Improbable, not Impossible.

"Return to Coruscant? Now? "

"That's what I said, sir."

"You do realize that I'm now an enemy of the Republic? Each and every one of your brothers has orders to shoot us on sight, remember? And that Coruscant is the GAR's base of operations?"

"That is true, sir."

Mangled, bedridden, and emotionally traumatized as he was, Erquina still managed to level one of his patented "SRSLY?" glares at Dante from across the medbay of the Gossum Commando transport Omicron had…appropriated from Felucia. Perhaps it was because the poor boy was still in shock over the deaths of his Master and nearly every active Jedi in the galaxy, or perhaps he had been through enough harrowing experiences to be able to survive in such conditions with relatively little distress, but either way, Dante regarded his sarcasm as encouraging. Commander Erquina was lucid; therefore he could make an informed decision. Scrib could deal with any lingering mental health issues.

The young Twi'lek closed his eyes in the now-familiar Jedi prayer for patience, and then opened them again, his gaze more focused than before.

"Explain your reasoning."

Dante took comfort in structure. His very world had just ended; therefore, it was perfectly reasonable to call Erquina "Commander" and "sir" when neither appellation applied any longer. It was also perfectly reasonable to make a detailed presentation on just what to do after his world's end, and thus he pulled up the said presentation on the holo-emitter he'd installed in his gauntlet long, long ago. And if there was a trace of some dark, sad sort of amusement on the Commander's face at the sight, well, so be it. They all had their coping mechanisms.

"Exhibits A through C: Jedi Commanders Drake Lo'gaan, Zonder, and Syntyche Ekria." The images – of a human male in his early teens, a young Selonian who was preternaturally large for a male of his species, and a petite Barolian female approaching young adulthood – cycled at the press of a button. "Evidence proves that they managed to escape Felucia in the confusion proceeding after General Secura…"

He realized, too late, that he shouldn't probably have brought up that particular memory. Instinctively, he looked toward the Commander, who looked too little, too young, too vulnerable from where he lay mending.

The Commander looked back with an expression of weary comprehension. "After Aayla died."

"…Right, sir."

Dante took a moment before continuing his presentation, studying Commander Ekria's holo as he did so. He was glad she had survived, so very glad. Force knew the galaxy would need even-minded, logical people now more than ever.

"I triangulated the position of the transport they managed to commandeer before Ekria disabled its locator beacon. From there, I was able to extrapolate several possible destinations for a hyperspace heading, out of which Coruscant seems to be the most statistically likely."

"Why?"

"Because Coruscant is the most diverse of the worlds – the other ten were eighty-five to ninety percent human, and Commander Zonder would not have been able to hide effectively."

"It's a pretty big risk to run on a guess, though. Even an educated guess."

Dante hadn't wanted to pull this card – it probably went against many fraternization clauses, and he knew exactly how the Commander would take that – but it had to be done. "There's also the fact that Ekria is a Barolian, sir. She's a living comm. system – she emits a unique signal that can be tracked across most civilian channels."

The result of that information was just as embarrassing as he'd predicted it would be – the Commander favored him with a long, knowing, very Twi'leki glance, complete with raised brows. "Her body emits a unique signal?" he asked flatly.

Dante swallowed, mortified. "Yes sir."

"That you've managed to track conclusively to Coruscant?"

Not for the first time, Dante cursed his pale skin, which blushed so more visibly than that of his brothers. "Yes, sir."

"Without even asking her to dinner first?"

He was pretty sure his ears had gone up in flames at this point, but he'd be damned if the Commander could break his professionalism. "I…hadn't known that was Barolian custom, sir."

Mercifully, Erquina decided to quit the twenty questions, shaking his head slightly with a small roll of his eyes. He considered this new info for a moment, nodding slowly. "They'd probably be able to seek shelter in the lower levels, if they're smart about it. So your plan is to find them?"

"Yes, sir."

"…I still don't like our odds on accomplishing that mission alive, Dant. We'd be better off running to Nar Shaddaa to meet up with my Master's contacts in the underworld."

"Think about it, sir. Everyone runs to Nar Shaddaa, so that's where the bounty hunters loiter – and Jedi are valuable bounties, so you can bet your ass we'll be noticed. But nobody would want to run straight into enemy territory, especially when the Temple's comm. system is ordering them away."

"…And, likely as not," Erquina continued, filling in the blanks, "Coruscant's satellite immigration monitoring system still won't be fully operational after the mess Grievous made of things."

"Which would enable us to slip past their defenses without their noticing."

It was the same trick they'd pulled on the 527th; the Gossum Commandos were in disarray after the unexpected death of their leader, turning on the battle droids with them, hesitating when greeted with white armor and lightsabers. The Corps had had their hands full with the clean-up – too full to notice the disappearance of one little enemy transport until it was too late. Dante had picked up a couple of tricks from his association with Commander Ekria, expert hacker that she was; he was convinced that this ship was now pretty near untraceable. Maybe, if their luck held out, they could pull this off one more time.

Erquina thought over the options, his brow furrowed pensively in that way that his men knew so well. "Certainty of death," he said at last. "Small chance of success…"

And then he looked up, with that half-smile on his pinched green face that was as close to a grin as he ever got. "What are we waiting for?"

I beg forgiveness of Jackson for the LOTR reference. It had to happen. It really did.

On another note, fanatic devotees of Wookieepedia (such as myself) might recognize the main characters from the pre-TCW webcomic Evasive Action. After the canon-shattering events of the Season Five finale, Evasive Action's storyline has likely been scrapped thanks to its depiction of Barriss Offee's final fate. Therefore, I feel absolutely no shame in departing from that plot and high-handedly re-imagining it and its characters for my own purposes. Ekria, in particular - her first name is of my own choosing, for one, and for another...well...as you can see, I'm going to be taking a few creative liberties with the biology (and, most likely, the culture) of her species. *evil grin*

Don't be too sad. Evasive Action was dated anyway, and rather simplistic in my opinion. To prove my point: Ekria once faked her death by attacking Darth Vader with a training lightsaber, so that when he inevitably stole it from her and stabbed her with it, she would suffer no ill effects. One: Ani should know what a training lightsaber looks, feels, and sounds like by now. Two: New prosthetic limbs aside, he should be capable enough with his very real weapon to take care of a Padawan attacking him with what amounts to a wooden sword without letting her disarm him. Three: Supposing he isn't that capable, he wouldn't be able to inflict enough damage on Ekria with a training lightsaber to realistically mimic fatal wounds. Four: Even if he could, because he's Darth Vader and therefore awesome, he'd at least be able to sense she is still alive and finish the job. Ekria did not survive her false death because it was a particularly well thought-out plan; she survived for the convenience of the plot (and, likely, because she was a particular favorite of the comic's creator).

Now, imagine a whole comic running on that same level of insane troll logic, add in a whole lot of clone bias (to the point that the troopers seem like furniture and/or punching bags, to be kind), a whiny thirteen-year-old protagonist (lovingly drawn in later comics as a handsome action hero who appears much older than thirteen), and the unnecessary death of the only non-humanoid character (and also, conveniently, the most awesome character) in the main cast in a move uncomfortably similar to the horror genre's penchant for treating non-Caucasian characters as expendable canon fodder, and you have my not-so-very-high opinion of the influence of this comic. I, for one, was not sorry to see it go. Hail Darth Barriss!

And now, I'll descend from my soapbox and attempt to write the rest of this story. Let's see how many months it will take this time, shall we?