When Quinlan entered the cockpit for his final shift on guard duty, he flicked on the light despite how late it was. Generally, people preferred keeping the light on when traveling through hyperspace; it helped keep one from being disoriented by the whirling blue streaks that flew at the cockpit and past the viewports on either side. Quinlan was no exception, but Tech – who had glanced up in apparent surprise when the lights flickered on – apparently was.
Come to think of it, Tech probably hadn't even noticed the dizzying motion of the blue light. His nose was all but glued to his datapad again, and even though Quinlan was clearly here to take over the watch, Tech wasn't moving.
The Jedi waited a few more seconds before letting out a put-upon sigh. "Okay, give."
". . . What?" Tech said absently, then made a belated grab for his datapad as Quinlan stole it. "Quinlan! I was nearly finished with –"
"It's late," Quinlan pointed out. "And as fascinating as . . ." He observed the screen for a moment. "As fascinating as the sea floor of Manaan presumably is, you've been reading about these squid creatures for how long now?"
Instead of answering Quinlan's blatant disregard for actual names and proper terminology, Tech sniffed and turned to leave.
"Hey," said the Jedi, smirking. "Silence is frequently taken as an admission of guilt, remember?"
Tech paused, eyes narrowing a fraction. "It is late, and I am tired," he said coolly. "I believe I should get some sleep, so if you would kindly return that – do not throw it!"
The Jedi had already tossed the datapad, though, and Tech only just managed to catch it in time.
"G'night," Quinlan said, flopping sideways in the pilot's seat and draping his legs over the arm of the chair with a dismissive wave.
Tech adjusted his goggles with dignity and left.
Left to his own devices, Quinlan glanced at the readouts. Nothing unusual, ship functioning properly – good.
According to the ship chrono, it was almost oh-four-hundred, so the team only had another six hours of flight time. If his calculations were right, the time differences meant that when they landed, it would be just about noon at the Jedi Temple on Coruscant.
Quinlan had put in two calls to the Jedi Council, but both times they'd been in an emergency meeting, so eventually he'd transmitted a recording with the Marauder's ETA, and mentioned that if the Hutts caused an interplanetary diplomatic incident over Grakkus the Hutt's probably-destroyed palace, it wasn't his fault. This time.
Then he'd written and sent a data packet about the mission to the Council. It had been received and acknowledged, but nobody had tried to contact the Marauder since. Maybe the Council was in complete disbelief about the whole thing. Maybe they hadn't gone through the data yet. . . though that was unlikely. Shadow missions were given top priority. At least, they had been given top priority before the war, since Shadows worked against the Sith and Sith were mortal enemies of the Jedi and all that. Since the war started, though, there hadn't been as much focus on the unseen enemies.
Quinlan checked the ship comms, but no messages had arrived. He and the commandos had tried several times to establish a holocall with the Negotiator, but none of them could get through – for all they knew, the 212th was in the Outer Rim by now. Hunter finally managed, with Tech's help, to transmit a text-only message saying that his team was alive and headed back to Coruscant with General Vos.
Leaning back, Quinlan braced his foot against the wall and pushed against it to rotate his chair from one side to the other. Hyperspace watch was not the most interesting occupation in the galaxy. There was nothing to really watch for except incoming communications. Of course, it was possible that a system would fail randomly and the ship would drop out of hyperspace, or maybe even explode. In the first case, there was usually no need to panic, and in the second, well, you'd be dead before you could hear the alarm, so there wasn't much point in staying on guard for that.
After staring at the wall for a few seconds, Quinlan pulled out his datapad, intending to catch up on all the communications that hadn't been able to reach him since he began this mission. Kit Fisto had sent several . . . That was odd. Usually, he wasn't particularly communicative long-distance, especially when he knew Quinlan was on a mission.
But the oldest message was a general communication from the Temple. Quinlan opened it to see that two Jedi had died in combat the same night he and the commandos escaped from Dverik. One Jedi, he had never even heard of – she'd died in a surprise attack on a previously Republican world. The other was Nahdar Vebb, Kit Fisto's former padawan, and he had been killed by Grievous.
Quinlan let out his breath in a long sigh. He'd hardly ever seen Nahdar, but it had only been a few weeks ago that the Mon Cala had been made a Jedi Knight.
And Grievous? Quinlan opened the first message from Kit, which simply stated, 'I am returning to Coruscant. We destroyed Grievous' lair.'
