3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Khoonda Headquarters, former Matale Estate
Mission
"Things are looking bad, Carth," Mission pleaded with Carth's holo-image, shaking his head as it so often was. "Real bad."
"I agree with Mission," Bastila interjected, still video-calling the two of them from seemingly nowhere, her head floating in what appeared to be a fathomless abyss. That didn't stop her oddly intricate hairdo from being perfect, though. If anything, the darkness enveloping the Jedi's head only emphasized it. "This sounds grim. I could go there, if they need me-"
"No-" Carth cut her off. "At least… not yet. I mean, ugh, I dunno, do whatever you want but I think having too many Jedi gather in one place could spell disaster."
"He's right, Bas," Mission relented, "The mercs have already kidnapped two of our guys, and I know for a fact that you're a lousy prisoner."
Bastila shot Mission a glare before she stifled a half-laugh, knowing that Mission was just trying to push her buttons. And was easily succeeding to the woman's dismay.
"True," Bastila sighed, "But I wish there was more I could do to help."
"You can focus on learning more about the items Master Vash sent your way," Mission suggested. "I have a feeling it will play a part in whatever comes next. It can't be a coincidence, y'know? What with General Valen, and now this?"
"I agree with Mission," Carth said, cradling his chin in thought. "I have a feeling this is all connected somehow. Don't you feel it?"
Mission and Carth both looked at their own miniaturized versions of Bastila's solemn face, waiting for a reaction or a biting remark, only to find after a few moments that there was none.
"Bas, you okay?" Mission asked, at least hoping that using the nickname she hated brought her out of whatever scary reverie had overcome her. Bastila froze for another moment, as if buffering, before she deigned either Carth or Mission with a response.
"It probably sounds foolish," Bastila laughed softly, though no warmth met her eyes. "But I-"
The woman choked. Mission and Carth looked at each other via holo, and as strange as that was, it was easy to see the same concern mirrored in Carth's face when their eyes met.
"I've refrained from using the Force much, these days."
"You what?" Carth asked almost immediately, his voice almost hush.
"Jedi can do that?" Mission asked, bewildered. "But why?"
Bastila shook her head, still sporting a sad smile as her eyes welled with strange tears - strange because Mission was convinced the woman had never shed a tear in her life.
"It was a precautionary measure," Bastila explained, blinking away her tears until her composure regained, looking more like her usual self after a deep breath. "But now I fear I may have trouble tapping back into it. I know that I can. I am just not sure if I want to."
"You don't want to draw whatever this thing is out," Carth surmised, his voice steady and slow. "That's why you think it would be safe if you went to Dantooine?"
After a tense moment, Bastila nodded quickly and resumed her frozen expression.
"I see," Carth continued, nursing his chin again. "Well, I can't say I know what you're feeling, though I guess I understand why. But please, Bastila, take care of yourself. If you need someone to-"
"I'll be fine," the woman cut in, though everything in Mission told her that Bastila was lying - to herself as well as for their own benefit. "For now."
For now.
The phrase echoed in Mission's mind, though why it stuck she was not sure why. That may be true, but for once in her life she was actually worried that Bastila would not, in fact, be alright.
"I also can't say either of you two will particularly enjoy what other news I have for you," Carth continued after he let the silence steep with all three of them. Bastila perked up at this, as did Mission.
"Are you stuck on Onderon?" Mission ventured, knowing that she was still awaiting Carth's promised assistance - assistance she'd promised the Khoonda initiative what now felt like eons ago.
"No. Well, sort of, but that's not the news," Carth began, sighing as he collected himself before delivering the killing blow. "I've gotten word that the Ebon Hawk… is gone."
"Gone?" Mission echoed.
"Gone how?" Bastila asked, suddenly at alert again, pleased to have something other than her own existential crises to occupy her mind in isolation, Maker knows wherever it was she was holed up.
"Gone as in gone," Carth threw up his hands. "Gone as in likely stolen and-"
"Where's General Valen?" Mission asked. "Doesn't she have the ship?"
"It was in the hands of the TSF aboard Citadel Station, but it seems they…" Carth paused, sucking on his teeth before biting his lower lip as he shook his head, baffled by what he was about to say. "Misplaced it, was their turn of phrase."
"Misplaced?" Bastila repeated, dumbfounded. "I suspect the vessel was already impounded when you requested the report they delivered, yes? Which means it was in their possession and in inventory somewhere with a record. How does a task force misplace a parked vehicle linked to an ongoing investigation?"
"Don't worry, Bastila, I've been asking myself the same questions," Carth said, releasing a sigh weighing the same as a thousand suns. "This just gets worse and worse."
"How is General Valen, by the way?" Mission asked. "Have you spoken to her?"
"Not yet, I've sort of been waiting until we're face to face," Carth said. "I know, I should check on her myself and I guess I still could, but I don't want to say anything that might reveal something we don't want to let out."
"But we're talking now, aren't we?" Mission queried. "Isn't talking to the General just as dangerous as whatever it is we're doing and trying to get away with?"
"We're not being watched by the TSF," Carth added. "General Valen was given a station-sanctioned apartment to first await trial. Now she's only being held there until I arrive, but, given how things are going here on Onderon and now Dantooine, too? I don't know when that will be exactly. I can't trust the TSF not to listen in on her, and to my utter dismay I've also learned that there was already one assassination attempt on the woman's life so I can't imagine what mayhem might break out if words gets 'round there's a Jedi on the station worth fifty-million credits."
"Fifty-million credits?" Bastila balked just as Mission exhaled "Assassination attempt?!"
"But I thought the bounty on Jedi was ten million," Bastila went on once they'd both quieted down. "Has it truly been upped to fifty?"
"I think this went live just as you went into hiding, but a personal bounty was put out on the Jedi Exile a couple of weeks ago," Carth explained. Bastila only shook her head. "And it far exceeds the bounty on other Jedi."
"Personal?" Bastila asked. "But how would anyone know whether she was even still alive after her exile?"
Carth only shrugged, appearing even more tired than he did at the start of their conversation.
"No idea," he said, "And to make matters even stranger, all of her aliases were included on the bounty."
"Curious," Bastila half-whispered, her eyes glazing as they stared into the middle distance between her face and the holoscreen propped up in her place of hiding. "Curious."
"What are you thinking?" Mission asked as she crossed her arms, knowing Bastila's panicked thinking expression the instant it took hold of her features. "Any idea who might be behind this?"
"Perhaps," Bastila said, her eyes still faraway before she eventually shook her head and the errant thoughts from her mind as she refocused her gaze. "Either way, it would suggest that the leaked information would have come from a Jedi. The Order has always kept tabs on those in exile. Unless anyone else might have benefited from Eden Valen's whereabouts from the beginning and would have been privy to them somehow, a Jedi being the source is a likely scenario."
