Author's Notes

Hi, everyone. Time for more Coruscant goodness.

Full notes are at the end of the chapter—I have news about updates and stuff.

Let's dive right in.

Chapter 5

"I must go after him!"

The Grandmaster thumped his walking stick on the floor. "Control yourself you will, Padawan Kenobi. Responsible for your Master you are not."

Tabook didn't pay the conversation much attention. Both Kenobi and Dooku had woken up, and then Head Healer Vokara Che had come in, shortly followed by the Grandmaster of this galaxy's Jedi Order. Tabook couldn't wait for the fuss to be over so that he could go and explore. They probably wouldn't let him into the archives . . . if only he had better control of the Force or had a workbench and the components to build a stealth field generator . . . although building stuff out of junk was more Revan's speed.

"But Qui-Gon may be in danger," said Kenobi.

It didn't look like the kid knew how to give up, and the conversation wasn't going anywhere. To be fair, Tabook was pleasantly surprised that the Grandmaster hadn't told the Padawan yet to release his worry into the Force and go meditate for a day or two.

"Padawan Kenobi," said Tab, "your Master will be fine. I know Revan doesn't look like it, but he is great at keeping other people safe. They'll come back soon."

Tab decided not to mention that the last time Revan had gone off on his own, Tab found him at a fight club wrestling with a Sith assassin, wasted and naked. He could only hope his friend had enough sense not to pull any of his usual extreme shit in a new galaxy,

Yoda narrowed his eyes at him. "Tell the truth you do. Whole truth it is not."

Damn diminutive spooks. One day, Tab would discover where the tiny green beasts came from. Perhaps he could just ask Yoda about his race? Nah, it couldn't be that simple or else everybody would know.

"Look," he said. "Revan's idea of entertainment usually involves something adrenaline-seeking. But they'll be fine: he knows when it's best to retreat. You have nothing to worry about." He turned to Vokara Che who was running scan on him. "Can I go, Master Che?"

The woman's brusque manner reminded him of Kreia somewhat, and it was enough to keep him even more polite than usual. Vokara Che looked up from her instruments, put them away, and ran her hands over Tab's body, keeping a couple inches away from his skin. He felt the Force probing at him, so he subtly activated Force Drain to swallow any feedback his body could give her.

"I don't appreciate people groping my Force signature, Master," he said. "I'm afraid we don't know each other nearly well enough."

Vokara Che flinched. "There is something strange about the way your body interacts with the Force, mister Nashdar," she said. "I am simply trying to determine if it's a result of the accident or something that is natural for you."

Tab said, "You could have just asked. What you sense is none of your concern: it's been that way since my first days as a Padawan. And I'm a decent healer myself, Master Che. I assure you I can be released into the wild. May I suggest you look Padawan Kenobi and Master Dooku over instead? They still seem a little disoriented."

"That won't be necessary," said Dooku. "Nothing hurts."

Vokara Che said, "Let me look you and Padawan Kenobi over, Master. You seem more energetic than at your last check-up, and we should make sure you didn't catch anything."

"Great." Tab jumped off his cot. "Grandmaster Yoda, will you mind if I wander around for a while? Until Revan comes back. I promise not to leave the Enclave."

"Temple, you mean must."

"Yes, Temple, of course."

Tab gave himself a mental kick. The ancient Master Vandar Tokare had been of Yoda's people and he had unnerved Tabook immensely back during his apprenticeship, though he had met Tokare only a couple times. Yoda reminded him of the wizened Jedi, and Tab sensed the same calm in him that he had met in very few practitioners of Light Side teachings—ones who had embraced tranquility instead of using the Force to flee from their less-than-perfect nature. These Jedi were a living reminder that the traditional Jedi way, even if it was often impotent, was a viable path to inner peace.

If it hadn't failed so many, he and Revan might have never had to develop the Maelstrom.

So he smiled and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Yoda looked him in the eyes and furrowed his brow, but eventually the Grandmaster nodded. He said, "Keep you here, no reason I have. By sleeping gained is nothing. Knight Ti your guide will be."