This message also had a report attached, which Quinlan opened. Mere days after Nahdar's death, Kit had been sent back to Vassek Three with a squad of clone commandos. It appeared that Kit's mission had gotten tangled with Obi-Wan's on Rattatak and somehow turned into two missions.
Quinlan tried to make sense of the situation, but in the end, it boiled down to a few simple things: Grievous had escaped, again; Obi-Wan and Anakin had been captured and condemned to death in an arena, again – seriously? – and Dooku and Ventress had survived, again. Pity. The war would be a lot easier to win without the Count and his harpy of an apprentice complicating things right and left by getting Jedi business to overlap with Republic affairs.
Hopefully, the intel that the Deltas had gotten from Grievous' lair would at least be useful and save many more lives than had been lost. It did seem that Kit Fisto's assigned part of the mission had gone as well as could be expected, but for the rest of it, Delta Squad and Cody and Rex and their men had been the only reason that all of the Jedi survived.
Well, that sounded uncomfortably familiar.
Quinlan checked the instrument readings again and thought about sending a message to Kit, acknowledging that he'd heard of Nahdar's death, but then decided against it. The usual Jedi platitudes always seemed so useless. 'He has entered the Force'? Yeah, sure, like all the Jedi didn't already know that. And Kit had always been the kind of person to stay firmly in the present.
Eventually, Quinlan opened the second message from Kit, which had been sent a week ago. It was a recording, and his Nautolan friend sounded like his characteristically cheerful self when he said: 'Hypothetically, Quinlan, what would happen if I told the Prime Minister of Ahkto exactly what I thought of him?"
Quinlan grinned, spent all of two minutes researching the current Prime Minister of Ahkto, and determined that his crechemate would probably have been executed. Given that Kit Fisto had messaged him again just three days after that, it was probably safe to assume that his Nautolan friend had not in fact carried through with his hypothetical plan. He opened the last few messages, one after the other, and listened to them.
Four days ago: 'How goes the mission?'
Three days ago: 'You realize that if I have to come rescue you, I will hold it over your head for the rest of your life.'
Two days ago: 'Aayla has commed me three times because she cannot reach you even though she says she can find you in the Force. Apparently, she thinks you are finally out of danger.'
Yesterday: 'Come to think of it, I suppose that out of danger could mean either that you are safe, or you are dead.'
Today, he had sent a text message: 'Quinlan, are you alive?'
Nope, he replied to the last one. Then, deciding that maybe he should give Kit a little more than that, he wrote, I'll see you at the Temple in a few hours, if you're around.
He checked his recent communications, but there was still nothing from Aayla. Well, that's what Force-bonds were for. Closing his eyes, Quinlan slipped into a semi-conscious meditation until he could mentally follow the master-padawan bond.
It took a few minutes to reach her – she must be a considerable distance away – but when he did, he was able to catch her attention with a quick touch in the Force. She responded with a flicker of a thought and an impression.
Quinlan raised an eyebrow, both mentally and physically; Aayla was happy to hear from him, and she was also occupied in running for her life, her lightsaber a blur as she fended off attacks from large, spider-like creatures. As far as he could tell, Commander Bly was at her side, shouting something about 'no more diplomatic meetings without an escort' while he fired his blaster nonstop. Or maybe Bly wasn't shouting, maybe he was just thinking the words. It was a little hard to tell, since Jedi tended to receive strong emotions and thoughts as actual words at times, and Aayla had passed along an impression of what she was sensing.
Quinlan sent her a brief thought of his own, encompassing his agreement with Bly's general attitude, and received Aayla's mental eyeroll in response. Then they mutually slipped out of the connection so that she could return to staying alive.
The Jedi Shadow sat back in his chair, more relieved than he liked to admit at finding her alive and well. He checked the ship's instrument readings again, Zenaya's words sounding in his mind for the hundredth time since leaving Nar Shaddaa. "Aayla Secura is young for a Jedi Knight. Can you keep her safe?"
Quinlan considered sending Aayla the same packet of data he'd sent the Council, but it probably wouldn't do as much good as a simple, straightforward warning. He leaned forward, elbow braced on the edge of the control panel as he tapped out a message to Aayla, warning her to keep a sharp eye out, since an ancient Sith from Malachor had captured him, threatened her, and then escaped. He included a physical description of Zenaya, for all the good that would do, told Aayla that the Sith woman was incredibly dangerous, and sent the message.
No doubt she'd ask for more information within the next day or so. But Quinlan had already decided not to give Aayla any real details about his mission – at least, not yet. She would have hundreds of questions, and he didn't particularly want to hold that conversation long-distance.