A darkness overcame Bastila's features that Mission remembered only seeing once aboard the Star Forge - a woman broken and ashamed for having fallen even the slightest bit towards the Dark Side. Mission suspected nothing of Bastila now, but knew the guilt that overcame her friend was one of shame. Shame that the Jedi Order was, yet again, responsible for something outside her control.
"I have a feeling we should reach General Valen sooner rather than later," Mission suggested, redirecting her gaze at Carth's holo-image, his effigy jittering as a wave of static washed over his miniaturized presence. "Asra mentioned reaching out to her about Dantooine, Carth. Maybe you can relay a message?"
Carth nodded absently, considering this as his eyes, too, retreated into the middle distance before returning to the present as he responded to Mission's proposal.
"Maybe she'll stay put and out of sight if I promise to bring her along to Dantooine with me after our meeting," he said, squaring his shoulders as if that made the plan official. "I definitely want to speak with her first before we do anything else."
"Asra would like that," Mission offered, thinking back to the brief warmth that overcame the woman at the thought of reuniting with her friend, a feeling Mission knew well anytime she was away from Big Z for too long. "Though, I dunno if it would help, but she and Orex did mention something about a secret callsign. It could come in handy if you want to send a message to General Valen but leave the TSF none the wiser."
"Maybe it's best we get the two of them in on this," Carth said, "Or better yet maybe have them make the call. They already have her trust, and General Valen hardly knows anything about me. It would probably be better if any news came from her friends."
Friends.
A fourteen-year-old Mission never would have believed her older self, even if her life depended on it, that the three of them would ever become friends. There was a time when the only person Mission ever imagined herself trusting was Zaalbar, and while she didn't always get along with Carth and Bastila, they were practically like family now. And oddly closer to her, and more protective, than Griff had ever been…
"I'll let them know," Mission promised, nodding. Carth nodded back, and eventually Bastila did as well, a worried look still possessing her features. "Stay safe, you two."
Mission signed off, worrying for the first time in a long time if she would ever see her friends again.
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Jedi Temple Ruins
Mical
Mical had been trained to endure a variety of situations - trekking through an unknown landscape on foot being one of them. But nothing like this.
As a medic during the war from the tender age of fourteen, he had spent many a night sleeping beneath the stars, never sure of what the landscape or the situation would demand of him. But he'd always had a pack of soldiers at his side with orders to follow. He had always been accompanied by men and women to tend to in exchange for the protection and food they would provide when they needed to remain hidden from the enemy no matter the cost.
Yet now, Mical was being led through the woods by what he might otherwise call the enemy - a silent pack of kath hounds leading him through the dense forests of Dantooine's outer limits, waiting and watching from a distance, as if giving him space, as if they had the forethought to allow Mical the simple comfort of not being so scared that they might maul him at any given moment. They'd led him through fresh water, allowing Mical enough time to freshen up and rehydrate, later meandering into a field of berries and other edible underbrush slowly enough to allow Mical what might equate to a full meal. And now, after a day's trek, Mical was face-to-face with what remained of the ruined Jedi Temple.
The sun was setting now, and his guiding kath hounds retreated to the near west, settling into a grove that now flanked the ruins where the old fountains once stood.
The place was nothing like he remembered from this angle. It had seemed somewhat familiar when he was here days ago with Erebus and Vash, from the inside, which now felt like a lifetime ago. Just as the structure rose in the distance through the dispersing blba trees, it felt as if he were laying eyes on this structure for the very first time. The walls had considerably collapsed since his most recent visit, evidence of the Golden Company's meddling clear in the crumbling facade of the old sanctuary.
"This is a sorry sight indeed," he muttered to no one, dumbly calmed by the sound of his own voice after a days' worth of the kath hounds' beastly howls in the dark, their grunting marking each turn in the path they inexplicably led him down.
How he knew to follow them and that he would be fine for it, he was not entirely sure. But he was here now. And he wanted answers.
As if on cue, a lone rock fell from the apex of a rugged mound before him, revealing a single sliver of space just large enough for him to crawl through. Breathing deep - and looking about at the orange-tinted landscape about him as he did, as if saying goodbye to the waking world along with the sun - Mical channeled his guardian hounds by descending to all fours and entered the small allowance of space. As soon as his body crossed the threshold, another rock slid out of place and closed the exit.
Part of him wanted to rush back and push the rock back out, securing an escape should he have need of it. But instead Mical chose to further crawl into the collapsed temple until he could stand, finally doing so in what he soon realized was the old merchant's garage. Outdated hoses and wires hung from the high ceilings, a sliver of shining coral light peeking through a crack in the ceiling wreathed in ivy betraying the last bit of sunrise as Mical dusted himself off.
"I appreciate the help," Mical said, his voice echoing uncertainly against the walls as he spoke. He felt strange, and oddly vulnerable, even if he felt that no one else were here but him. "I am indebted to your hospitality."
Stupidly, Mical bowed. Unsure if the gesture were needed, or even witnessed. But Mical figured it was at least safer to try rather than do nothing. He stepped further into the ruined space, maneuvering over fallen stone until he was in the temple's landing pad proper. Where there was once open sky to allow docking ships, there was now a massive blba tree - young but sprawling, its thick tendrils for branches already blocking out enough of the sky that it was completely dark beneath it. Thorns spread from its reaching limbs, laced with a green-blue venom he recalled being warned about as a child. It only graced the branches of younger sprouts, a defense mechanism devised by the plant to ensure that the tree grew to maturity before any attempts at uprooting it could deter the tree's efforts at thriving. Mical side-stepped around the base of the tree, his eyes wide as he admired the sapling in the diminishing light, wondering if his gesture had gone completely unnoticed.
"My name is Mical," he offered foolishly, wishing he hadn't said it the moment his name echoed through the empty space. "I would like to properly thank you, if-"
Mical turned, his eyes adjusting to the half-light until he came face-to-face with a glistening laigrek standing stock-still in the only uncollapsed passageway Mical had any hope of traversing.
"Oh, I-" he stilled, raising his hands at the creature as if it might calm it. Under any other circumstances, he might have felt stupid to even try such a thing, but to his surprise the creature did not move an inch. Instead, it appeared to regard him curiously, tilting its head sideways before slowly stepping backward and disappearing into the dark of the hallway beyond.
They don't bite, an errant voice spoke in Mical's mind.
Mical startled, spinning around in search of the speaker before realizing that the voice was not physically present other than in his own head.
It's okay, the voice continued. They're safe. And you're safe now, too.