"Grandmaster?" Knight Ti looked puzzled. "I was supposed to get a mission this afternoon."

"In your place another go shall. To learn from an independent disciple of the Force—rare chance this is. Report your findings to the High Council you will."

###

The problem with getting back up was that they couldn't fly.

Qui-Gon echoed Revan's thoughts, "This level wasn't built for people to live here."

They had passed four ramps blocked by tons of broken machinery, plastic blocks, and steel beams. There were no houses, no writings on the supports, and the only light came from the two men.

Revan felt a shudder in the Force and whipped around igniting his lightsaber during the swing. The Echani had taught him this particular trick. They called it iai—combining the drawing of the blade with the strike.

Something slimy, six-legged and four-eyed was mid-lunge. Revan slashed, and his golden lightsaber lopped the beast's head clean off. He rolled to the left and out of the way of the ichor that spewed from the neck in dark-green gouts.

"It's as big as a swoop bike," said Qui-Gon. "This is what, the fifth time we have been attacked? Coming here was beyond foolish."

Revan said, "Admit it, you are having fun."

They had a pack of rations and a flask of water each, which was great, because Revan didn't think foraging would go well. His knowledge of galactic wildlife was extensive, but everything they had met and killed was mutated to the point where he couldn't recognize the species anymore. There had been these things that looked like gizka, but they were deep-blue and had tentacles instead of front paws, and those were covered in suction pods oozing black liquid.

The only plant life down here (if that counted) was rusty lichen covering some of the support beams. What it sustained itself on was beyond his grasp of biology.

"I think I see a ramp up," said Qui-Gon and smiled. "We should be able to find a working elevator. In fifty levels or so."

Qui-Gon was looking at him with disapproval, but as far as Revan was concerned, the other man had chosen to follow him of his own free will, so he had little to complain about.

Revan could feel something alive up there, something singular, big, and hungry, but the signature was masked by all the emotional pollution of Coruscant. He could see that Qui-Gon looked nervous too, and this raised questions. From what he had seen from Qui-Gon and Dooku, the Jedi of this galaxy saw plenty of combat—definitely more than most of pre-Mandalorian Jedi back in his galaxy. Or maybe they were the exception? He needed to get back up to the Temple and go through the archives to be sure.

The steel under their feet vibrated, and the presence grew more distinct and familiar. A roar echoed off the supports around them, reverberating in the emptiness with primal fury. Silence came after that: all other animals had evidently decided to bugger off in the face of a superior predator.

"Rancors suck," Revan said.

###

Shaak had to admit she was excited to meet a Jedi who hadn't been trained at the Temple—this much she had gleaned from Tabook's words. She would have protested being a babysitter otherwise.

They were wandering the halls. She had suggested they let chance guide them for a while.

"I can't imagine growing up anywhere else," she said. "Where did you learn, mister Nashdar?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and shook his head. She didn't know what kind of address he was expecting: he hadn't given them a title, after all.

"Please, call me Tabook," he said. She started to protest but he interrupted her. "At least until the High Council talks to me and Revan."

She inclined her head in agreement, and he smiled. He said, "Me and Revan had the same Master. As to where we learned . . . wherever we could, I guess. My Master believed in independence. She believed that power should come from the inside and not from the Force."

Shaak furrowed her brows. "That doesn't make any sense."

Tabook shrugged. "I don't fully agree with her. But what is important is that she taught me to learn from non-Force Sensitives. They face the same challenges and temptations that we do, and yet many manage to become decent, balanced people. And they don't have the shortcut of releasing their emotions into the Force or of using the meditation techniques available to us."

Shaak said, "They don't have to deal with feedback from the Force either."

"True. But feedback only comes into play when you can't keep yourself in balance." He stopped in the middle of the hall. "Anyway, me and Revan, we learned on spaceships, on Nar Shaddaa and Kashyyk, on Tattoine and Telos. We travelled a lot, and there was always something new to do."

She sensed some pain from him and was tempted to tell him to let go of it, but she wasn't his Master. She said, "My condolences on your Master's death. I know I will lose mine one day, but you are so young."