Of course, if the Jedi Council decided to kick him out of the Order after they learned about what happened, they would notify Aayla that her master had been expelled for Falling, at which point she would kill him for not telling her himself.
"Time enough to deal with that later, I suppose," he muttered, shoving the datapad away. ". . . And yeah, I'll probably regret saying that, won't I?"
The instrument panel to which he addressed the question failed to reply.
Quinlan drew his lightsaber and held it at chest level, then released it, letting it hover and spin in the air in front of him as he wondered how likely it was that he would actually be expelled from the Order. He probably should be, considering; but it was much more likely that the Council would suspend him until they determined, somehow, that he wasn't a threat to anyone – strange, considering that half his job was to be a threat . . .
Almost smirking at the thought, the Jedi Shadow released his Force-grip on the lightsaber and caught it in one hand, then clipped it to his belt. Clearly, he still didn't have his head on straight. He was probably the person least able to judge whether he was in the grip of the Dark Side or not, whatever that even meant.
Quinlan huffed and slouched back in his seat. There was a war on and the Republic needed all the Shadows it could get. . . needed all the Jedi it could get, as evidenced by how they kept sending padawans out into battle.
Also, of course, there was the small fact that Quinlan had built an entire web of spies, important to the war effort. The spies were located across dozens of key planets, and since he was paranoid, there were very few Jedi apart from himself who knew all the locations and identities of his contacts.
He was pretty sure he couldn't do anything to change what the Council would decide, and yet he couldn't help wondering. Enough, he thought suddenly.
Turning back to the datapad, he powered it back on with a sharp tap and spent the next hour going through messages from mission-related contacts, answering any that needed attention, and memorizing a couple of code words and phrases that had been sent by one of his less legally-minded information brokers.
One of the passwords the Rodian wanted him to memorize was 'The Jedi are fools', which was entirely too pointed and probably a reference to the shipment of stolen medical supplies Quinlan had stolen back from the broker last month and returned to the medstation.
'The Jedi are fools' was also a terrible password – it would stick easily in the minds of anyone who overheard it, and a lot of people were saying that very phrase lately. What was the idiot thinking? Anyone who happened to say it might be thought of as a contact, and unknowingly receive vital information.
Quinlan sent a short message to the Rodian, mentioning these facts and recommending that the password be changed. As an alternate option, he suggested, 'At sunrise, the dawn spoke and the Force listened', which was the first line of a long, famous poem, written in the time of the Old Republic, and known across the galaxy.
More to the point, the whole first half of the poem was about a Jedi who had single-handedly taken down a gang of spies and information brokers.
That completed, Quinlan put away his datapad and slipped into meditation, keeping only half his attention on his surroundings. He needed to talk with Vythia, but she'd been sleeping since they brought her on board, except for a slight return to consciousness when Wrecker made her drink some water.
Quinlan let his focus wander as he drifted into meditation. Every so often, he pulled himself out of it to check on the other occupants of the ship, but the Force-presences of his teammates, as well as Vythia's, were dimmed with sleep every time.
An indeterminable amount of time later, the door suddenly slid open. Quinlan jumped slightly and straightened, returning to the present as Hunter sat in the co-pilot's seat.
"Quinlan," the sergeant greeted him. "What's up?"
"Me," Quinlan said, glancing at the chrono. "You're here fifteen minutes early – not that I'm complaining."
"Tech says Vythia's waking up," Hunter said, and leaned back in the chair, knife already drawn and spinning between his fingers. "Figured you'd want to know."
Quinlan got up and stretched his arms, twisting to crack his spine. He hadn't sensed Hunter's Force-presence brightening, which meant he had not been paying attention. More importantly, he hadn't sensed Vythia waking up, and he'd been waiting for her to wake up.
Head in the game, Vos, he thought, for probably the fiftieth time that day. Clearly, that wasn't working, so he added, Quit living in the past and pay attention. And stop talking to yourself.
"Thanks for telling me," he said. "See, I'm almost sure she has no intention of trying anything, but better safe than sorry, right?"
"Yeah," Hunter answered, straight-faced. "Especially since the explosives are stored in the locker near her head."
Quinlan snorted and went out into the hall, where he stood listening for a moment or two to the faint sound of something shifting slowly across the floor.
The instant he slipped inside the cargo bay, the sound stopped. Quinlan wandered around the stacks of boxes, folded his arms, and looked down at Vythia, who had one arm outstretched as though she had been reaching for the nearest half-open crate.
"I don't know if you're aware," he said casually, "but I know that you're awake, so I really hope you aren't going to pretend to be sleeping."