Despite the oddity of it happening at all, the voice itself was… soothing? If Mical could put any word to it, he would say that the voice was juvenile, tinged with a certain youthful innocence that he found difficult not to trust or at least take at face value. His situation was certainly not comforting, but the voice itself seemed oblivious to any discomfort Mical might have felt otherwise. And this, oddly, was his reason for trusting it any further at all.
Come, the voice invited again after a moment. She'll guide you to where you may stay.
The somber laigrek seemed to bow at this, as if aware that it was being formally introduced. The creature lowered its spindly, glistening head, its scales glittering in the dying sunlight that still barely filtered from outside, before skittering down the hallway, beckoning that Mical follow her.
Again, Mical spun around as if still expecting an audience, not entirely convinced that he was alone. But the room was empty, save for the blba tree at his back and the kath hounds still howling beyond the old spaceport's walls.
Well, he thought, wondering if he had anything left to lose. Let faith will out.
And without another word or doubt, Mical followed the laigrek into the dark.
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Czerka Corporation Executive Suite
Eden
"I am so utterly pleased that we could reach an agreement," Jana Lorso praised from over the chasm of her gleaming desk. Her gold visage glittered in the reflection of her workspace, casting the illusion that twin Lorso's sat in audience, whose four eyes were all fixed on Eden. "You will find that working with us comes with many benefits."
Lorso stood from her desk and paused, her manicured hands poised on the mirrored surface as if to spring herself into action once she reached her feet. Eden's eyes wandered the length of the woman, her gaze imperceptibly shuddering down towards her leg before returning to Lorso's face just in time for their eyes to meet again in mutual agreement. A limp, Eden noted, wondering how that factored into all of this - if at all. She smiled sweetly, though the action felt sour, her insides churning as she felt that she might be sick.
I hate this, I hate this, I hate this, her mind echoed as Lorso slowly crossed the room to come face-to-face with Eden's bargaining chip - a modified droid. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the one recently delivered to the Ithorians. And that was because they were one in the same. Well, almost.
Are you sure they'll buy it? Atton had asked with more concern coloring his voice than Eden expected from him. What if they see right through the plating?
They won't, trust me, Eden had assured despite the doubt coursing through her at the thought. Plus I've recast the other protocol to look a bit more weathered, rusted. Czerka will think they're getting the real deal while the Ithorians resorted to purchasing a second-hand machine.
The plating she'd swapped had come from the back room of a seedy consignment shop at the mouth of the promenade with an attached warehouse that encroached on both the station's junkyard and the TSF's impound lot in a way that made Eden suspicious the task force didn't have even more of their ships stolen from under their custody. She and Atton had scoped out the place on a hunch, hoping they'd find the Hawk in pieces if anything but also hoping they were wrong for getaway's sake, the latter thankfully being the truth of it while the actuality of the shop inspired Eden with an idea that would make Luxa's risky idea come to life.
"I am certainly glad you chose to gift us with this invaluable tool," Lorso sighed as she ran a hand over the droid, whose amber eyes glanced at Eden as if worryingly. "I know the Ithorians have their plans, but those machinations will not allow this station, nor the planet below, to truly prosper and recover its losses."
A bold-faced lie if I ever heard one…
Eden nodded, trying to smile despite feeling her mouth thin to an unconvincing line.
"I hope you will allow our technicians at least a brief window into how this particular machine operates before you inevitably depart…" Lorso added, still admiring the droid.
"... Depart?"
"Forgive me for assuming," Lorso smiled, her checkered face blushing blue as laughed politely. "Though I very much wish to retain Czerka's working relationship with you beyond this station, I had presumed that you would be leaving soon, but if I am incorrect…"
"Oh, no you're quite right," Eden lied, trying to match Lorso's particular brand of business talk without sounding too put-upon. "I hadn't planned to stay here as long as I already have, though I have been a bit caught up in the goings on here."
"So it would seem," Lorso smiled as she ushered Eden towards a lounge area in the corner of her office which consisted of several chairs flanking a singular slab of gold-plated plasteel meant for what Eden assumed were more sprawling business dealings - the space allotted for more guests than Lorso's desk did and the place appeared more chic and laid-back than the rigid atmosphere surrounding her work surface. So far, Eden and Lorso had remained in the COO's executive office alone, but once Eden took a seat the far doors swooshed open, welcoming in Lorso's assistant Ithira and the Exchange brute, Benok. Benok's eyes locked on Eden the moment he spotted her, not blinking a wink as he moved to guard the now-closing door as Ithira scurried to Lorso's desk to begin taking meeting minutes. "Would you care for a drink?"
Lorso spoke as if neither of their new guests had entered, as if the door had not opened and nothing at all had changed. Eden tore her shared gaze away from Benok, his dark eyes boring still unblinkingly into hers, before nodding fervently at Lorso in what she hoped appeared to be civil enthusiasm.
"I would, thank you."
Lorso snapped her fingers and a miniature droid emerged from the table that spanned their two chairs, its head opening up like a gilded budding flower to reveal several crystalline decanters full of various somethings spanning the color of the rainbow. Without asking, Lorso procured two small, empty glasses, and proceeded to pour a concoction that consisted of each liquid until each of them were left with a disappointingly dark and murky cocktail. Eden tried to match Lorso with a smile that mirrored her smug one, feeling all the fool for it and all the more thankful once she brought the drink to her lips.
Eden eyed Lorso over the edge of her glass, wondering what the woman expected from this spectacle. As far as Eden was concerned, the drink tasted like nothing, and the alcohol didn't make a dent. It might as well have been juice. Was that the point? Unsure of the desired outcome, Eden planted a neutral face in place before lowering her glass and wondered if all of this was merely a test.
"I would be sorry to see you go," Lorso continued, "I am sure a burgeoning station such as this with as monumental of a task as reinvigorating the planet below would benefit greatly from someone of your stature, though as I said, I would like to retain a working relationship with you if possible."
That is, if this doesn't all go to shit.
"Tell me how that would work, exactly," Eden said, trying to sound as interested as possible. Though she had to admit she was interested. And she was growing more and more suspicious that Lorso's plan bore an eerie similarity to Luxa's…
"Czerka has outposts all over the galaxy, as I am sure you know," Lorso began. "And while I understand that someone such as yourself cannot go traipsing about as anyone's poster child for obvious reasons, I understand you may have connections. Connections that I, we, may use to our advantage, to get the galaxy back up on its feet after this terrible war. It will take decades, likely, but with your help we may just be able to accomplish what the Ithorians estimate to be a thirty-plus year estimate in under ten."
"Under ten?" Eden repeated, trying to paint her doubt as praise. "That's quite impressive."
