Author's Notes: Well, big surprise, but I'm behind. Who would've guessed! Here's another chapter anyway, though. No telling when the next will be, but I figured I should throw this one down anyway. Thanks to the reviewers out there, you guys are awesome. Gipper, Tolk, blatant0, runwild, outlander, (and of course Valentai). Many thanks! (And my apologies for the gratuitous self-homage here, back to Doliani!)

Tendering Resignations

"We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives." – Woody Allen

"I quit," said Nantaris.

"What?" hiccupped Atton, inadvertently inhaling a stream of coffee.

"Whatever happens on Doliani, it doesn't matter. I'm resigning after this."

Atton was still coughing, and Dustil asked for him, "How can you do this? Is that even possible?"

"I don't care if it is or isn't. I don't care about any of it anymore. I'm leaving the Order."

"Nantaris," said Mira, "think this over. You can't just leave right now."

"Watch me."

None spoke, leaving the zipping and singing of the speeders overhead the only audible noise. Nantaris hailed a cab. The group silently boarded it, and did not speak until all were comfortably situated. It had been a few weeks since Nantaris's last attempt to adopt a child into the order, giving him ample time to reach this decision. It was not one that he made lightly.

"Why are you quitting?" asked Dustil.

"I'm not fit for this role," answered Nantaris flatly, "I'm only holding back the development of the order by staying on as Grand Master."

"I see."

"Bullshit," called Mira. "You're not that idealistic. You're leaving because you don't want the responsibility anymore. You want to just go do your own thing."

Nantaris looked her over sternly and then shrugged, said, "And so what if I do? Am I forbidden that? I never asked for this role. I don't want it. Not that it matters, anyway; like I said—I clearly can't do it."

"So you're just giving up?" she asked.

"Yes."

"But what if it's a success this time?" asked Dustil. "What if we get a recruit?"

"It won't change my mind. I've made it up. You can all stop trying, too. I've been thinking about this for a long time now, it's not some sort of haphazard decision made on a whim. The few months I've been Grand Master have been nothing short of a debacle. The Order was almost completely destroyed under my watch, and now we cannot even begin rebuilding. It's best that I step aside and go my own way. That I want to leave does not make it invalid or unwise."

Mira let his speech sink in before speaking up again. "Atton," she pleaded, "say something!"

"Something."

"Go to hell," she replied.

"What?" he asked, "do you really think I could change his mind? Come on…"

"Right, Atton," said Nantaris, "I always knew I liked you. Sort of."

The attempt at humor fell flat. No one said anything the remainder of the cab ride. All were content to simply watch the speeders skid by outside the window.

When they arrived at the spaceport, Ian was waiting for them near the gate. They strode up in quiet, but the conflict was palpable.

"I smell ennui," said Ian as they approached.

"I'm through talking about it," said Nantaris.

"Are you now?"

"I'll tell you later, Ian," said Dustil.

A serene, mechanical voice piped over the loudspeaker, informing them that the shuttle docking with the next transport to Doliani was now boarding.

"I believe this is our cue," said Ian.

He moved on, his polished walking stick clanking against the railway, into the shuttle, the rest of them following suit. The short ride up to the transport was just as uncomfortable as the cab ride, and would be just as uncomfortable as the upcoming trip.

On the transport, Nantaris retreated and spent the entire duration by himself. Atton, Mira, Dustil, and Ian passed the time idly chatting about it.

"He is his own man," said Ian, "if he wants to leave, we cannot help it."

"But it's stupid of him to leave!" said Dustil.

"Quite right. Did you tell him that?"

"Mira did."

"Damn straight," she said. "Atton was no help."

"Hey, I tried hard."

She sighed.

"This is just selfishness," said Dustil. "He doesn't want the pressure of being in charge so he's delegating it to us. But what are we going to do? None of us have any idea! He's going to kill the Order by doing this."

"I think," suggested Ian, "that the best thing would be to let it drop for now. Let him say what he wants, see how the recruitment goes, and then you can resume negotiating his return."

"I guess that makes sense," said Dustil.

"I don't like it," said Mira. Then she turned to Atton, "And you better take my side next time this comes up. None of your stupid 'humor'."