He stared at her for a moment before chuckling.

"I don't see what's funny."

"Sorry, I just imagined her being here and hearing you say that. You would have gotten a lecture about pitying someone and how that is a waste of an experience. She turned everything into a lesson for us, and even her death was like that. Besides, I don't know who was more of a Master near the end."

"You are a strange Jedi, Tabook, you know that?"

He smiled. "Yes, I hear that often enough. Still, I insist that Revan is stranger. So, what is your favorite room in this monstrosity?" When she stared, he added, "What? You don't find it weird that you live and work in a single building that goes like a mile up? A free spirit like you is meant to have the world, and you are holed up here. Don't you feel most alive when out there on a mission?"

That tightening in her chest she felt near him was simple discomfort, she decided. The Jedi weren't a religious order at their core, so she couldn't call Tabook a heretic and be done with it, but his perspective unsettled her. The Temple was where they belonged, and they went out into the galaxy only because their help was needed, and nobody else could do the work of ambassadors and sometimes infiltrators as well as Jedi did it. And yet he was right. Tracking a pride of predators across purple plains under a red sun, slipping through the cracks of the criminal underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, rooting out spies of the gangs of criminals on upper levels of Coruscant—all of it was so much more than what she could experience by living in the Temple, as large as it was.

"Let's go to where the younglings take their art lessons," she said.

They took an elevator and went down fifteen levels and then walked for a while before they got to a small balcony overlooking a room. Fifteen young ones of all races were in front of easels, and a waterfall rustled into a pool at the head of the room. They were painting it with watercolors.

"This was my favorite lesson back when I was their age," she said.

Tabook leaned on the guard rail and watched the children in silence for a while. Then he turned to her, and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. They were whirlpools of purple: red encased in blue. Light swirled in him, she felt: there was passion and serenity, and he just let pass them through him.

He shuddered, blinked, and the colors were gone.

"Sorry, Shaak," he said, his voice soft. "It's just that I never had what these kids can take for granted."

"What in the name of the Force was that?" she asked.

He just smiled. "Something you best pretend you didn't see, Knight Ti. At least not until you know exactly what it is." He gestured to the children. "Could you teach me? Painting, I mean."

Shaak was sheltered, but she wasn't dumb. By now she was suspecting that Tabook was coming on to her. The fact itself was nothing new: many found Togrutas exciting and exotic. What was new was that he was a Force User, and also how he did it. Nobody had bothered to pretend like they were interested in her hobbies. And anyway, there was something strange about how the Force warped around him, and she had been tasked by the Grandmaster himself to find out as much as possible about him.

"Sure," she said. "I assume you don't want a public room?"

Tabook shook his head. "I've never tried painting. I wouldn't subject innocent bystanders to how bad I probably am."

She nodded. "Let's go to my quarters then."

On the way there, her lightsaber was a comforting weight on her right hip.

###

The beast was covered in electric burns, and one of its eyes was gone. There was little light, but Qui-Gon was sure that it was a heavy blaster shot that had blinded it. On one of its legs there was a durasteel manacle and three links of heavy chain hung off it, the fourth one twisted and gnawed off. The rancor swayed on its feet but didn't move, staring at their ignited lightsabers. Revan's gold cast the man's face in a warm light, and Qui-Gon was surprised that the other Jedi didn't run headlong into battle.

The rancor roared again, quieter this time.

"Can't everyone just leave the poor bastards alone?" asked Revan. "I mean, they live on Dathomir and mind their own business, but every pirate and two-bit crime-lord who wants a guard dog goes to the surface and takes one."

The rancor lumbered a step forward, and Qui-Gon saw the ribs jutting out through the skin. Massive forelimbs scarped the floor, and it whimpered quietly with every movement.

"It's starving," said Qui-Gon. "Somebody has put it here, and it doesn't have enough animals to hunt."

Revan nodded and sighed. He said, "I fought these things before. They are fast and dangerous, and the best way to get past them is to feed them a meal filled with grenades. The hide is a bitch to cut through. Whatever you do, don't get bitten."