Vythia almost seemed to hesitate, but then she opened her eyes, gazing up at him with dignity even though she was flat on her back and covered in blankets. "I was –" She paused to swallow against a dry throat. "– not sure of my location or situation."
"Fair enough." He perched on a nearby crate and tossed a water bottle so it landed next to her. "You fainted before we got to the Marauder. We brought you onboard, got a bit of medical help, and left Nar Shaddaa. It's been a full standard day since then, plus some hours."
"I see," she replied, and pushed herself carefully upright until she could lean sideways against the locker. "Where are we headed?"
"Coruscant." Quinlan, who was watching her expression carefully, knew he hadn't imagined the flash of uneasiness that had crossed her face and vanished. "What is it?" he asked. "Do you have a criminal record or something?"
She seemed almost amused. "Certainly not."
"No?" He considered, then shook his head. "No, you wouldn't, would you? It's inconvenient, makes it harder to move around unnoticed. Let me guess, you never actually broke the law."
"Nar Shaddaa has no laws to break." Vythia sipped some water, then closed the bottle carefully and set it aside before adding, "Though even if it did, I should still have had no record."
"Hmm," he said disbelievingly, and smirked when her eyebrows lifted slightly. "Okay, so if you don't have a record that can get you tossed in the nearest Republic prison, then why are you afraid of going to Coruscant?"
"You are taking me to the Jedi Temple."
"Yes. . .?" Quinlan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Believe me, it's nowhere near as scary as Malachor."
Despite the faint smile that touched her face, Quinlan could still feel her trepidation.
"We have to warn the Jedi about Zenaya," he pointed out. "And you're the best person to do that."
"Yes, I am." She lifted her head to look him in the eye. "But I am also – was also – your enemy."
"Yeah." Quinlan considered, then shrugged. "But not in the sense that you were trying to kill us. I doubt the Jedi will be too focused on the fact that you were our enemy."
"I attempted to become a Force-sensitive. That does not strike me as something the Jedi would be neutral about."
"Well, no. But Vythia, what you did to help us afterward – you're probably the only reason the commandos are even alive. Not to mention what you did in Aantonaii."
"Yes, after getting you trapped there in the first place," she replied flatly. "Which I did, however inadvertently, after deliberately using you for a Sith ritual."
Quinlan blinked, finally connecting the dots. "Oh . . . You're afraid of being imprisoned by the Jedi."
Vythia gazed back, reddish-purple gleaming through her eyes for a moment before she gave up. "I am afraid of being imprisoned at all," she admitted, sounding ashamed. "The Jedi will treat what I have done as they would any serious crime over which they have jurisdiction."
"Not if I tell them I'd promised to let you walk free," Quinlan replied. "In return for your cooperation and all that."
"What?" She stared, then tilted her head disbelievingly. "Quinlan, are you sentimental, or a fool?"
"Possibly the first. Generally not the second. Wait. Am I sentimental or a fool about what, exactly?"
"The Jedi. How can you believe they would ever agree to let me go free?" She shifted, bracing her hands against the floor until she was sitting almost fully upright. "They could not possibly be sure that I would not try to become a Force-sensitive again."
"They couldn't, but I could."
Vythia leaned back against the wall, her eyes fixed almost suspiciously on his. "You are not even bringing me to your Council as a prisoner, then?"
"Nope. Informants have a price, and yours is freedom. That's the condition you gave me, when I asked you to talk to the Council."
"You did not ask," she pointed out. "And I would have given no conditions."
Quinlan shook his head with a faint grin. "Now you're just trying not to understand, Vythia. You know exactly what I'm doing."
"I know what you are doing," she replied, inclining her head. "But I do not understand why. I could just as easily be forced to talk."
"No." Quinlan stopped slouching and leaned forward a little. "I wouldn't do that, Vythia, not again."
"I know you would not." Vythia gave him an inscrutable look and shifted again, leaning her right shoulder against a crate.
Quinlan folded himself into a meditative pose and closed his eyes. "I do have one question," he said after a minute. "Is there any chance at all that your bond with Zenaya can help us find her?"
"None. What of your own?"
"No chance there. Mine's weaker than yours."
"I was under the impression that mine was weaker."
Quinlan opened his eyes. "Of the two of us, who is more used to having Force-bonds?"
"Of the two of us," Vythia replied, lifting an eyebrow, "who is more used to being possessed by a Sith?"
There was a pause.
"Fair," Quinlan admitted. "Though, since you were the one she possessed, I kind of expect yours to be stronger."