Atton clasped his fists together, "Yes, my dear! I'll support you!"

Dustil said, "You're rather antagonistic today, aren't you?"

"He's on his period," Mira informed him.

"What the hell?" he said, finally letting a sincere comment escape him. "It's no secret Nantaris doesn't like me. He never has, hell if I know why. Remember when you all went on that high-priority peacekeeping assignment wherever, and Nantaris ordered me to stay behind and make sure none of the Mandalorians brought hookers into his room? That was so funny. Forgive me for not being heartbroken."

"I always thought he seemed civil to you," said Dustil.

"He is," replied Mira, "but he likes using Atton as a foil for his jokes, and our dashing rogue is too sensitive for that."

"It's clear who wears the pants in this relationship."

"And you wonder why I didn't want to join the Jedi," muttered Atton. "It's just this and then the nonstop ride on Nantaris's complain-a-go-round."

"And free coffee," said Dustil.

Mira laughed.

Ian input, "Well, you three at least have chemistry together. I think, even should Nantaris leave, you'll do fine. And soon that other fellow will come back from the fringes of space. I think you'll survive with or without him. Just let me know what I can do to help. I'm no Jedi, but I am employed by all of you."

"Thanks, Ian," said Dustil.

Doliani was a sylvan world, this much was certain. Most of its structures were somehow nested between a webbing of trees and bushes, the metropolitan remnants of the planet's almost achingly beautiful flora.

The group, with the exception of Nantaris, departed from the transport and walked towards the exits, admiring their reflections in the pristine, white walls of the spaceport.

As they emerged from the port, they beheld the city of Thoyahna from the vantage point carefully chosen by its inhabitants as the first sight any tourist would see once they arrived—they wanted their planet to look its best, and it certainly did.

"This place is beautiful," escaped from Dustil as he took a step down the wide, white staircase towards the main street in what was apparently the high end of the market district.

"It certainly is," agreed Ian.

They moved slowly, enough time for a brooding Nantaris to emerge from the spaceport as well. If he was awestruck by the planet's beauty, he did not let on. As his footsteps became more audible, Ian commented, "Well! The anchorite finally deigns to join us."

"Yes, he has," stated Nantaris.

"Where are we going?" asked Dustil.

"Somewhere near the Royal Mile, a ways off from the parliament building."

"Well," began Ian, "I'll leave you monks to your business. I'll meet you back here in a few hours."

"What are you going to do?"

Ian laughed quietly to himself, "Why, I intend to meander."

The group approached the home—an apartment in what was probably the richest part of the entire resplendent city. The entered the complex and approached the door, knocking firmly but politely. At length, the door opened, slowly, and a brunette woman—probably in her thirties—appeared; timidly she rested her head against the side of the door, concealing the rest of her body.

"Yes? Can I help you?"

Nantaris begrudgingly took a step forward to introduce himself. "Yes. My name is Valiens Nantaris. I am here about your daughter."

"Yes, I remember you contacted me. Now, what do you want with my daughter?"

"Well, that depends. Do you know who I am?"

"Should I?"

"Not particularly," he answered with a tone of irritation. He had been vague during his earlier communications with this woman, as he had often experienced outright rejection by families before he even met them once they learned that he was a Jedi. He calmed himself down, however, before continuing, "but I am the Grand Master of the Order of the Jedi. May we talk?"

"I…well…I know…" she then backed off the door, "let me get my husband."

She left the door ajar and the Jedi waiting in limbo. Minutes later she returned, but without anyone. She said, "You can come in to talk, Valiens. The rest of you can wait in the guest room."

Nantaris thanked her and they filed in. Atton, Mira, and Dustil obeyed and went to a lavishly furnished guest room, bedizened with all kinds of high art and suitably patrician decorations, while Nantaris followed the petit woman through the hallways of her deceptively large apartment. He came into the dining room to see her husband, a thin man with mildly long, thick brown hair that bore fingermarks from excessive stroking, sitting at a large, almost kingly, wooden table. He was clearly deep in thought, and almost did not notice Nantaris come in.