Qui-Gon nodded and dashed toward the beast, relying on the chaotic dashes of Ataru to keep him safe. He moved for the monster's leg and tried to cut at it when the Force screamed at him, and he switched his charge into a roll and his blade slashed in an arc above his head.

The rancor was much nimbler than he had expected. It leaned over him and swiped down with its enormous white paw, claws as long as his hand. His lightsaber stopped it from bearing down on his head as he forced the beast change its momentum, but the next moment he felt a sharp pain along his right arm, that was soon silenced by a flood of adrenaline. He was knocked off his feet and had to extinguish his lightsaber and roll over his left shoulder to regain his footing.

"A distraction would be welcome!" he said.

He saw Revan move. Qui-Gon hadn't paid much attention to him during the fight with the Geonosians, seeing as his Padawan was on the verge of death. Now there was blood dripping off his arm and onto the floor, but there was something about the way Revan fought that still drew his eye.

Revan was rushing the rancor at a full run, and yet Qui-Gon could barely hear his footsteps over the heavy breathing of the rancor. Fifteen feet from the animal, Revan crouched and then sprung up into a leap, lightsaber swinging at the enemy's head. Getting caught in the air was dumb, and evidently the rancor thought so too as it thrust its left paw forward, waiting for Revan to get impaled upon its claws.

But just as Revan was about to be pierced, he took off his left hand off the lightsaber's handle, angled it down and set a Force Push toward the ground, giving him and extra foot of height. He cleared the claws with inches to spare and flipped up and onto the rancor's left shoulder, his golden lightsaber already mid-swing. Before the beast could realize what happened, Revan cut two swaths into its hide and jumped off it and onto the opposite side.

The rancor roared, and Qui-Gon was buffeted by the stench of meat rotting between its teeth. On its home planet of Dathomir, rancors had symbiotes that took care of the great reptiles' hygiene, but here, deep in the bowels of Coruscant, there was nothing to keep it clean. Qui-Gon focused on the Force, the rush of adrenaline, and the beating of his own heart. His vision shrunk around the rancor, he bent down, and dashed between its legs, swiping at them with his lightsaber and cutting through blaster-resistant hide. He must have hit an artery, because blood began to pour out of cauterized wounds in crimson gouts.

It didn't look like the animal was paying him any attention. It was fully focused on Revan, pinpricks of its eyes focused on the one who had caused it the most pain.

Revan laughed like he had just heard a hilarious joke. "You don't like it?" he said. "Then come get me."

With his double-bladed lightsaber, the other Jedi had greater reach than Qui-Gon, but the rancor had greater reach still. Revan leapt at it again, but the rancor didn't swipe at him this time, waiting for the Jedi to come closer. Revan barely penetrated the skin of its forearms before the rancor slammed both of its enormous paws around the Jedi, grabbing Revan in the air and pinning his arms to his sides. He had tried to get out of the way with another Force Push, but the beast had been waiting this time.

Since both of the rancor's arms were occupied, Qui-Gon jumped and slashed at its back, but the rancor fell forward, landing on Revan with its entire one and a half ton weight. Qui-Gon cut through flesh, but its spine was safe. Revan cried out in pain, and a blade of gold burst out from the beast's back below its right shoulder blade. It shuddered, but didn't let go.

Qui-Gon aimed and swung, putting all of his weight behind his strike. He severed the spine and cut clean through the foot-thick neck.

The next moment an explosion of Force, fueled with pain and excitement, burst from under the rancor's corpse, and Revan slipped from under it in the moment its body lifted off the floor.

Qui-Gon switched off his lightsaber, pulled out a medkit and began cleaning and sealing the wound on his right arm.

"Well, that was fun," said Revan. "I bet we can find whoever put this thing here somewhere nearby. We need to have a conversation about the contraband of dangerous predators."