"Quite," Lorso echoed, leaning back in her seat as she took a long draw from her cup. "Your way with droids and other machinery will come in handy before your inevitable departure, and it will certainly help us get the remaining military outposts back online, but what I am thinking is more long-term. I hope that you are open to that."
Eden waited a beat, hoping that Jana Lorso intended to elaborate more. Eden blinked, wondering if her polite smile was still in place, but Lorso did not explain the further details of her plan. Instead, Lorso watched on expectantly as Eden felt Benok's gaze bore into the back of her skull.
"I see," Eden said. "And I am."
Not.
Eden was interested beyond a doubt, but her willingness to work with Czerka was nil. It had nothing to do with the Exchange, or Luxa, or whatever the hell was going on in the galaxy beyond that brought her back into the trap that was Republic Space. She'd seen Czerka's dirty work up front on Tatooine, and she'd seen them attempt to set up shop on Serroco too, before her mother shut them down.
We no longer bow to anyone, Naara said to the poor sap of a Czerka rep sent to convert Serroco into yet another bankrupt outpost. Both you and the Republic can leave.
Eden had always admired her mother but never more than she had then, in the first few months of her exile and eager to do anything to clean up the mess she'd wrought under Revan's command. When Serroco was blitzed, Eden had fled under orders to save the remaining fleet, the image of her home village burning seared into memory along with the ocean of guilt that followed in its wake. It was no wonder the first refuge she sought post-exile was at the home of her mother, the makeshift headquarters of Serroco's rebuilding efforts, in hopes of both atoning for her sins as well as earning her mother's forgiveness. Naara said Eden had nothing to be forgiven for, that she was just following orders under the guise of what Revan believed to be the right thing. Eden did not agree.
"It could be quite the mutually beneficial relationship," Lorso continued, refilling her glass. She gestured the decanter in Eden's direction as well, but Eden declined. She felt sick, knowing now that both Luxa and Lorso only sought to use her for what she represented, unsure of either outcome. "See, I imagine the Jedi are suffering from rather a bit of bad PR at the moment, but Czerka has the money to throw behind the face of the Jedi where the Republic doesn't have the gall to do so."
Bad PR is one way of putting it, Eden thought with an audible tsk, though all it did was cast her further in Lorso's favor by seemingly agreeing with the woman. Eden hadn't been too plugged into current events, much less so the current discourse surrounding said events for nigh on ten years, though the fact that people didn't think of Jedi highly was no surprise. The idea of doing them any favors didn't sit well with her, but Lorso didn't know that. Instead, she let her disapproval ring in the air as if it were for the Republic.
"I would like to see what you can manage," Eden said amid her inner monologue, again still curious regardless of her inner opinion. Just because Jana Lorso and the Czerka Corporation could try their hand at something, did not necessarily mean they would be successful at it. "I could give you and your workers a bit of a hands-on demonstration now, if you'd like. About the droid, I mean."
The protocol in the corner seemed to almost cower at being acknowledged again, unwilling to function as anything other than the bit of scrap it had lived peacefully as until Eden plucked it out of the junkyard the day before.
"You may go ahead, I have no head for machines," Lorso laughed as she downed the remainder of her second glass and ushered Benok forward. The man's eyes were still fixed on Eden as he approached and lowered his head, awaiting Jana's yet unspoken order. "Please escort Eden and the droid down to the mainframe."
"Aye," Benok affirmed as if he were a pirate and not just a gun-for-hire put to poor use as Jana Lorso's personal bodyguard. The man may have been Lopak Slusk's second-in-command, but he was being criminally underused as the Exchange's arm in Czerka so far as Jana Lorso was concerned, regardless of how much the man was being paid. "Please come with me."
Eden nodded, placing her cup down gently as she gathered herself and joined Benok by the door with the droid between them. The man keyed in a sequence and instead of the door opening, Eden heard the whoosh of an elevator scale up to meet them before the panels opened, beckoning them both into a small white cell that replaced the marbled reception area of the Czerka offices proper.
The doors closed. Eden tensed but kept her gaze forward, sensing Benok's heat as he leaned unceremoniously towards her across the chest of the droid, his rifle pointed into the side of her rib like a thorn.
"Don't think I'm not watching you," Benok hissed, pulling away just in time for the doors to open. Eden breathed in, soaking in the cocktail of Benok's threat and mingling pheromones, wondering if she had some shot at sabotaging his perceived advantage over her.
"I'm actually betting on that," Eden said as she exited the elevator and stepped into the mainframe, computers glittering up at her from the la labyrinth ahead, "I'm sure we'll meet again."
Before Benok could retort, the doors closed on him, leaving Eden in a room full of machines as well as the droid at her side.
"Master Valen?" a meek voice introduced from just behind her, pulling Eden out of the staring contest she maintained with the closed doors though it was still in a deadlock with Benok. "Miss Lorso said you would instruct us on how to use this device? I'm eager to see what you may teach us."
Eden tore her gaze away from the closed door - briefly imagining the one from her dreams laid over it, its ghost still a lingering afterthought between her waking moments - thinking only, I never made the rank of Master.
"Oh yeah, sure of course," Eden smiled, already sorry for the demure technician before her who seemed so keen and eager-eyed, perhaps still naive enough to hope that her job with Czerka was worth a damn. Or maybe she'd already let go of that hope a long time ago. Either way, it didn't matter now.
She looked towards the droid and gently coaxed it forward as if shepherding a feral animal still wary of people. As it should be, Eden thought bitterly.
The young tech couldn't have been more than twenty, about as old as Eden had been at the height of the war. She looked up at Eden with wide, friendly eyes, either keen on meeting a Jedi when few remained or excited to learn about the droid at Eden's side. Eden, selfishly, hoped it was the latter.
"Shall we begin?"
3951 BBY, Malachor V, Trayus Academy
Erebus
If only we had the time, Azkul had said, his face still lit up with a manic laughter before he'd lost consciousness in Erebus' grip. Moments later, Erebus' own strength would fail him, leading him to let go of Azkul as well as control over his own limbs. But as Erebus slumped, a crude word poised on his dry tongue, an image stayed with him that he had not fully registered then but haunted him now…
Just as Azkul slipped from Erebus' grasp, his own weakness apparent even if he did not wish to heed his body's urgent need to rest, he saw her. Her. Eden. Only it wasn't through his own eyes, but Azkul's.
"Azkul yet lives," he uttered, though why, and to whom, he did not know. It was only after a moment's fussing and confusion did he realize he was back home. Home.
His usual dark trappings loomed over him as his eyes adjusted to waking life - wine purple drapes fell over the dark grey wall behind him, barring the sickly green light outside from casting too much of a poisonous hue in the cluttered room he now lay in, the permanent home of all his remnant research. Erebus did not remember opening his eyes, nor closing them previously. All he recalled was speaking with Vash aboard his vessel… and now this.
