The rumpled man warmly thanked the ensign he'd been quartered with, a brown carryall thrown across his shoulder. It had been a long two weeks.
The ensign smiled and waved, secretly relieved to watch the "civilian" depart. You never could trust internal security, no matter how nice they seemed… or how often they claimed they were just transiting to their posting, and happened to be onboard.
Mical Gellis passed several more enlisted crewmen on his way to the airlock that connected the Corsu, a Forray-class corvette, to Citadel Station. All of them were unfailingly polite, but the tightness around their young eyes betrayed them.
Personally, it amused Mical that they assumed the Republic had the resources to waste policing a corvette crew. The truth also saddened him with how stretched their resources actually were.
((()))
"I hope you are not in too much pain," a voice said, grating across tender eardrums.
Jolee cracked an eye open, and glared. The room was dark, but he could see stars in the corner of his vision. Either it was night, or he was in space. His head hurt.
"I would rather not resort to crude methods, but I do not always get what I want," the slightly distorted voice sighed.
Jolee couldn't sense any sentient life nearby.
"Who are you?" Jolee growled. He was restrained somehow, in a chair perhaps. He subtly shifted his weight, feeling restraints bite into his bare skin at the ankles, knees, wrists, elbows, across his head, and waist.
"Forgive me," the voice said, as if irritated that it had forgotten the formalities.
A faintly glowing teal man slowly circled into Jolee's view. It looked like he was trailing a floating black spherical droid by a tether of light, but Jolee knew it was just the droid's holoprojector.
"I am Goto, one of the... officials representing a percentage of non-sanctioned trading here in both the Y'Toub system and Republic space," the glowing man chuckled, bowing. He appeared human with a high widow's peak of closely cropped hair. A neatly chiseled beard fell precisely from his chin, flanked by equally precise sheets of beard from his cheeks. His face was slightly marred by wrinkles and the gray tint to the hair hinted at middle age. The effect was… unsettling.
I'm in Hutt space, Jolee grimaced.
"You are Jolee Bindo, former padawan of the Jedi order, and I have a question for you," the hologram stated.
Explains the hologram. If he's not here, I can't influence him or pick his brain… smart. Jolee hated smart people.
"Never heard of him," Jolee grumbled.
The hologram looked pained, "I am wasting precious minutes in granting you this audience, please avoid wasting any more."
"Long distance call charges piling up?" Jolee sniped.
Goto frowned, "I have gone to considerable expense and effort to bring you here. Killing you would be counterproductive, but you do not need to be comfortable, to listen to me."
Jolee felt a tongue of electricity jump through his body for a moment, making him gasp.
"Do I have your attention now?" Goto asked pleasantly.
"Inescapably," Jolee gritted, studying his captor for clues.
The man nodded, and squared his feet, as if falling into parade rest.
"The Republic is… broken. What has happened on Peragus has set in motion events that I can no longer control. Not to be melodramatic, but I fear it has broken the galaxy... irrevocably. This has occupied much of my attention, and there seems to be no predictable way to resolve the situation," Goto said darkly.
Jolee tried to shrug, but couldn't, "Dozens of worlds have been destroyed in the last decade. The Republic seems to be still limping along just fine."
"Exactly. Limping," Goto growled.
"In one standard year, the Republic will collapse. Not due to war, or secession, but because it lacks the infrastructure to support itself. That was before Peragus was lost. We may have only half of that time now."
Jolee rolled his eyes. As long as life endured, he cared little for the name of the government that life flourished beneath. Provided it wasn't a tyranny.
"So what do you want me for?" Jolee snapped.
"I need a symbol. The Jedi are a symbol of the Republic, and they are all dead, or missing." Goto replied.
"You want a mascot?" Jolee sneered.
"I want hope," Goto corrected sharply.
"Sorry. I'm all out of hope," Jolee cackled.
"You misunderstand. The Republic needs hope to survive," Goto sighed.
"That sounds a little flimsy coming from a crime kingpin," Jolee laughed.
"I am a businessman. The Republic needs stability to survive, prosper… and grow. In a word, they need hope. When people are afraid, they stop spending, and start hoarding. Commerce breaks down. Without commerce, the connections that form the Republic die."
Jolee watched the man slowly approach, leaning in threateningly, "I love the Republic. It is more precious to me than life, and I will sacrifice anything to protect it."
"So… you want me to do what exactly? I'm just an old man," Jolee asked tightly.
"You are Jolee Bindo. Hero of the Republic, victor of the Jedi Civil War… if you return to the empty Jedi Temple on Coruscant and begin training new Jedi… begin intervening… word will spread quickly," Goto said smugly.
"Spread by you?" Jolee challenged.
"Of course. I will handle public relations, you simply have to… act the part," Goto smiled.
Jolee grimaced, "Get me a ship… I'll get started," the old Jedi lied.
"Unfortunate. I'll have to revise my approach again," Goto sighed, "Such a frustrating Jedi specimen. Wipe his memory."
A strangely familiar headache smashed into Jolee, and the man screamed, as darkness flooded him.
"I hope you are not in too much pain," a voice said, grating across tender eardrums.
Jolee cracked an eye open, and glared. The room was dark, but he could see stars in the corner of his vision. Either it was night, or he was in space. His head hurt…
((()))
Luxa woke from a dead sleep, not certain why. Her fingers automatically tightened on the Negotiator under her pillow. She took stock. A warm body next to her. Skin to skin. Naked. Emotions muted by sleep. Ah yes. Him. From the bar. Strong hands.