###

Tabook watched Shaak Ti paint a sunrise. She used red and yellow and pink and violet, and the result looked like an explosion over the horizon. He could imagine a triumphant song begin playing as the planet began a new day. She had sketched two moons in the dark sky but hadn't started working on them yet. She looked odd in her Jedi Robes in this apartment, but he hadn't seen any other clothes.

She looked as if she had forgotten about his presence, and he watched tension ebb away from her shoulders. A slight smile blossomed on her face revealing a hint of canine teeth. With an effort, he made himself look at the picture instead of the girl.

He didn't like what he was doing. Under different circumstances, he would have preferred to run a few missions with Shaak Ti, let her know him a bit better and wait for her to make the first move. Jedi were the most repressed people in the galaxy, but their self-control was like a dam holding back every bit of feeling they had ever denied. It was much better to let cracks build naturally rather than take a sledgehammer to the concrete. But he and Revan needed allies and resources, and Shaak Ti was powerful enough to be of help. And he could feel the yearning for company and freedom in her, and it made her vulnerable.

He hated taking advantage of vulnerabilities when he wasn't fighting.

Shaak Ti stopped, frowned, and turned to him. "I feel your confusion," she said. "Calm yourself, Tabook, nobody expects you to be this good when painting your first picture. Today we will simply focus on relaxation. Does your home planet have rain often?"

Tabook had seen rain all the time while growing up with the Jedi. He said, "One or two times a week."

"Good, then we will start by painting rain. Here, let me prepare a canvas for you." She took her painting off the easel, took a sheet of paper and pinned it to the wooden block that served as a back plate for stretching paper and fabric over it. "This paper absorbs water well, which is just what we need as you will be painting with ink."

She took a black bar, a grey stone, and a tiny plate. Shaak Ti rubbed the bar with the stone over the plate, sanding some black powder onto it. Then she added three drops of water and mixed the ink.

###

They had gone up ten levels from the planet's surface with only minor scuffles with wildlife that wanted to eat them. Revan was getting used to fighting alongside Qui-Gon, and with every slash of his lightsaber he felt more relaxed. He hadn't realized how much tension getting cut off from his friends had created. The link to Bastilla and others was still there, so he at least new they were alive, but Tabook and a Temple full of stuck up Jedi weren't a proper substitute.

But Qui-Gon wasn't your average constipated holier-than-though suicide Force User. In fact, he didn't start philosophical debates at all and only asked questions to make sure his Padawan was alright.

"He is probably up by now," said Revan. "Fending off that girl that has a crush on him."

Qui-Gon's face softened. "Padawan Tachi is one of the more promising Jedi. In time, romantic feelings between them will fade, and their friendship will last throughout their lives."

They were trudging up a dilapidated staircase that seemed to be more rust than steel. Revan smiled. "You mean they will repress their feelings completely and only occasionally wonder what might have been."

Qui-Gon was about to say something, but Revan stopped him with a gesture. He was finally sensing something that wasn't guided purely by instinct. "There are sentients nearby," he said, keeping his voice low. "This deep, let's assume they aren't friendly."

They circled a massive support beam and a heap of scrap came into view. It was five hundred feet across and twenty feet high, and it had doors. Its surface was a collection of metal debris, welded together into something distantly resembling a building. Two shuttered windows faced them, and Revan could see light coming from inside. A Devaronian and a Rodian stood by the door, manning a stationary repeating blaster. Both looked thin, even the horned Devaronian—a member of a race of devil-like hulks.

Revan eyed the blaster. Those were a bitch to get through, even with a lightsaber. Individual bolts weren't too bad but bad luck could lead to another bolt hitting where a previous one burnt through the protective underlay his robes had, and he would rather not risk it. While he pondered the best approach, Qui-Gon simply stepped out of the shadows, raising his empty hands.

"Who goes there?" asked the Devaronian while the Rodian primed the blaster.

"Master Qui-Gon Jinn, with the Jedi Temple. Here to talk about a rancor."

Revan saw both aliens tense, and the Rodian began spinning his blaster around, peering into the darkness. The Rodian said, "The rancor, heh, the rancor. Where is it? Is it behind you? Are you running from it? Is it above us?"