"It was . . . until I became a threat. I understand her mind, Quinlan, more than anyone else alive today. She has to destroy the Force-bond, or at least mute it until I cannot access it at all."
"Yeah. Hopefully she does that to mine as well."
"She will not, at least not entirely. You may still be useful to her."
Quinlan sighed. "What a pleasant thought."
"Yes – a high honor indeed." Vythia spoke so calmly that he jerked his head up to stare at her before noticing her amusement.
"Very funny. . ." He slid off the crate and stood, listening to the sound of voices from the cockpit as Hunter and Tech argued quietly about something. Probably about how Tech was up, again, despite only going to sleep a couple hours ago.
"The bond I share with you seems to be fading," Vythia observed. "At first, I could almost hear your thoughts."
"What . . .?" He blinked. "Well, that's not disturbing at all. What was I thinking?"
"A good deal of nonsense." Vythia gave him an almost hesitant smile, like she didn't remember how the expression was supposed to work. Come to think of it, she probably didn't.
"I'm sure. But apart from that?"
"Well . . ." Vythia considered, moving cautiously until she was lying flat on her back again. "Hm. Perhaps saying I could sense your thoughts is more accurate than saying I could hear them. I knew your emotions and intent, but not exactly what you were thinking."
"Ah, I see."
Vythia closed her eyes, looking exhausted. "How long until we reach Coruscant?"
"About four hours. After that, if all goes well, we'll meet with the Council right away and hopefully be done by evening."
"And after that?"
"It'll depend on what happens with the other Jedi." Quinlan wandered over to get a ration bar and held it out towards her. "You'd better eat something."
She opened her eyes long enough to give it a disinterested glance. "Zenaya's plan was for the Jedi to believe her to be dead, Quinlan. That is why she wanted you to try and kill her."
"Yeah." He dragged a hand through his hair. "I think I figured that out somewhere between the warehouse and the Marauder. We'll tell the Council that – we'll tell them everything. But – Vythia, they might not believe she's alive."
"Then the Jedi are fools," said Vythia bitterly, and closed her eyes again.
Quinlan sighed. Some of us definitely are, he thought. But he still didn't think there was anything else he could have done in the warehouse. If he had continued to resist, Zenaya would have executed the others and then driven him insane with her power until he listened anyway. At least this way, his team had survived, and Zenaya didn't have an apprentice.
The Havoc Marauder flew through the first-class airlane, not because the team had been given specific permission to, but because Quinlan didn't want to wait for half an hour to receive clearance. It helped that he had the rank of Jedi general and that his GAR-issued code automatically moved his ship up in priority, which meant that they wouldn't get in trouble if someone asked why they were in the first-class airlane.
Quinlan could see the Grand Temple from here, several kilometers out. He didn't visit it much anymore, often switching directly from one mission to the next without reporting to the Council in person, and there were some areas of it he hadn't seen in years. Maybe this time he'd visit the Room of a Thousand Fountains. After all the ash and dust on Malachor and the city of Nar Shaddaa, some plant life would be welcome.
Hunter, who was co-piloting, activated the ship comm. "Tech," he said. "I'm pretty sure there are speed limits on Coruscant."
From Quinlan's starfighter, which was supposed to be flying escort but had somehow gained a hundred or so meters, Tech answered, "Yes, there are. Particularly in the Federal district."
"That's where we are right now."
"That is correct."
Hunter rolled his eyes. "Then slow down."
Quinlan leaned forward, peering through the viewport to observe his starfighter as Tech very reluctantly complied. Maybe letting him pilot a vessel designed specifically for Jedi and their Force-enhanced reflexes hadn't been his best idea ever.
"What were you thinking," Crosshair drawled disinterestedly from the pilot's seat. "Now he'll want one of those and we'll never hear the end of it."
Hunter shot him a mildly alarmed look, and Quinlan grinned.
"I heard that," said Tech. "And of course I want one of these. I have not even been able to test it at half its potential speed. Can you imagine the –"
"Yes," said Hunter sternly. "I can imagine finding the starfighter smashed to bits in a forest somewhere and you dead."
Before Tech could reply with more than an affronted gasp, Crosshair cut the comms.
"So," said Quinlan thoughtfully. "You don't really want Wrecker to have a lightsaber, and you really don't want Tech to have a starfighter. Killjoys."
There was a sharp beep as Tech overrode the comms. "Hunter, may I remind you that you and Quinlan were the ones hacking apart my walls with lightsabers and – "
"It was one cut!" Hunter exclaimed.