He was offered a seat, but as Nantaris walked towards the table he noticed the little girl in the doorway to the kitchen. She stood there quietly, her huge, piercing blue eyes glaring at him without any sort of emotion at all—there was no fear, no excitement, no malice. Nothing. She just watched him quietly and deliberately.

She was a pretty little girl, he thought, no more than six years old. Her face was round, and a small, slightly upturned nose punctuated her otherwise perfectly symmetrical face. But the most noticeable thing about her was her completely jet black hair that flowed over her little shoulders and down her back, an untamable trait she likely inherited from her father.

She was leaning against the threshold much as her mother had at the front door. She likely would have stayed there had her mother not said, "Remy, go play with your toys."

The girl did not move.

"Now."

She scrunched her nose in displeasure but nevertheless complied with her mother.

Nantaris smiled at the girl but she left before she noticed. He then sat down.

"So, what do you have to say?" asked the father.

"So I said, 'Use the fire distinguisher!'"

The heavy-set alien at the bar exploded in laughter, almost spewing his drink out of his nose. "Mr. Kingswell, that is a riot!"

Ian laughed at his own story, his mouth craned to accommodate the rather large cigar he had. The smoke wafted through the darkened corner of the pub, the meager orange light giving the establishment a sort of twilit warmth.

The bartender, too, was sharing in the reverie. "I can't believe that story," he said in between hiccupped snorts.

"Well, believe it, my good man," said Ian, who had removed the cigar. "This is a fine brew," he continued, gesturing to the mug on the bar in front of him. "Oh how I love an amber ale."

"Best pub in the city, off-worlder."

"I believe you. Can you not return the favor?"

"Maybe," replied the bartender, "if you buy another drink."

"Sure thing! Let's try something different this time. Any dry stout? What about you?" asked Ian to the alien.

"I shouldn't have any more, I'm on the rocks with funds as it is—and some punk kid stole my wallet this morning."

The bartender, who had been cleaning a glass, sighed, saying, "That's a damn shame. Thieves—no one respects anyone's property anymore."

"Now there I disagree!" interjected Ian. "Thieves respect property. They just wish it to become theirs so that they may more perfectly respect it."

The bartender laughed again, though much more subdued this time.

"I'll drink to thieves respecting property," said the alien.

"There you go!" said the bartender. "Now drink up."

"No," said the mother. "No, I don't consent to this. There's no way. Remy stays with us. Now, leave us alone."

Nantaris said nothing. Another failure. Though he had expected nothing more.

"Please," said the husband, "no need for hostility. He's just doing his job." He turned to face Nantaris. "But you can see what she means, can't you? I'm sorry, but we just can't do this. No self-respecting parent could."

Nantaris did not even bother to argue. There was no point. This would, then, be his final failure as the Grand Master of the Order.

"Thank you for your time," he said curtly.

With that, he pushed out his chair and stood up, cracked his neck, and then made his way towards the exit. He poked his head in the guest room, saw the other three lounging about lazily, and said angrily, "We're going."

"That's it?" asked Atton.

"What happened?" said Mira.

"Nantaris!" called Dustil, but he was gone.

The three all popped off of the furniture they were sprawled upon and followed him, but he had already hustled out the door.

"Wait!" Dustil continued to call as they followed him through.

Mira ran the fastest and caught up with him. She grabbed him by the shoulder and turned him around almost violently.

"Hands off me!" he exclaimed.

"Stop now! What happened? Where are you going?"

"I'm going home, packing my things, and getting the hell out of here."

"Nantaris," began Dustil, "you can't just do this to us! At least give us this one thing!"

"What one thing?" he cried out, exasperated, "It's over! Another trip, another failure. The sooner I get out of this the better. You'll see. Caius will be a wonderful Grand Master."

There was so much bitterness and acid in his words they could not tell if he was serious or sarcastic.

To everyone's surprise, Mira stepped up and challenged him head on—not even he anticipated it. "Stop it!" she yelled in his face. At first Nantaris was surprised at her volume, but after an initial flinch he just squinted at her and took his beating.

