Juhani examined the claws on her right hand with the air of an appraiser of fine art. She squinted, peered, moved her hand so that the light fell more squarely over it, and squinted again. Then she picked up a small file and gave the claw on her index finger a few practised strokes. Another critical examination followed. Satisfied that the claws on her right hand had been filed to perfectly symmetrical points, Juhani turned her attention to her left hand and repeated the process.
Above her head, a tiny sensor registered movement in the 'fresher and sent a signal through the aether to Mission's datapad, which responded in kind. A small hidden camera came to life on the top of the shower unit, and proceeded to record real-time evidence of one female Cathar Jedi in an advanced state of undress, giving herself a manicure. It made little buzzing noises as it did.
The Cathar's ears pricked up. There it was again! Juhani frowned. Always there was now that buzzing. From Dantooine the first time, no buzzing. Nice and quiet. Also quiet when to Tatooine they go, but then they return to Dantooine, and after that? The buzzing, it start. She forgot about the claws on her left hand and tried to focus on the source of the sound. There were no more gizka on the Ebon Hawk - of that, Juhani was certain: she had personally ferreted out the few gizka that had managed to escape being poisoned and dealt with them herself, as a proper Cathar woman would. But always, always now - that buzzing.
Her ears twitched as she tried to pinpoint the exact source of the strange noise. So many times she had tried to find the source, but never with success had she met. Maybe try from different angle this time, Juhani thought.
Adjusting the towel around her waist so as to allow for unrestricted movement, Juhani clambered onto the little cabinet at the side of the 'fresher sink and stood slowly, being careful not to brain herself on the ceiling. Her height forced her to adopt an uncomfortable posture - hunched over, torso twisted to the side - as she listened for the low buzzing sound that she had heard so many times before. Shutting her eyes so as to concentrate better, Juhani tried to focus on the source of the sound. No luck. With an irritated hiss, Juhani prepared to descend from the cabinet top when she thought she saw a little flicker of orange light out of the corner of her eye. What was that? She stood up as straight as she could, craning her neck to look behind the translucent frame of the shower door - and goggled.
Juhani let out a growl of disbelief. What in - this was not possi - no, that cannot be right, a camera! Here! My goodness - by the Force it is a camera! Juhani reached for the shower head and pried the offending contraption off it. In a minute, she was standing on the 'fresher floor with the miniature camera in her hands. She stared at the device. How long had this thing been there? Who put it there? The pervert!
Juhani's fangs clicked together sharply. She would get to the bottom of this.
[Mission!]
"Zaalbar!" The Twi'lek girl flew down the ramp of the Ebon Hawk in a blur of blue, and threw her arms around her friend. "Oh wow oh wow oh wow - by the goddess - Zaalbar...! You're back! I was so wor-" Mission started to cry.
[I am all right, Mission,] said Zaalbar as he tried to pull his friend off him and keep her from matting his hair with her tears and snot. [But we must go now. There is going to be a big fight here.]
As if in corroboration of Zaalbar's assertion, shouts and blaster fire were heard approaching from the distance, where shadowy outlines of moving figures could be seen. The former Republic soldier shouted something urgently at HK-47, who was looking in the direction of the sounds with what, if he had been "a meatbag", would doubtless have been described as longing. HK-47 fired off a shot from his blaster into the mass of shadowed figures, which retreated briefly, only to surge forward again. The former Republic soldier slapped his forehead enthusiastically, shouted "That's an order!" at HK-47, and started pushing the Twi'lek-Wookiee agglomeration towards the ramp, an endeavour which met with little success.
Jolee Bindo made eye contact with Zaalbar. He mimed a flipping motion with his hands and jerked his head towards the Ebon Hawk, before boarding the ship himself.
[Mission! We must go, now!] roared Zaalbar, as he lifted Mission off the ground, flung her over his shoulder and ran into the ship. Recent experience had taught him that perhaps his people were not quite as level-headed as he had always believed they were. Right now, with the latest upheaval to their community's political order, he wasn't at all confident in their ability to differentiate friend from foe.
"Zaalbar's right, Mission. Pull yourself together. You'll have ample time to catch up when we're in space." Bastila strode regally up the ramp into the ship, her face a mask of disapproval.
The Ebon Hawk was a hive of activity in the minutes that followed the return of Zaalbar, Jolee, Bastila, HK-47 and the amnesiac former Sith Lord. Carth and Bastila ran to punch in the ignition sequences for the Ebon Hawk's engines, while Canderous and Juhani hurried to man the gun turrets in the event of an all-out confrontation. HK-47 remained close to the ramp, blaster at the ready, hoping that some meatbags might take it into their waterlogged central processors to attempt hostilities against the ship and its crew. T3-M4 beeped incessantly to the navicomputer, while Zaalbar sat resignedly by the hyperdrive engine, letting Mission make a mess of his hair with her crying. Jolee visited the 'fresher. It had been a long time since he'd had a comfortable dump.
A volley of blaster fire erupted from the dense foliage to the north of the Ebon Hawk. HK-47 let off a responding series of shots.
