowly, "do you trust me?"

Did he trust her? Certainly not; she had become a little Adriaan-clone, and Adriaan – as Klamin pointed out – could not be trusted.

But the Jordin pre-coma he had trusted implicitly, and the Jordin post-coma hadn't yet done anything to make her lose his trust. She's a liar, his intuition told him, but his heart said, give her a chance.

"You know I do," he said finally.

"Then be patient; this is merely a hunch, nothing more. If it turns out to be otherwise, you know I will contact you immediately." There was a little pause. "I hope to see you soon."

Kan swallowed the knot in his throat. "I trust you. Come back safely."

"May the Force be With You," she said, then, abruptly, "I can't wait to see you; your voice has changed. You are older."

His stomach flipped; so she had noticed too. His body reacted strangely to her words, his thoughts soared to new, bizarre heights. I wonder if she will think I am handsome? He suddenly found himself thinking, and unable to deal with himself, he cut the communication and fled.