"You are not going to do this to us! I will not allow it! You may want to be a selfish son of a bitch, and that's your problem. But you are not going to leave us like this!"

"And what, lass, do you propose I do instead?"

"Get your ass in there and get that girl. Now."

Nantaris shoved her forward a foot and her hands flew up into the air as he detached her from himself. "Damn it all," he said. "You'd do well to remember I'm your superior."

"Then act like it."

A stare down ensued, with neither one backing down. Eventually Dustil input, "Nantaris—you were only in there for ten minutes. You could at least go and try. For our sakes."

He shook his head twitchily and then took a deep breath. He straightened out his robes with one irritated jerk at the hem and then took a step back towards the house. "Very well, then." He eyed them all, especially Mira. "I'll do this for you—and don't call me selfish again." The last was not a plea, but a borderline threat.

He then made his way back towards the entrance.

"Another day of this," said Dustil, "and he'll fight his way out."

Nantaris stormed back inside. I'll give her hell for that, he thought to himself. But despite his rage, Mira's words nevertheless resonated with them. He did suppose, in his heart of hearts, that he should at least make the most thorough effort possible to recruit this girl. He had only made a half-hearted effort as it was, as he was set on his empty-handed return and resignation. But he would not allow himself to wallow in the melancholy—not now, at least.

He strutted dictatorially into the dining room, where the mother and father were still sitting, and approached them briskly.

"Hey! We told you to leave!"

"My…conscience forbade me," he answered.

"What?"

He took his deep breath again. Almost instantly, in this new circumstance, his anger towards Mira and his frustration disappeared. Here was another shot. "Look—we've been skirting around the issue. I know this is hard for you. I cannot even begin to comprehend the magnitude of what I am asking of you. But you must see this from another perspective."

"We asked you to leave!" said the father, standing up and knocking his chair backwards with the back of his knee.

"And I told you that I cannot," said Nantaris. "Now, can we discuss this civilly?"

"And I told you that we cannot!" yelled the husband. "Who's perspective are you begging us to see through? Yours? You admitted you can't understand. Go back to your tower, leave us alone."

"Not my perspective—your daughter's."

"You do not know what's best for our daughter," said the mother, who in spite of all of this managed to sit down the whole time.

"No—you don't," Nantaris charged. "I am sorry I have to be so blunt, but the situation demands it. I want nothing more than to help you. I know the problems your daughter has had in school. I know that a week ago she accidentally killed your pet dog without so much as touching it."

The father suddenly went quiet.

"How…how do you know about that?" asked the mother.

"I have my sources," he said.

He then slowly tried to diffuse the heated environment by sitting down. He gestured as calmly as possible for the father to do the same. "I know you don't believe me. Hell, I wouldn't believe me. But you must consider your daughter's well being. There's no telling what could happen if she is allowed to continue without any guidance, any shepherding. She is a maelstrom of untamed power and potential. If you do not let me help her, her life will be miserable."

The mother's eyes began to water. She said, "But she's our daughter. Our only child."

"I know, ma'am," he said, trying to be conciliatory.

"We can't live without her."

Nantaris sighed. "I cannot deny the gravity of what I'm asking of you. I am only trying to show you that it is necessary."

"What would happen…" continued the mother in a deeply emotional voice, "if she stayed? What is so bad?"

"It's impossible to say," Nantaris tried to explain, "but it would be incredibly dangerous for her, for you, for her friends. Everything could even be normal for weeks or months, but one day she might have a temper tantrum and kill somebody. Of course she would never do it on purpose—but that's precisely the danger."

"Surely you never find all these children," said the husband. "What happens with them? Do they all turn out so dangerous? I never hear of children killing people with their minds."

"Most…are not as strong as Remy is."

Nantaris's use of her first name was enough to put both of them over the edge.

"Let us…let us think, please," asked the father.

"Please do," said Nantaris.

He left the room. He overheard the mother on his way out say, "I knew this would happen…I knew something like this would happen…ever since…" and then she trailed off. They talked between themselves for a long time—hours, even—before eventually summoning him back. In that time, he had gone back outside to see the others. He apologized to Mira for his behavior, and she hers. Eventually he went back inside at their bidding.