"That's enough, HK!" The Jedi punched a large red switch on the wall behind HK-47, causing the ramp to retract.
"Objection: Master! I was merely returning fire!"
"They weren't even shooting at us, HK!"
"Explanation: Pre-emptive measures, Master. 'He who strikes first, strikes hardest.' That is my programming, Master."
The Ebon Hawk lurched forwards as it slowly rose off the landing pad. As it gained altitude, the lights on its underbelly illuminated the scene on Kashyyyk: Czerka officers, mercs, and slavers running helter-skelter on the walkways, some falling to the ground or off the walkway altogether as mobs of Wookiees rampaged through the Wroshyr canopy. Trails of bowcaster and blaster fire could be seen everywhere, and the evening sky was becoming rapidly clouded over by the haze of exploding ordnance.
Glancing at the altimeter beside the red switch, the Jedi heaved a sigh of relief as he noted that the Ebon Hawk was now safely out of blaster and grenade range. He sat heavily on the floor and contemplated the rust-red droid.
"HK?"
"I am ready to serve, Master."
"I want to ask you a few questions, HK."
"Sarcasm: Questions? Oh, yippee. I do so love answering questions, Master. After all, it is my primary function!"
The Jedi made a face. The droid had a very droll sense of humour - but he really wasn't in the mood for that at the present. "You've told me about the previous masters whom you can remember, HK. Do you remember who created you?"
HK's central processor unit whirred. "Statement: I do not know, Master. The details do not seem to exist. Conjecture: It is possible that my memory cores have been sabotaged. However, there is also the possibility that my creator intended to keep their identity secret, and programmed me accordingly."
"Oh. By the way, what is with the 'meatbag' reference?"
"Explanation: All organics are meatbags, Master."
"Well, it's - not that I mind so much, it is kind of funny - but... HK, not everyone appreciates being called a 'meatbag'! Can't you find some other... term of... art to refer to people by?"
HK appeared to be giving this serious thought. "Hesitant Reply: Master, I am unable to find any more appropriate term to convey the extreme internal slushiness of most organics. Involved Explanation: Sentient organics, that is, Master. Not all organics are meatbag in status. Certain organics - plants, for example, are decidedly non-meatbaggy."
A lull in the conversation ensued as the Jedi tried to decide if the droid was being honest, or simply making fun of him. Slushiness! "Well, what about using their names? Bastila has a name. So do Juhani, and Jolee, and Carth, and Canderous..." HK-47 interrupted him.
"Clarification: You refer to the stuffy meatbag, the crazy meatbag, the bald meatbag, the paranoid meatbag, and the loutish meatbag, Master?"
"Arrghh." The Jedi slapped his forehead again. This was going to be a very long conversation.
Carth whistled a low tune to himself as he walked from the cockpit to the men's cabin. Canderous' shift at the controls had started, and the rest of the crew were tucked in bed, sleeping off their latest adventure. He yawned. It would be good to get some sleep. He turned into the narrow corridor going past the cargo hold, and stopped. He listened carefully for a while, then cautiously peered into the darkness of the cargo hold. A thin ray of light appeared on the floor at the far corner of the cargo hold, indicating that the pantry was occupied. Holding his breath so as to hear better, Carth thought he detected the sounds of sniffling and some muffled sobs.
Okay, that has to be one of the women - only females cry like that, he reasoned. Juhani? Not the crying type. Bit too... psycho for that. Mission? All cried out, and besides, Zaalbar's back. His eyebrows went up. This called for expert intervention. Carth decided that he was not the expert, and beat a hasty retreat to the men's cabin.
"Psst. Pssst...!" Carth tugged at his sleeping former colleague's shoulder, waking him. The Jedi snorted like a Gamorrean as he was jerked back into consciousness.
"Hnnnh - wha - Carth? ...'s not my turn, 's Candy-man's..." The Jedi rolled over and put his pillow over his head.
Carth's voice was a harsh whisper. "It's not the controls, you nerf-brain, it's your Princess!"
The pillow came off his ex-colleague's face. "Bastila?" The Jedi sat up. "What's happened?"
Crossing his arms, Carth stepped back and watched his ex-colleague try to put on his tunic and boots at the same time. "She's having a little cry in the pantry. I'm calling in the local expert on nobility and the peerage."
"Grife...! What's she crying about, do you know?" Damn laces. How'd they get so knotted? Forget it. Feet not as important as Bastila. The Jedi settled for pulling on a pair of stale socks.
"You're asking me? Buddy, you're the one with Force powers and a lightsaber...!"
"All right, all right. Thanks, Carth."
The Republic officer raised an eyebrow and smirked as he watched his former colleague trundle off, stubbing his toe against the laundry box in the process. Young people and love. He'd been young, once, and in love. The memories came flooding back - picnics, terrible holovids, overpriced dinners, countless shopping trips, stolen kisses in the back of his dad's speeder... Carth sat down heavily on his bunk. Memories were all he was left with, now - but those two had the potential to make so many more for themselves... if the Princess would stop being a wet blanket.