He tried to spin the blaster upwards, but the joint wouldn't go that way, and the Rodian kept tugging at the blaster handle with weakened hands.

"Peace," said Qui-Gon. He pulled out a transparent bag with the rancor's remaining eye in it. "The rancor is dead. We just want to talk."

The Rodian's arms hung limply by his eyes. "Dead? Just like that? No! That thing: blasters can't stop it, grenades can't stop it, nothing can." He gripped the blaster handle with both hands. "I know, you are working with it! You are just softening us up!"

"Calm down," said Qui-Gon, waving his hands in a pacifying manner. "You can trust us."

Revan felt the waves of quiet radiating off the Jedi, but they were too far, and the alien was almost delirious. Revan ran forward, igniting his lightsaber.

With a small cry, the Rodian began firing.

Revan had to consciously keep himself from deflecting the bolts right back at the little bugger: he had been taught to kill everyone who shot at him, and resisting the habit was hard. He saw Qui-Gon's green lightsaber spring to life and together the two of them managed to redirect all the bolts toward the ceiling, thought one of the projectiles burnt a hole in Revan's right sleeve, singing the skin.

Meanwhile, the Devanorian grabbed the Rodian by the shoulders and tore him away from the machine. The Rodian fell to his knees and started sobbing. The Devanorian sighed. "My name Berilus Katar," he said. "My friend here has lost his wife to that animal. Show me the proof."

Qui-Gon and Revan extinguished their lightsabers but kept them out just in case. They walked up to Berilus, and Qui-Gon lifted the eye in front of the man.

They watched his expression go from disbelieving to astonished. "Damn," Berilus said. "For a month that thing had been terrorizing the grounds around here. We were getting desperate enough to throw everything we had at it. Come, Neesa will want to see you."

He placed a hand on the biometric scanner near the door, and it swooshed open without a sound. Then he picked up his Rodian friend and led them inside.

Revan recognized the place for what it was within seconds. As they walked along the hall, doors opened and curious faces picked out. The people looked hungry, and none of them looked human: there were two Gamorrians, three Rodians, even one Ithorian who looked at them with murky eyes and didn't move his head as they walked past. This was an alien refugee camp. As they got closer to the center of the city, they saw a Twi'lek woman ushering two children, one blue and one cerulean, back into their room.

Eventually, they made it to the central chamber. Stacks of boxes were piled up against the walls, and a chair and a table sat in the middle. A human girl, maybe eighteen, sat at it. She looked up when they came in.

"Berilus," she said. "Who are they and how did they get here?"

"They are Jedi. They have killed the rancor."

Revan took a moment to survey the room. The plates on the walls were tighter here, but there were no decorations and no opulence of any kind. There were, however, long gouges in the floor, and he pointed them out to Qui-Gon.

Qui-Gon looked disappointed, as a father gets when he opens the cupboard and finds all the sweets gone. "You held it here," he said. "Do you have any idea how foolish that is?"

Neesa jutted her chin at him. "And would you know, top-dweller, of what it takes to survive down here." She looked to the side. "And now we know we were foolish, yes."

Revan scratched the back of his head. "Look, we killed it, and now you can get out. We are looking for a way to get back up quickly. We thought you might help us out."

"Not so fast, Revan," said Qui-Gon. "These people need help. There are children down here."

Neesa laughed—a bitter sound. "What help, Jedi? We are all escaped slaves. Or indentured servants as you people call us. If we go up, we will be captured and returned to our masters. And even if you somehow get us to the top, we will soon end up back here. There is nothing for us to do on the surface."

Berilus's face turned thoughtful at the word surface, and Revan wondered whether these people have all even seen a sunrise. This was what he and Tab had felt: this was what the majority of the population lived like.

Qui-Gon shook his head. "That wasn't what I meant. You got that rancor to protect yourself against raiders, right? If you tell us who sold you a half-crazed monster, we'll send you more blasters and maybe a turret or two, so you can defend yourself."