"Master Jedi," began the mother, "would we ever see her again?"

Nantaris almost answered "no" without thinking, but then reconsidered. "Historically, children have been forbidden from knowing their parents." The mother grew more uneasy. "But…" he continued, "you know what, damn it. Look at the good that's done the Order. I'll tell you this now. I'll allow you to keep contact with your daughter as often as you like. I'll even let you visit her, but just not immediately."

"I…see…" she replied. "Would you let us alone again?"

"Certainly."

He heard them talking quietly, but gravely, for another extended period of time. Eventually, he heard the mother begin crying audibly. The father then called out in a painfully shaky voice, "Remy…can you come here?" a sigh, and then another "Remy!" Nantaris heard the soft patter of the little girl stride over the carpet. "Your mother and I have…been talking…"

Nantaris had done it.

His heart sank.

The family requested the night to be together before giving up their daughter to the Order. Mira was ecstatic, Dustil was thankful, and even Atton was supportive of Nantaris—but none of it made him feel any less like the worst villain in the galaxy. They contacted Ian from their hotel—he was on the other side of town—and told him to meet them at the spaceport the next day at noon.

The goodbye was traumatic. Nantaris could not bear to watch as the two parents tearfully bade their child farewell. That he had broken protocol and promised them future contact was no anodyne. The girl had cried all night, and Nantaris could not force the image out of his head. She was surprisingly stoic now—but that did not matter.

"Hi, Remy," said Mira, kneeling down in front of her small guest. "My name is Mira."

Remy did not say anything, instead just looked on with a sort of shy smile. Mira smiled to herself and then took the girl's hand, holding on to it as they walked.

"Thank you, Nantaris," Mira tried to tell him as they walked down the Royal Mile to the market district and then the spaceport. "You helped us. And you did the right thing."

"Sure as hell doesn't feel like it, lass."

"But you did. And now you've really started rebuilding. Are you—"

He cut her off. "Yes, I am still stepping down."

"Why?"

He hesitated. "Because I could never do that again."

Mira was not compelled to argue with him. Instead, she merely asked, "If you really are going to leave, could you at least stay on until Caius comes back? We need someone in charge. Someone's who been here longer than three months."

Nantaris agreed, "Sure, lass." He then added, "And I'm sorry for the way I acted yesterday."

"You were frustrated. So was I. It's okay. We're over it."

They took a break from walking at one point to order some drinks at a casual corner bistro.

"Do you want anything, Remy?" Mira asked.

The little girl shook her head in two swift motions, but did not speak. Mira was a little concerned, but figured that the situation was nothing if not awkward. It even looked strange. In the distance, strangers could be seen gawking at the strange sight: four Jedi on the move with a little girl—the poor child carrying along a small backpack with her belongings.

They arrived at the spaceport just past noon, the appointed time to meet Ian. But he was not there. They agreed to wait, but as the minutes gave way to an hour, they grew concerned.

"Someone better call him," said Dustil.

"Uh, yeah," said Atton with a matter-of-fact insolence.

Before either of them could respond, Nantaris's comm suddenly beeped. He took it out and Ian began to speak.

"Am at the Royal Museum. Where ought I to be?"

"Where ought you to be?" asked Nantaris incredulously, "You ought to be at the spaceport! Isn't that what we agreed to?"

"Did we? I've been waiting here for an hour!"

"I'll see you in thirty minutes," said the Grand Master before cutting off the line.

In due time, Ian approached the group, apologetic but otherwise in the same jovial spirits.

"Apologies for my tardiness," he began.

Dustil said, "It doesn't matter—we've been dealing with customs the whole time anyway."

"Bastards," muttered Atton.

"What's the problem?"

Dustil said, "We haven't been able to secure passage for Remy since her parents aren't here to authorize it. And the official has proven surprisingly resistant to persuasion."

"Remy?" asked Ian. He then looked down to see the little girl standing in front of Mira, the older Jedi's hands resting on her tiny shoulders. "Why, you've retrieved the bantling!"

"…bantling?" asked Atton.

"He looks like a bear," said Remy.

Ian threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "And I weigh as much as one, too!" he said in between guffaws.