"Yes, you've said as much," Uruba muttered, her indigo visage slowly falling into focus amid his other black, grey, and violet-hued furnishings as Erebus realized that he was awake now and no longer remembering, lost so deep in his own mind that it took him more than a moment to differentiate the then from the now. "And whoever he is, he's done quite a number on you."
To anyone else, this would sound like the usual bedside manner. But given Uruba's tone and expression, Erebus knew the woman was cross with him and her deadpan delivery of each uttered syllable communicated that she was absolutely furious about it.
"I wouldn't go so far as to give that cretin much credit," Erebus sighed as he struggled to sit up. Uruba didn't fight him on it, pulling away enough to let Erebus attempt it and doing nothing to help when he couldn't. "That was all me."
"Ah," was all she said, before leaning forward again and getting back to work. "That explains it."
Erebus blinked, the searing pain suddenly blossoming in his side that awakened him further. Glancing down he watched as Uruba wrapped his bare torso with primitive cloth, coarse but strong and pliant, her plum-dark fingers spiriting over him as if she were not there, the weight of her almost imperceptible as she set his ribs. Just as Mical prescribed, he thought bitterly.
"You mentioned her again, too," Uruba continued as she helped Erebus sit up, waiting until she was nearly finished before speaking again. This time she paused, awaiting Erebus to acknowledge her words before elaborating, her wide caramel eyes looking on with stern consternation when his gaze finally met hers. "Your sister."
"Eden," he huffed. The memory of Azkul resurfaced, as well as the image of his sister through the other man's eyes. She was covered in blood, looking down on him. Was he on the floor? In a ditch? All Erebus could surmise was that they were still on Dantooine, the washed-out coral walls of the ruined Jedi Academy framing Eden's silhouette like a sunset clearly visible in the vision as well as her newly-cut hair - no longer a messy half-blonde as he'd seen it during their brief scuffle on Tatooine, but all black and almost the same length as Erebus'. He couldn't help but think that they hadn't looked this similar since they were children, when they'd first arrived at the temple on Nespis sporting identical bowl-cuts because their grandfather knew no other way to cut hair.
"You are not the first to mention her to me today, either," Uruba muttered further. "Darth Sion asked after her as well."
Erebus perked up at this, a chill running through him at the thought. Eden had thought of Sion, too, he remembered, bristling at the recollection.
"What did he want?" he demanded, suddenly more alert. All of his senses returned in full-force at that moment, as well as the full weight of the pain in his side.
"He wanted to know everything about her," Uruba said casually, avoiding Erebus' gaze. "So, naturally, Mellric and I gave him whatever was commonly accessible through the Academy archives. But nothing more."
Erebus laughed, thankful for Uruba's loyalty to protocol and Sion's eternal refusal to learn how to use a computer. Idiot.
"Speaking of archives, is Mellric around? I would like for him to dig up anything we might have on Azkul."
"Azkul?" Uruba repeated. "So this individual is actually important?"
Uruba looked at him blankly, the blood-red tattoo painting her face taut with her usual composed skepticism. Unlike most Mirilans who bore tattoos symbolic of some culture-specific task or achievement, Erebus had been the one to mark Uruba in a manner of her choosing upon receiving the station at his corner of the Trayus Academy. In a way, it still stuck to tradition, though the means by which she achieved the milestone as well as the design she chose to mark the occasion were decidedly unorthodox. Uruba's nose twitched, indicating her impatience, setting her honeycomb inking askew as she awaited his response.
"He was a Sith soldier, under Malak," Erebus explained. "I want to know the manner of his discharge, as well as his complete military history. Both under the Republic as well as Revan."
He could tell by the way Uruba's brow furrowed that the woman was irritated at having been asked to relay a message to her counterpart, as she often was, but above all she was still obedient. Despite her abundant annoyance, Uruba serenely closed her eyes and subtly bowed her head.
"It shall be done," she whispered. "But I had other news for you."
"Oh?"
"Sion did not only mention your sister. Darth Nihilus requested that you speak with him about her as well."
"Speak with him?" Erebus sat suddenly upright, a dull ache radiating through him with the motion. "What for? Why's he so interested?"
Nihilus' interest in what happened at Malachor always made perfect sense. Erebus bet he would not be holding the Sith station he currently held were it not for his direct connection to his sister and the pain she wrought here nearly a decade ago. Even though he could no longer sense her presence through the Force until recently, he had been the ideal guide for Nihilus in his search for eternal life as well as one of the few Sith who could withstand the overwhelming weight of this place beyond the Academy doors. But Sion never had a problem with it, always one of the few who could weather this place without so much as only his trousers as he so often wore alone, never one to sport armor or even a slip of cloth passing as a shirt - lest anyone go unreminded of Sion's strength written into the multitude of scars that spanned his body.
"He did not say," Uruba responded, her brow furrowing further, though this time in thought. "Which is why I am glad you have arrived. It was only a matter of time before Darth Sion returned with more questions, and quite frankly I would rather he ask you than me. And as much as I know you harbor no admiration for the man, I imagine you wish the same."
"I do," Erebus answered, nursing his chin in thought to find that he'd grown a considerable amount of stubble there. Before his hand could retract or any further surprise could course through him, Uruba straightened and took a step back from his bedside, inching ever closer towards the door.
"Good, now I expect you'd like for me to catalog whatever nonsense it is you've collected aboard your ship so if you don't mind, I'll attend to that now," Uruba said in a hurried breath, serious as always. "Would you like for me to escort your - erm, slave - into your quarters as well?"
Erebus froze, nearly forgetting his charade for a moment before laughing with intention, imbuing it with a wicked mirth he'd witnessed in Azkul before his expiring breath.
"Ah yes," he instructed. "Please do."
Uruba lowered her head again in recognition and bowed out of the room. Just as Erebus' wine-dark curtains fluttered with her departure, they fluttered again with Vash's uncertain arrival. The woman looked about the space just as she was shoved inside and the door unceremoniously shut behind her.
"Hello again," she said sardonically, Vash's voice as quiet as a whisper though more resonant, indicating her innate displeasure at the present situation. "I've met Uruba, as you can surmise."
"And not Mellric?" Erebus laughed, imagining the scenario play out in his head as he awaited the Jedi's response. "I'd like to see that."
"I imagine you will," Vash huffed. "Soon enough, at least."
Mellric had a particular disdain for Jedi, a facet of the man that tickled Erebus still even though he hadn't identified as such in years.
"Probably sooner than you think," Erebus began.