"– risking your lives unnecessarily."
Quinlan hummed. "I mean, he has a point . . ."
"Don't encourage him," said Crosshair.
The argument didn't have time to escalate, though, because they reached the Temple and had to focus on landing. To Quinlan's surprise, Tech landed without even the slightest jostle.
As the Marauder landed next to the starfighter, Quinlan went out into the narrow hall, where Wrecker and Vythia were waiting. Vythia once again wore her cortosis vest, fastened tightly over the bandages and her torn dress. Hunter had suggested calling in a medical team, but the Nautolan woman was absolutely determined to walk on her own. When he said that she might not be able to walk on her own, Vythia gazed expressionlessly at him until he gave in, which didn't take more than a few seconds.
Quinlan had avoided getting involved, since Vythia's looks and words had been getting progressively more icy the closer they got to the Temple. She really did have strange ideas about the Jedi Council, but he supposed that anyone who studied Sith history would. Quinlan thought she would be pleasantly surprised, even if she continued to dislike Jedi as a whole.
"Well, here we are," he announced, smacking the button to open the boarding ramp. "Welcome to the Jedi Temple and all that. . ."
He stepped onto the landing platform and heard armored boots clicking against the duracrete. Glancing up, he caught sight of Commander Cody coming towards them, hands locked behind his back.
Quinlan turned around and called into the Marauder. "Hey! Cody's here!"
As a result, Wrecker stampeded out of the ship instead of walking, a huge grin on his face as he hollered, "Commander!"
Crosshair followed, his manner deliberately aloof. It wasn't very convincing, though, given the fact that his smirk was more pronounced than usual.
Tech approached, still looking excited from the flight, and Hunter exited the Marauder just as Cody stopped in front of them.
"Good to see you, sir," Hunter said with a smile.
"You, too. I'm glad to see you boys safe." Taking off his helmet, the commander studied them, concern clear in his features. "You look like you've been through a week of nonstop battle. What happened?"
Hunter and Quinlan looked at each other.
"Short answer?" Quinlan suggested.
"Yeah." Hunter turned back to Cody. "Pretty sure we've been to hell and back, Commander."
Cody frowned, and his dark eyes searched all of them, including the Jedi. "You didn't report any injuries," he said, gaze flicking from Hunter's arm to Quinlan's wrist. "Why not?"
Wrecker laughed. "Uh, 'cause we didn't want to deal with the flimsiwork."
"We forgot," admitted Hunter.
"Yeah." Crosshair considered, then shrugged. "Besides, we're all set."
When Cody raised an eyebrow, Tech explained. "There was a medical droid on Nar Shaddaa."
"Hm," said Cody dryly. "Forgive me if that does not fill me with confidence. General, as it turns out, the mission you led is off the records to such an extent that I just received orders to have Clone Force Ninety-Nine report to the Halls of Healing, rather than to the Two-Twelfth medics."
"Halls of Healing?" Tech inquired, pushing his goggles up the bridge of his nose.
"Yes," said Cody. "The Jedi healers will make sure you are cleared for duty before you return to the Negotiator tomorrow."
"We have to report to the Council," Quinlan told him. "But yeah, after that, feel free to take 'em to the Halls of Healing. I assume you know where they are."
"Yes, sir." Cody gave the commandos a brief smile, then put his helmet back on. "But I have orders to return to the Negotiator as soon as I'd finished checking in with you lot. I'll hear your report later."
"Right," said Quinlan, and glanced at Tech. "Well, I'll give you directions – the Halls of Healing are pretty easy to find."
Cody eyed him. "I just came from there, General. After Mistress Vokara Che released me, she impressed on me the importance of having you bring the commandos there."
The Jedi Shadow groaned.
"Well, I have to be off, sir." Cody turned to the Bad Batch. "I'll see you lads at oh-six-hundred tomorrow. You will report to General Kenobi and to me, strictly off the record. Don't worry, though – you won't be on the Negotiator for more than a day. There's a situation developing in the Mid Rim, and it looks like you'll have your pick of hit-and-run missions for the next week at least."
"Oh boy!" Wrecker slung an arm around Crosshair's shoulders so enthusiastically that the thinner clone was lifted off his feet. "We get to take out droids again! Aw, I've missed that!"
"Put him down, Wrecker," said Hunter absently, then nodded to Cody. "We'll be at the Negotiator by oh-six-hundred, sir."
The clones exchanged salutes, and Cody left at a brisk walk.
"Well," said Quinlan. "Come on. Guess we'd better get it over with."