Revan chuckled. "Not bad, old man. You are proving to be quite something for a Jedi." He turned to Neesa. "How do you survive down here? By raiding others?"

She shook her head. "There are only two dozen of us, so we grow our food in a hydroponic farm in this building. And we exchange vegetables and fruit for everything that we need. But we aren't fighters and we often get robbed on the way to the trade meet, and the Black Fang assault us and try to get to this room. This is why we wanted to buy extra protection. And you want to help?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "I won't pretend I can turn your lives into paradise."

###

She and Tabook ended up in the cafeteria, eating a greyish vegetable mush that Shaak had come to associate with home. She took a little for herself: while technically omnivores, Togruta were built for consuming meat, so she had a nice juicy bantha steak in front of her that had barely been cooked.

"I wonder what the kitchens are like," said Tabook. "I mean, you have all manner of races here: human, Twi'lek, Mon Calamari, your people . . ."

Shaak chewed and swallowed. She said, "There are fewer diets than races. But we mostly eat rations that can be easily tweaked. I mean, that veggie cream you are eating got injected with nutrients that are good for humans. Although humans are the most populous, so you have it easier than the rarer races. But the Temple accepts all." She tore another piece of meat off with her sharp teeth and noted how Tabook didn't flinch. Then again, he was a Force User, and they were a tougher crowd than most people. When her mouth was free, she said, "Enough games, Tabook. The Temple is one of the wonders of the galaxy, and yet you spent most of the day learning to paint. What do you hope to accomplish here?"

He picked up his cup and drank from it in long deliberate gulps. Finally Tabook said, "The building is impressive, but the people living in it are that much more interesting." He had picked up a chunk of something green and bread-like at the counter and now he bit into it and swallowed. "Friends make it easier to get by, in my experience. You seemed nice, so I figured getting to know you better would be helpful to me. And to Revan, when he drags his sorry ass back up here. He and Qui-Gon should have been back by now."

Shaak wasn't the best at sensing emotions and thoughts: her abilities were mostly connected to combat. She supposed it came from her heritage: for the Togruta, chasing prey and avoiding predators was what was needed to keep them alive. Social interactions were simple in close-knit tribes that her people had lived in for most of their history. She could tell Tabook wasn't lying, but there was something else, beyond the romantic advances.

"I don't sense the corruption of the Dark Side upon you," she said. "I'm sure the Order will be happy to take in you and your friend now that you've lost your Master. The High Council will ask questions, but they are reasonable and wise."

Tabook chuckled. "I'm sure they are. Are they also tolerant to other interpretations of Jedi teachings?" He gestured around the room. "Everyone here grew up in the Temple and was taught the same thing."

She said, "Being a Padawan is about getting personal instruction and gaining a unique perspective on the Force."

"Yes, but all of you have the same foundation. You are picked when you are teenagers, after a decade of training that is always the same. I don't have that." He scooped another spoonful of vegetable goo. "But I'm sure everything will be fine. The Force tends to help with steering me where I can be useful and being holed up in this Temple doesn't qualify."

Her datapad beeped, and she received a message. She scanned it. "Revan and Qui-Gon are back. Grandmaster Yoda requests that we go meet them."

###

As the two of them emerged from the depths of Coruscant, Qui-Gon took a breath, relaxed, and immediately felt guilty about how relieved he felt. His heart broke whenever he visited people who had to survive on scraps just because they lived on the fringes of rich worlds. Nowhere was this worse than on Coruscant where the elites of the surface barely remembered that they were just the cream floating on a vat of milk where rot had started to eat at the bottom.

The Jedi weren't supposed to get involved. Their duty was to the Force.

And yet he doubted. The Republic used them as diplomats, guards, and investigators, and often the missions Jedi got sent on had little to do with nobility of spirit or with preserving peace. If they were getting involved anyway, wasn't it better to try and help those who needed them most?

"Being useful to others feels good, doesn't it?" asked Revan.

"I have to say it does, Revan," said Qui-Gon. "I noticed you didn't say anything when I decided to help those people out. Even if our involvement probably changed something on this planet, and now some people might come to expect help of the Jedi, and this might cost them."