In the privacy of the pantry, Bastila sat on the floor in a corner, with her legs drawn up. A holocron stood forlornly on the seat in front of her, and her lightsaber lay on the table nearby. She stared unseeing, into the space above the holocron, her mind replaying what she had seen of its contents. There had been so much she had missed, so many things he had wanted to tell her, so much her parents had gone through... she had no idea, no idea at all... how difficult it had been to make ends meet, how badly her mother had suffered, how much she herself had been missed; she had been so, so utterly wrong about her mother - she'd actually believed that she'd been given away out of convenience - it was awful...! How selfish she had been! How could she have thought what she had? Bastila cried into her tunic afresh as her sense of loss and guilt deepened.
So absorbed was she in her private hell that Bastila did not hear the soft steps echoing in the cargo hold. Neither did she sense his presence, nor did she see him entering the pantry until she felt a warm hand on her shoulder.
The Jedi knelt beside her. "Bastila." She looks like a lost spukamas kitten, thought the Jedi, as he observed the wet streaks on Bastila's face, her red-rimmed eyes, and the unkempt state of her hair. "Bastila? What's wrong, Princess?"
"No - nothing." Bastila tried to keep her voice even, but her emotions betrayed her, and she fell to sobbing again. The Jedi pursed his lips into a grim smile and sat down on the floor beside her.
"You're not the type who cries for 'nothing', Princess."
No response. He tried again.
"Would you like something hot to drink?"
"...tea," came the muffled reply. At least she's responsive, thought the Jedi. He nodded, got up and made two mugs of tea.
"...just plain," said Bastila from her corner. Over at the counter, the Jedi poured away the contents of one mug, rinsed it out, and re-made the tea.
Bastila received the mug proffered to her with a mute nod of thanks. She sniffed at it, sobbed a little more, wiped at her eyes with the back of her off hand, sniffed again, and took a sip.
The Jedi sipped at his tea as he took stock of the situation. Holocron. Bastila on floor, huddled in corner. Lightsaber on table. Hair all messed up. He reckoned he knew what was going on.
"It's a lot to take in," he said as he carefully placed his mug on the seat and sat next to Bastila on the floor. "But I wouldn't castigate myself if I were you."
"Why not?" demanded Bastila. "You know that I was... I was so... angry, I - I wanted her to lose him just like I had... I - I wanted revenge... that's - I mean, you know," - she started sobbing again, and he had to remove the mug from her hands before she scalded herself - "that I would never have given... given her a chance... just to talk - to, to - maybe even for the last... the last time - and, and - well, I'm glad you did, that you... were there, and..."
She was weeping freely now. The Jedi winced. The Manuals handed out to Republic soldiers had been very detailed, but neglected to mention how best to deal with emotional females. The Masters on Dantooine were wise and very learned, but the study of emotions had never formed a large part of their academic pursuits. Very slowly, he put an arm around Bastila while fishing about his person for a hanky. Bugger. He'd left it. He was about to tell Bastila that she was welcome to treat his sleeve as a makeshift handkerchief when he realised that she was already doing so. Will of the Force, etc, etc, etc, he thought.
"...so utterly selfish,and - I - I should have known better.. was taught... taught better - " sniff, "- really, really upset... myself, so stupid - been totally unfair - " sniff, sniff, "- some Jedi I am." Bastila finished off by blowing her nose on his sleeve.
"Bastila. I understand how you feel. But there's something you need to realise. Are you listening to me?" She gave him a pathetic look. Gently smoothing down her mussed hair, the Jedi continued, "Mistakes happen. That's how we learn. People do it all the time. Nobody's perfect - not even the Masters on Dantooine... or Coruscant, for that matter." He placed her mug beside his on the seat. "The difference between a mistake and a failing is simply this: mistakes are errors that we learn from. Failings are the ones that we don't learn from. Being upset at yourself for... having stumbled... is fine - but you can't stay there forever. If you do, you lock yourself in the past... and you never learn."
The worst of the waterworks looked to be about over. "Let it go, Princess. Forgiveness isn't just something to give to others who have erred. Jedi need to be able to forgive themselves too." He patted her back affectionately and smiled a smile of encouragement. Bastila managed a weak one in return. She pondered Revan's words silently as she retied her hair.
"...there is... wisdom in what you say," she conceded, biting her lip. "You - you're always there for me, aren't you...? Even though I keep... keep on pushing you away."
"I care for you."
"She made you promise her to." There was a definite lilt to her voice now.
"I'd have volunteered if she hadn't asked."
"Why?"
"Because every princess needs a knight. The armour is optional." He knew it was a cheesy line - but a little levity wouldn't go amiss. Bastila snorted, and a wry smile manifested itself on her face. She gestured at her companion's feet.
"I think the smelly socks should be optional too."
"Okay." Removing the offending socks, the Jedi tossed them out of the pantry dramatically. He flashed Bastila a cheeky grin. "Anything else you wish me to take off?"
She squeaked and chased him out of the pantry.