He gave his old room a proper look now that he had a moment to breathe, examining it as if for the first time just as Vash was now. The notes that remained pinned up here were all hypothetical, hopeful annotations about things Erebus would venture to see, some items of which were now in his possession. As well as others he'd never dreamed of possessing. Erebus had been a different man the last time he was in this room. As much as things had changed in the last few weeks, he was eager to get back to work - his fingers already itching for his console before Vash could put a word in edgewise.
"What-" she sputtered, startled as Erebus nearly dove for his desk. "What are you doing?"
"Snooping," he muttered. Ignoring his unread messages, Erebus immediately made a beeline for the backend of the academy's archival system, which housed logs pertaining to the items in storage there as well as security footage. Pulling up the last few entries, Erebus clicked through until Sion's greyed visage appeared on screen.
"Is that-?" Vash asked, unable to finish her question.
Erebus shook his head.
"No," he muttered. "That would be Darth Sion, a man I fear is also in pursuit of my sister."
Vash neared Erebus' seat, a shaking hand resting on his chair back as she approached and leaned over his shoulder to get a closer look.
"How-?" Vash exhaled in a half-whisper, "How is this possible?"
Erebus did not have to ask to know what Vash meant. Looking up at them both from the confines of his computer screen as if it were a window, Sion looked out at them from dead eyes set in a ruined face. Erebus had seen corpses that looked better than Sion, and yet Sion had more vigor than perhaps any other being he'd ever met. Angry vigor, dripping with vitriol. But vigor nonetheless.
"The Dark Side," Erebus answered, "Anger leads to hate, hate leads to suffering…"
Vash extended her other hand, a trembling finger approaching Sion's face in mingled horror and awe.
"Anger," she echoed, the pad of her finger gracing the screen and leaving a trail of oil in its wake. "So… his suffering sustains him?"
Erebus nodded.
"Indeed."
Vash recoiled and turned to Erebus, only he did not meet her gaze.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Again, Erebus did not have to ask Vash to elaborate in order to know what she meant. He glanced down at the bandages that now spanned his entire torso and thought back to the enduring pain that allowed him to cut through the pylons' energy in the Rakatan ruin, the agony sustaining him in a way he never knew something could. And in the wake of its absence, now healed more or less, he felt the ache of it. An echo of the pain that now felt like a hunger, an endless abyss threatening to swallow him whole.
Like Nihilus, he thought with a sharp swallow. And like Eden, too.
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3
Atton
"Do you see it? Just there?" Eden ordered from the confines of her small, dark room. Atton shrugged, still feeling awkward for simply sitting on her bed.
Eden had returned from her suspiciously long meeting with Jana Lorso not long ago but hadn't stopped talking his ear off in a hushed whisper since, her anxious energy all-too infectious for Atton's beleaguered mood. After begging that they not wake Kreia, Eden led Atton to her room without further elaboration, which made Atton go red in the face before she procured a small microchip from a plait in her hair and inserted it into a datapad she'd purchased on the promenade.
"Look, here and here," Eden urged again, her finger nearly pressing itself through the screen of her datapad. "Please tell me you see it."
"See what?" Atton asked, his confusion genuine. Eden groaned and brought the holomap closer to Atton as if seeing it an inch from his own nose would make her point more obvious. It didn't. Instead, Atton went cross eyed. "I'm not sure what you're asking me to look for, exactly."
Normally Atton was decent at decoding maps, even ones with supply routes as heavily camouflaged and itemized lists as deliberately redacted as this one. But he was too tired and too anxious to be rid of these Jedi to use his brain at anywhere near full capacity.
"Can't you just… I dunno, show me?" Atton asked, already exhausted. Apparently, this was not the answer Eden wanted to hear. She groaned again and sat beside him with a heavy sigh, their sides inexplicably pressed against one another as Eden hastily commanded the holomap magnification back to normal resolution. In any other scenario, Atton would have questioned whether Eden was making a pass at him, but considering the way she pointedly slammed into the keyboard as she typed, he figured that it unfortunately wasn't the case.
"Here, and here," Eden pointed again after customizing the view screen, singling out several locations on the map before her. It was clearly an atlas of Telos' surface, Atton gathered that much, but now that Eden pointed it out, he did notice the odd spots littered around the map with not nearly as much detail as the rest. "They're everywhere, really, but notice how these outposts are clearly outlined? Almost in too much detail?"
The more Atton studied the thing, the more he realized it was specifically a map of Telos' restoration efforts. A few military outposts from the Mandalorian Wars were highlighted, each one describing their initial function as well as their current state, followed by a list of repurposed materials, most of which had been used to build Citadel Station. But Atton knew for a fact that there were far more outposts than clearly listed, especially having visited a few of them for refueling as a pilot himself. Not to mention that he'd bombed a few of them himself later…
Obliterate it, Revan had ordered, simple as that. I want this planet to be unrecognizable.
Atton could still hear her voice over his aircomm as if she were still speaking, the casual coolness of her tone sending a chill down his spine even now. He'd done as he was ordered to, feeling nothing in the moment, and while there was some shred of guilt now, it wasn't nearly what it should have been if he was being honest…
"Czerka's got a hold on the others, you think?" Atton said, swallowing the memory and hoping none of his knowledge crept into the sincerity of his question.
"Definitely," Eden whispered conspiratorially, finally pleased that Atton got the gist of what she'd been saying. "Sure, some of these outposts would have been targeted directly under Revan, but certainly more than three survived. I suspect Czerka's got their exact location under wraps and are mining them for parts while no one's looking. Likely to sell at their official storefront while also using them in their contracted projects, deferring the larger parts to the black market, which is likely where someone like Benok or Slusk steps in."
"We could probably hit up that place we got the droid plating from," Atton surmised. "With them being so close to the TSF impound lot, bet you a hundred credits that they not only have an in with the TSF but that they're the link between the sorry excuse for a security force and Czerka."
Eden nodded, still fully leaning into Atton's side but seemingly unaware of it.
"Good point, probably acting as a fencer given what we saw in their warehouse," Eden muttered. "I'm still surprised with Lorso, though. I don't trust her. She had to have known I might snoop around her systems, no?"
"Possibly, but she also promised to put in a good word for the Jedi in the media, right? I mean, whether she'd follow through on that, maybe she's still banking on you identifying as one of them. And following that creed."
Atton could still hardly tell the difference himself, but if Eden said she wasn't a Jedi, then she wasn't a Jedi.
"Hm, maybe," Eden said, leaning into him further for a moment in thought before perking up. "She either expects me to be transparent as a Jedi would, even if no right-minded Jedi would make a deal with a mega corporation for obvious monkish reasons, or she wants to do the opposite - devalue the Jedi by proving we're corrupt?"