Finally realizing that Vythia hadn't even come out of the Havoc Marauder during the conversation, he turned – and jumped slightly.
Vythia must have moved without a sound, because now she was standing at the base of the boarding ramp. Her arms were folded as she gazed suspiciously at Kit Fisto, who stood three yards away with his arms folded and gazed back at her.
Quinlan was willing to bet that his crechemate had been trying to sneak up on him, because usually Kit announced himself with a lot more volume than was necessary.
"Huh," Wrecker said. "There's two of 'em."
"Yes, Wrecker," said Tech. "Other Nautolans besides Vythia do exist."
Wrecker smacked his arm. Meanwhile, Hunter and Crosshair were watching Kit as if they weren't sure what to think.
Quinlan rested his weight on one foot and watched as Vythia and Kit continued to eye each other, almost like they were sizing each other up in preparation for a battle.
A few seconds later, the Jedi Shadow fought back a grin. "Hey, Kit," he said slowly. "I know she's beautiful, pal, but do you think you could possibly stop staring?"
The matching, horrified glares he got from the two Nautolans in reply were absolutely worth it for at least the next three seconds.
"Ah, Quinlan!"
Hunter stepped aside hastily as Kit Fisto abandoned his staring match with Vythia, marched past the clones, and threw an arm around Quinlan's shoulders, giving him a rough squeeze. The Nautolan was taller than Quinlan – in fact, now that he was closer, Hunter realized that he was only a few centimeters shorter than Wrecker.
"It is good to see you again!" Fisto exclaimed, ignoring the Jedi Shadow's struggles to get away. "And is this the famous Clone Force Ninety-Nine?"
"Yes, General," said Hunter quickly, before any of his teammates could come up with smart responses.
"Then I thank you for ensuring Quinlan's survival . . . and for not murdering him yourselves, despite being on a mission with him for – twenty days today, is it? I admit, I am impressed!"
Crosshair and Tech exchanged amused looks, and Wrecker laughed. "Yeah, don't worry," he said, loudly. "We wouldn't kill him unless he got a lot more annoying!"
Hunter checked to make sure nobody else had heard that, but the landing platform was empty apart from themselves.
"Yes, thank you, your loyalty is –" Quinlan cut off, struggling to break free from the iron grip of his crechemate even though General Fisto only had one arm around him. "Ow – come on, Kit, let go already!"
Behind him, Vythia raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and for a moment the faintest smirk touched her features.
General Fisto only squeezed harder and grinned brilliantly, pretending not to hear Quinlan's complaints. "What in space took you so long?"
With an effort, Quinlan twisted away and straightened, smoothing the wrinkles in his black tunic with dignity. "Oh, we stopped a few times to sightsee on Malachor. Bought caf and holocards, did touristy things, you know how it is."
"Indeed." General Fisto did not look impressed. "I find it very hard to believe that there were holocards on Malachor."
"Oh. Well, anyway, we were on the Sith planet. And on Nar Shaddaa. Other than that . . . Hey, wait a minute." Quinlan shot a sideways look at his crechemate. "I sent the entire Council my report, and you are literally on the Council. You already saw it."
"I did," the Nautolan general said cheerfully, then sobered. "Which means that I know why your Force-presence is so chaotic right now, and I know about Vythia Archane."
She lifted her chin, somehow managing to give the impression that she was gazing down her nose at him. Hunter had the feeling the two Nautolans were not going to get along.
"Well, there is no point in standing around in the noonday sun!" Once again, General Fisto wrapped an arm around Quinlan's shoulders, this time dragging him forward a few steps. "Let us go inside and meet with the Jedi masters on the Council, all of whom are eagerly awaiting your arrival."
Once again, Quinlan broke free, this time leaping out of General Fisto's range before the Nautolan could grab him again. "If you would let me walk on my own, that would be fantastic," he said.
The Nautolan raised his eyes to the sky. "So childish," he mused, then grinned. "Very well."
The two Jedi moved quickly, and the others followed, except for Hunter, who waited for Vythia to come up beside him before starting to walk. She, as usual, said nothing.
The others were quiet, too, except for the two Jedi, who were speaking together in barely audible voices. Hunter wouldn't even have known they were talking, except for his enhanced senses, but as it was, he heard Quinlan saying something about Kit Fisto's padawan.
"His heart was in the right place," the Nautolan general replied, his voice a bit louder than the Shadow's. "Considering what I feared . . . Well. I would rather he be dead than Fall."
Quinlan didn't answer – or, if he did, even Hunter couldn't hear it.