Revan shook his head. "Don't overthink it. Yes, good isn't universal or even easily defined, but when you see someone in pain, you help, they feel better, you feel better—end of story. Besides . . ." He grinned. "Never a bad idea to have the criminal element in your debt."

Revan was a good man, Qui-Gon decided, but there was something dangerous about how easily he gave into his impulses or how he reasoned with the morals of an idealistic five-year-old. Views like his led Padawans to the Dark Side.

They were almost up the steps when Obi-Wan rushed out the front door and ran for Qui-Gon. It looked like he was about to give him a hug but stopped five feet away and begin to play with his braid. Siri Tachi came out the doors soon after, and Qui-Gon tried to keep the frown off his face. He hadn't paid much attention to it before, or perhaps had been willfully blind, but he could see now that Revan was right. The romantic feelings between those two were stronger than he had thought. He'd have to guide Obi-Wan back to sanity before his Padawan acknowledged his emotions.

But that was for another day. For now, Qui-Gon grinned, walked up to Obi-Wan, and gave him a bear hug, laughing when his Padawan tried to free himself.

"Come on, Master, you are embarrassing me. And what happened to your arm?"

Qui-Gon let go. He said, "Well embarrassing you is the job, I think. And I thought a rancor and won. I see you are healthy."

"Told you," said Revan. He was watching the entrance.

Tabook Nashdar came with Knight Ti trailing behind him. She was smiling a little and there was a quiet happiness to her that hadn't been there before. Tabook walked up to Revan with a smile and then socked him in the stomach.

"Oof," said Revan.

"That's what you get for living me here alone. Did you think what might have happened if they had decided to get answers before you came back? Did you think what might happen if somebody—completely reasonably—decided to follow you wherever you went for you training from hell?"

Revan caught his breath, straightened his back, and laughed. "Tabook. Loosen up. And we went to the surface of Coruscant, all the way down. It is fun down there: abandoned houses and workshops, thugs and refugees, lawlessness and compassion. Made some friends too."

"Next time you tell me."

"If I feel like it."

Tabook was still frowning, but he backed off, which was just in time. Her datapad beeped.

She said, "We should go to the chambers—the High Council is waiting for us."

End of Chapter Notes

Hi everyone, and welcome to more Coruscant goodness. By the end of next chapter I hope to get Tab and Revan a ship and a crew and send them somewhere where they can start doing good. I still have some mischief for them to spread on Coruscant, so that there will be some consequences to the Order after their visit. This chapter was mostly them getting the resources to begin working on searching for a way home.

As a side-note, I've been reading up the wiki and random sites on the Internet, and can I just say how impressed I am by how huge Star Wars is? The Extended Universe has everything in it, even if you count only stuff that is canon now. Of course, I end up cherry-picking. A Temple room here, an alien race there.

Reviews and feedback is always welcome: knowing that readers care is why I write.

Self-plug incoming.

I also have news: this week, I published my first original novel. Beware of Light is a post-dystopian adventure sci-fi. It has combat, politics, and people trying to build a future in a world that would prefer them marching in a circle. You can find the links on my profile page (or search for it on Amazon). Just take a look inside before you decide to buy, okay? I would rather not have the money for an extra cup of coffee than have one of you upset because the novel is different in tone from my fanfiction, and you don't like the change. That said, I spent a year working on it and had some professional help, so if you like my writing, checking it out should be worth your time.

Self-plug ends.

A note on future updates. I currently have two active fics: Into the Maelstrom and The Broken Creed. I tried to alternate between them and publish a new chapter every week, but it has never worked. If I hurry that much, then I don't have the time to play with cool stuff, and it hurts the story. From now on, you should expect an update for each of my fics every four weeks (Into the Maelstrom—two weeks—The Broken Creed—two weeks—and so on). I wouldn't write this at all, but most of the fics I read have irregular updates, and I know I'd be happy to know when to expect a new chapter as long as the author's RL isn't killing them (which mine sometimes does).

Stay shiny and until next time.