Eden shook her head before muttering, "Not we, they," almost more to herself than to Atton.
Atton only shrugged.
"I know I shouldn't trust Luxa any more than I do Lorso, let alone as far as I can throw her, which is… arguably farther than Luxa probably expects, but…"
Atton couldn't help but let out a low laugh as the image played itself over in his mind's eye. Eden looked at him with mingled pride at having made him laugh as well as mild surprise, before she realized just how close they were sitting. Within an instant, Eden not only pulled away but stood up quickly, placing the datapad on the nightstand beside her as she did so.
"I don't like this, I don't like any of this," Eden continued, pacing the small length of the room now.
"I'd offer my sympathies but it's too late for that now," Atton said. "Both for sorries as well as what ifs. But whatever you choose, I'm right behind you."
Eden paused, studying his expression with a furrowed brow.
"You mean that?" she asked, more accusatory than thankful. As she should be.
"I wanna get out of here just as much as you do," Atton confessed as well as lied, though what part of him wished to stay he did not understand. Nor did he want to. "The sooner we resolve this, the better."
Eden considered him a moment longer before nodding once, and then again several times to herself as she resumed her pacing.
"Sure, yeah," she muttered, chewing on her lower lip, "The sooner the better."
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Khoonda Headquarters, former Matale Estate
Mission
Mission wasn't exactly elated to be walking the halls of Khoonda now, though she had to admit that she felt decidedly lighter than she had the day before.
"How are things holding up?" she asked Zaalbar who ambled along at her side, truncating his strides so they walked in-step together.
Judging by the slow, rumbling growl Big Z let out, Mission ventured things were decidedly worse.
"Great," she muttered, turning a corner. "Just great."
"What's great?" Zayne asked once Mission entered the foyer proper, finding all of her comrades and a few lingering locals with complaints aimed and ready on their tongues as they awaited an audience with the Administrator. "Please tell me something great, I need it."
"Unfortunately nothing," Mission sighed. "I was being sarcastic."
Zayne groaned as his shoulders slumped with a pained ugh.
"Why, what's up?" Mission asked, already dreading the answer.
"You'd better come with me," Zayne muttered at both her and Big Z, ushering them down the side hallway towards the barracks. On the other end of a door in much need of repair stood Zherron, looking none too pleased, though to be fair Mission figured that was the man's resting expression.
"Movement in the area has practically ceased," Zherron muttered once Zaalbar asked him to repeat to MIssion what the man had recently relayed to him. Mission was about to ask how Zherron knew Shyriiwook before she realized there were more important matters at hand she wanted to learn more about despite her rampant curiosity. "No sign of the mercs anywhere, though we have spotted a few injured farmers in the scavengers' camp."
"Injured?" Mission echoed, looking from Zherron to Zaalbar only to find that both men nodded in a way that communicated that, yes, this was indeed strange, and also yes, they knew how bad that sounded.
"Not sure how," Zherron continued. "But it seems they've brokered a peace with the scavengers. It seemed like an impossibility before but, I don't know, maybe something's changed their mind."
"I reckon something has," Zayne sighed, "At least that's what I'm afraid of."
"Why are you afraid?" Mission asked, "I haven't seen you so spooked since we asked you to play nice with Erebus."
"That's exactly it, though," Zayne continued, appearing more frenzied with each word even as he toned his voice down to a whisper. "I have a bad feeling about that guy, kidnapped or not. Also might be worth mentioning that Master Vash is gone."
Mission blinked, unsure she heard Zayne correctly. Big Z nodded solemnly at the Jedi's side which only made Mission's confusion grow.
"Gone?" she echoed eventually, the word falling flat even as she said it.
Big Z shrugged apologetically while Zayne's manic restlessness seemed to grow tenfold.
"Gone!" Zayne hissed into the silence between him. A few of the others nearby perked up but were thankfully too far out of earshot to really get a read on what any of them were saying to each other. Zherron moved slightly along with Zaalbar, as if blocking the remainder of the foyer from further eavesdropping if any was to be had.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Mission pressed. "She was just working with Bastila on some of the artifacts downstairs!"
"Vash's room? Empty. The bed's made, her desk cleared. Not a speck of dust in that place. It was almost as if the woman was never here!"
"But…" Mission wracked her brain, unsure if she could wrap her head around Vash leaving let alone Zayne's reaction, which didn't seem to line up no matter how strange the Jedi Master's mysterious disappearance seemed. "Why?"
"It's because of him, mark my words," Zayne muttered. Big Z grumbled in half-hearted agreement, though Mission could tell Zaalbar was just trying to calm Zayne down by sounding agreeable. "It's suspicious, no? Master Vash disappears right after that attack, having gathered all she needed to know from Khoonda and Bastila, and then once she's gone this happens?"
"I agree with the young man," Zherron grunted, "Something feels off. And it's not a good look for a Jedi to up and leave in a time of need, regardless of the circumstances. The people here already have little trust for 'em - it's a good thing we didn't try to soothe any worries by announcing the woman's presence."
Mission nodded, biting her lip. Both Zayne and Zherron had a point and she didn't like it. After a moment's consideration, her gaze shifted from the two men to Big Z, her brown eyes settling on his umber ones, finding that the same cautious consideration resided there, too. Always on the same page, Mission thought, to her relief, before turning to Zayne and Zherron again.
"Maybe, but I wouldn't put it to the jury just yet," she said. She wasn't sure where she was going with this, exactly, but she knew there was more to this than any of them could fathom at the moment. "We should continue to gather intel from the scavengers as best we can for the moment, but treat them as you always have, Zherron. As for Vash, I'd like to think the woman had a good enough reason for leaving, but a half-Jedi like yourself should be familiar enough with their half-assed way of leaving things all cryptic-like, right?"
At this, Zayne let out a genuine laugh - a hearty, raucous, unfiltered laugh - lighting up his eyes and turning his face briefly red before he gathered his wits again and looked at Mission with what she could only describe as pleading fondness.
"Let's hope," he said. "Let's fucking hope."
3951 BBY, Citadel Station, Residential Module 082, Apartment C3
Eden
It was dark. Both within her room and outside of it. The only light source in her small but thankfully private space came from the slow crawl of sparse traffic outside, the lanes otherwise dark with lack of use, as well as the blue-white light from the datapad in her lap.
Eden sat up in bed, her threadbare TSF blanket splayed over her legs as she studied the datapad poised on her knees. It had been hours since she went over her findings with Atton and since the man had gone to bed, but there were more files Eden wanted to peruse at her own leisure - as well as in complete privacy. With a little more digging, Eden had not only cracked the code on what Czerka was keeping secret from Telos at large, but also on what files they'd recovered from the war. Among the massive inventory lists from the military outposts Czerka sought to exploit over the coming years, Eden also found old data logs from each base's original formation during the Mandalorian Wars.