Beside him, Vythia wavered slightly once, then again. When she paused for breath, one hand creeping towards her chest, Hunter stopped next to her and held out an arm without comment.
She hesitated for a couple seconds, but finally stepped closer to lean some of her weight on his arm.
As they passed beneath a large doorway into a wide, brightly lit hall, Wrecker turned in a full circle. "Wow," he breathed, sounding awestruck.
Hunter didn't say anything, but he felt the same. The Jedi Temple was the complete opposite of Trayus. Here, the surroundings were light and airy and full of life, and the various statues, which were made of white marble, had quiet, serene faces. Hunter could walk right past even the tallest ones without having to think about whether or not they would get up and trail after him.
There was still a sense of age and ancientness, but more dreamlike – not at all like the brooding quiet, tomblike sense of the Sith Academy. Even after the teammates were a hundred meters inside, and there were no more windows, the hallways still felt as clear as if they were outside. A few younglings scampered by, shooting them curious looks, and vanished into a much smaller corridor.
Quite suddenly, Hunter felt himself relax. "This place is incredible," he murmured.
"It is." Vythia had straightened a bit, seeming less weighed down. "I have seen other Jedi Temples, but none so peaceful as this."
"I know." Quinlan stopped in front of a set of wide doors and turned to glance at each of them. "I lived here for most of my life, and it still feels more . . . Light . . . than I remember."
"Hm." Tech, who for once did not have his datapad out, nodded thoughtfully. "I expect that we, having seen the complete opposite of the Grand Temple, are more likely to appreciate the – ah – Lightness."
"You are right," Kit Fisto said. "A person who has never been especially close to emotions such as fear or hate will not appreciate peace as much as those who have."
Vythia and Quinlan exchanged quick looks as the doors slid open to reveal a lift.
Once they were all inside and headed up, Hunter realized that the lift moved a lot more smoothly than the ones in the Negotiator did, and the levels flickered past much more quickly.
"Hm." Looking amused, Crosshair removed his toothpick from his mouth. "Wish we'd had one of these in Trayus."
"Oh, yeah." Wrecker patted the wall fondly. "It would've saved us so much time!"
"And running," said Hunter, thinking back to the leviathan.
"Uggggh." Quinlan leaned back in one corner. "No kidding. And some of us could've beaten Zenaya to the top, stolen the Phoenix, and trapped her on . . ." He paused, then shook his head. "No, because she'd have still had a ship in Aantonaii. Well, anyway, taking the Phoenix would've kept her there longer, anyway."
"Significantly longer," said Tech. "Even Zenaya would have taken some time to walk approximately a third of the way around the planet."
Vythia, who still stood next to Hunter, looked confused. "But there was not a lift in Trayus, so what is the point of wishing there had been?"
"Beats me," said Quinlan. "I guess sometimes it's just fun to complain about things you can't change."
"Yeah, we're good at that," Wrecker said cheerfully, just as the doors opened.
Kit Fisto, who had been on his comm, almost bounded out of the lift to stand in front of them. "Now," he said, clasping his hands in the sleeves of his wide robe. "Masters Yoda and Windu expressed a wish to speak with the commandos first."
Hunter stopped short, suddenly unsure of himself. He didn't know how to talk to Jedi Masters, and the idea of being questioned by some of the most important people in the galaxy was . . . concerning. His teammates seemed just as hesitant. Wrecker was rubbing at the back of his neck, while Crosshair and Tech were giving each other sidelong, narrow-eyed looks of dismay.
"You'll do fine," Quinlan said. "Just remember that all Jedi sound wise and mystical, but a lot of us aren't that way in normal life. Sounding wise is probably a prerequisite of being a Council member, right, Kit?"
"No," said the Nautolan, looking surprised.
"What, you don't have to take a course on how to speak in as vague and mysterious a manner as possible?"
The other Jedi laughed outright. "Of course not. Come, commandos – I will accompany you and you may address your answers to me, if that is easiest for you."
Hunter really, really hoped that not all the Jedi could read him as easily as General Fisto could. "Right behind you, sir," he said.
"And in the meantime," General Fisto said, "a certain Master Che wishes to see you, Quinlan. You and Vythia Archane."
"I'd rather talk to the Council," grumbled Quinlan, turning back into the lift. "Fine. I'll see you guys later . . . Come on, Vythia."
As the door shut behind them, General Fisto glanced swiftly at the commandos. "I do have your names right, correct? Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, Tech?"
"Yes, sir," said Hunter.
"Excellent! Then come with me. This should not take too long."