"Well," said Mira with a smirk, "that's the first thing she's said all day. At least we know she isn't mute."

After a moment's pause, Dustil said, "I'm going to go try to help Nantaris. Maybe if we both try to persuade at once it'll work."

"Good luck," said Mira.

The four waited around at the base of the grand, white staircase, watching the passersby, when Remy, once again, broke the silence. "Oooh," she said, "that man took that man's pocket."

"Who? What?"

They looked about their immediate vicinity and did see a rather shady looking individual—who had just collided with a Twi'lek—scamper off towards the waiting area, trying to blend in.

"Did he just pickpocket that guy?" asked Atton.

"I think so," said Mira. "We should probably do…something."

Atton sneered, "Well, that is Jedi business."

"I'll handle it," Ian suddenly volunteered, "Atton—you go track down the guy who's wallet was stolen. Keep him from getting too far. I'll talk to the thief."

"You?"

"Why not?"

"You aren't a Jedi."

"Shockingly, I am aware of this."

"But—"

It was too late.

Ian ambled rather casually towards the thief—really no more than a teenage boy—who was standing by a chrome bench, certain he must have gotten away with a stolen wallet. He was talking to a group of miscreants who had no doubt dared him to try such a criminal act.

Ian came up to him and merely stood uncomfortably close.

"Uh, can I help you?

"Yes," answered Ian, "permit me to pull your nose."

"What the hell?" exclaimed the boy, who started backwards and nearly fell over the bench.

"This boy has insulted me!" Ian yelled loudly.

"Insulted you?" asked a one of the cronies who had been sitting on the bench as well. "When?"

"Just now," answered Ian. "He insulted my mother!"

The thief was thoroughly perplexed, "Your mother!"

"Well, anyhow," conceded Ian, "my aunt."

"You're insane. I haven't done anything!"

"You have! It was something you said!"

The teenagers exchanged looks of total bewilderment.

"He didn't say anything…" they then tried to cover for him, "he was just talking about how he likes…uh…this girl's…voice."

"That's it!" Ian cried. "It was an allusion to my family. My aunt sang very badly. It was a painful subject. We were always being insulted about it."

"I don't get it…are you on drugs?" asked one of the kids.

"No—not at all. And this whole conversation has been filled with sinister allusions to my aunt's weaknesses."

"Are you looking for a fight, you fat bastard?" asked the thief.

"Oh, a clever one, aren't you? Deduce that yourself?"

"That's it!" The self-important posse all leapt to their feet.

Ian responded by tapping his polished cane twice on the concrete. Without warning, he flicked it upwards and pulled up on the knob. Out of the cane, a gleaming silver sword emerged.

"He has a sword!" cried one of the kids. "Run!"

They bolted in every direction, but the thief was caught in between Ian and the bench. The professor lunged forward and collided with the kid, knocking him over backwards. The kid scrambled up to his feet and then also turned to run.

Ian stood still for a moment, sheathed his swordstick, and then turned around with a beaming smile on his face.

Atton then came running up to him with a distraught Twi'lek at his side. He saw no one was there, and exclaimed, "What? Where are they?"

"Oh, they're gone," said Ian.

"What about the wallet?"

"Got it right here," he said, sliding it out of his hand and in between two of his fingers as though it were a playing card. "Two, in fact."

"Two? You stole his wallet?"

"No—another one, belongs to a…drinking buddy."

"Well, whatever."

"Thank you, kind sir!" exclaimed the alien. "I owe you one." He shook Ian's hand and then left in high spirits.

"I see you have a sword," said Atton. "Is that even worth asking about?"

"Not unless you want a fascinating lecture," replied Ian.

"I'll…pass…"

The two returned to the group. Ian gave the wallet to the lost and found and gave them the name and contact information of the alien he had shared drinks with the previous day. No sooner had that happened, than did Nantaris and Dustil return. They had been granted passage, they would leave shortly and return to Coruscant.

Notes: The "thieves respect property" line, as well as the short scene where Ian harasses the kids are adapted from The Man Who Was Thursday. A funnier book than I would ever be able to write.