Stardate [REDACTED]…. We've completed construction of the last tower and aim to have this quadrant up and running by season's end.
Eden wasn't the best at remembering faces, but she could bet the Republic soldier speaking to her now via fifteen-year-old holo was Carth Onasi back when he was a fighter pilot and a Telos native above all. It was strange to see the current Admiral of the Republic Navy as he was over a decade ago just after seeing his newly graying visage days prior aboard the Harbinger. It was as if the man were an aging ghost. Having never seen nor met the man in person, Eden couldn't place how tall he was or just what the exact hue of his hair color happened to be, but seeing Admiral Onasi as both a younger man and an older one humanized him more, somehow.
We will be ready whenever the Mandalorians attack, Carth promised with a firm nod of his head, a lock of hair falling out of place from his otherwise smoothed back hairdo as he did so.
Eden swallowed, knowing the Republic had been ready. But only for the Mandalorians. Not what came after…
She exited out of the older logs and clicked into the slightly newer ones. Here, there were more holologs and notes, but one of which stood out more from the rest. Of the ten or so entries, each marked by stardate rather than subject line, one log read: For the greater good.
Eden paused, her cursor hesitating over the log as if she already knew what it contained. A chill coursed through her and just as her spine shuddered, she clicked.
Her screen rippled with errant static and out of the variable foam, a dark-haired man with ice-blue eyes fell into focus.
Telos will remain a cornerstone of the Republic, a young Alek promised - his hair still thick and jet-back, his eyes still wide and pleading, brimming with humanity and compassion for it - These outposts will serve as a refuge for both Telos' protectors as well as Jedi Guardians who will safeguard this land with their life.
This must have been recorded before Eden had ever met Alek, the Mandalorian Wars still considered an inconsequential skirmish over the Outer Rim by most of Eden's instructors save for Kavar. Kavar was the only one to provide aid in the early days, the only Jedi Master to leave his station to help those in need when they required it most. It was part of the reason Eden was eager to join Alek's cause before he'd charmed her with the rest of his personality and all he'd encompassed - valor, passion, duty. Everything a Jedi should be in her eyes, but something many of her teachers, even eventually Kavar who chose a seat on the Council over a spot as Revan's left hand, never managed to be.
Telos will be a beacon in the darkness, Alek went on to promise, the usual twinkle in his eye selling the idea as he hid a sly smile behind his words, And when all other planets fail, Telos will remain.
And it had. Until Revan ordered it otherwise.
Eden was still on Serocco then, holed up with her mother in her aunt's abandoned home. Neither of them could comprehend it. When rumor spread of Revan returning as a Sith, most did not believe it. But Eden had. She'd warned the Jedi Council as much, the rancid smell of Alek's severed jaw still fresh in her memory as she relayed her news, hoping it would ring true as an omen only for it to fall on deaf ears. And yet news of Revan's bloodshed had shocked her still. As if part of Eden wished her premonition untrue.
Telos, like the Republic, will hold steadfast. Especially with the Jedi at their side.
A twinkle emanated from Alek's eye, almost winking before he signed off. Did he know? Eden thought, Did he know then what Revan would plan later?
It was years before he, then going by Captain Malak, and Revan would disappear for almost a year in the Unknown Regions, leaving Eden in charge of the army and naval fleets in their stead, telling her nothing before their unusual return. And nothing after.
Did he know?
Eden always knew she was kept out of the loop, Alek always more privy to Revan's machinations than anyone else. But Eden always felt it was a mistake to leave her out of it, too, especially seeing as she was responsible for all of Revan's ground troops during the war. It should have been obvious then, though it certainly was now, that leaving Eden out of things had been deliberate. But why?
Eden hit rewind, watching as Alek's mouth opened and closed like a fish, before he resumed usual speed and began speaking normally once more. Telos will be a beacon in the darkness, he said again.
But it was him. It was Alek. Neither Captain Malak nor Darth Malak. But Alek. Alek of village Squinquargesimus, Alek of Dantooine. A Jedi Guardian through and through, defender of the Republic. Her Alek.
Eden knew she'd witnessed the man transition from Alek to Malak, wondering which of the many stolen nights they spent together during the war saw to his eventual change. But the point of utter transformation was lost on her. It was so gradual that she had not seen it - could not see it. Even if she'd tried.
She watched the recording until it repeated, Especially with the Jedi at their side. Eden paused and rewound, and rewound again, reading into Aleks' every minute expression. His eyes were their usual bright blue, just as she'd remembered falling in love with, but none of the malicious undercurrent of what she'd sensed from him later was there.
Absently she rubbed her bare arm, the one she'd let fall comfortably into Atton's side earlier. Her face grew red at the thought of it, at least thankful that the man hadn't commented on their closeness either way. If anything, he'd gone along with it, supporting her weight while also adding some of his own in a mutual lean-to as they continued speaking, as if in mirrored camaraderie. It was something she'd done with Atris when they were still roomed together on Dantooine as they recited lessons to one another when they couldn't sleep, and something she'd do every morning spent with Alek as they relayed the contents of their dreams to one another before the war would inevitably take them their separate ways again, unsure when they would meet again and the matter upon which it would occur. Eden had fallen into a decades old habit without thinking, without realizing.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
The ache at the base of her ribs, radiating from within and outwards from her chest, pulsed with an unending iciness. An iciness as sharp as the way Alek's eyes had later become, looking up at her with a feral madness still etched into her mind's eye as if he were still looking up at her from the darkened floor of the Leviathan's viewing deck.
Revan and I were both there, he'd hissed, She wouldn't have been able to accomplish any of this without me!
But where had they both been? Eden knew it was somewhere in the Unknown Regions, but an indiscriminate location could not have possibly changed two people so utterly and in so short a time, could it?
Did he know? she persisted. Had it all been planned out?
Eden was not convinced one way or the other. And now, at nearly three in the morning, she wasn't sure it was worth finding out, wondering if such a thing were decipherable at all.
She hit pause just as Alek eased into that inwardly pleased smile of his, an expression she'd come to admire in the early days of the war effort, finding him oh so charming and humble despite the power present at his and Revan's hands. Was the smile a knowing one? Full of portent of what would come later? Or was it a hopeful smile, one still brimming with faith in the Republic?
Eden remained awake, the image stilled on Alek's preserved face - still intact and attractive, good-looking enough to overlook any underlying current of meaning he might have been hiding beneath his endearing visage. But was that the case? Or had the betrayal come later?
Eden sighed and hit replay again.
And again. And again, and again.