Luxa continued to listen. The normal sounds of her apartment at night, hum of the—
Repulsorlift. Droid? Bomb?
Luxa dove from the bed, and her new heavy blaster appeared in her free hand from the holster taped under the bed frame, keeping the bed between her and whatever had intruded. Her bedmate didn't stir. Heavy sleeper.
A remote was hovering in the corner of her room.
"Ah. Luxa. Finally you are awake," the remote said, and a miniaturized holoprojector activated, creating a seated hologram of Goto in her favorite chair. One leg was idly crossed over the other.
Luxa put the blaster back onto safety, her mouth dry.
"Congratulations are in order for your recent promotion," the crime boss said smoothly.
"A complete mystery, I assure you," Luxa said demurely.
"Not so. I had Loppak Slusk killed," Goto replied, bored.
Ah. She'd thought as much.
"Citadel Station is in dire straits," Goto continued, his tone sharpening.
"I assure you, with Jana neutered and awaiting trial, we can recoup our profits—" Luxa began.
"Peragus was destroyed," Goto interrupted bluntly.
Luxa froze, blinking.
"Citadel Station should have had six months of fuel reserves. Due to Slusk's black market activities, there is approximately six weeks of reserve, although the station's inventory doesn't reflect that. Officially." Goto explained, his jaw tight with irritation.
Probably a lot of containers labeled fuel, but full of something else, Luxa mused.
"I have made arrangements to replace some of that supply, but I cannot guarantee a long term supplier," Goto said quietly.
"How much fuel are you sending?" Luxa asked.
Goto was silent and studied her for several long seconds.
Luxa's stomach clenched. She'd overstepped.
"I will be sending freighters to you with fuel disguised as trade goods. You will swap those trade goods for the false fuel canisters. You will not inform anyone in the organization of the true nature of these transactions. If there are suspicions, you may create the impression that we are continuing Slusk's designs," Goto instructed coldly.
I'm the cut out. No one can know the fuel came from us. Interesting.
"That will be all," Goto declared, and the hologram faded, as the remote powered down, falling onto her chair.
Luxa nodded, her gaze falling on her bedmate. He rolled over, emotions a little sharper, mildly curious, but eyes still closed.
Fierfeik. Luxa wasn't sure how much he'd heard.
The blaster shot burned out his heart. A head shot would have left brains on her pillows. Luxa sighed, running her fingers through the dead man's silken hair. She'd liked him. Whoever he was.
"Excellent, competent subordinates are so difficult to find these days," Goto's voice congratulated her from the inert remote.
Luxa felt her toes tighten as she realized the test she'd just passed.
Goto was going to be an altogether more terrifying employer than Slusk.
((()))
Mical settled in at the computer terminal in the TSF records office, his code clearance easily penetrating several bureaucratic hurdles. The end of the trail was close, Mical could feel it. The Great Library had been ransacked four years ago, when the Jedi had begun to disappear. One of the thieves had performed exhaustive searches of the Library's index system, and had deleted the searches, but not the search history. Most of the planets searched had been little more than cursory data on location, climate, and population. One search had been more detailed. Telos was the only planet that installation plans and topography had been accessed… and some of those files had been deleted.
That "thief" had been Master Atris of the Jedi Council. If she could be found, perhaps she could shed light on the disappearance of the Jedi Council, and why the halls of the Jedi Temple were empty. The Jedi, in their wisdom, had not seen fit to notify anyone of their departure.
Mical however found it humbling that even a Jedi Master, as learned in the Force as any creature alive, was not a master of all knowledge. For instance, that search history could be restored unless the memory core was wiped with ion or magnetic radiation.
Twenty-eight thousand datacards and six hundred holocrons had been removed from the Great Library four years ago. They were certainly a treasure, but Mical was more interested in their guardian. Besides, the Republic did not have jurisdiction over Jedi property.
Mical began to sift through the installation files listed for Telos, comparing his list of files to Citadel Station's database. He was looking for something missing… unfortunately though, a missing file (the hall mark of a novice slicer), would blend right in with all of the gaps in municipal records, considering how badly the Sith had mangled the planet. Still though, Mical's search had shrunk from the galaxy, to a single planet.
And Mical had learned patience long ago.
((()))
Atris felt the walls of her meditation chamber shiver slightly, as the ice that had covered the hanger bay's mag-con field shattered with its deactivation. It was here. The shadow upon the force. No… the wound.
Atris waited, focusing on her meditation. She easily curbed the hint of impatience that lingered. When all was in readiness, one of her servants would notify her. Until then she focused on Telos. Most of the surface remained silent and still beneath poisoned skies, but sections of the world had begun to stir and mutter beneath the tender ministrations of the Ithorians.
Atris let her mind grow still, simply floating within the struggling pool of life. Hope was rare. The last Librarian of the Jedi took it wherever she could find it.
"Mistress. We have brought the Exile, as you instructed, and have begun downloading the ship's logs," the First of the Handmaidens reported softly.
"Excellent. Notify me when she wakes," Atris answered.
((()))
Atton was woken gently by a vice grip around his throat and water in his face.
He'd had worse mornings.
"Where is she?"
The voice was deceptively calm and quiet for a man holding another by the throat.
Atton stalled with a very authentic groan, for a moment, trying to reorder his thoughts.
Atton's back was pressed against something, and the tips of his boots were moving freely.
Memory returned, and Atton blearily opened his eyes.
The Iridonian's orange eyes bored into Atton.
"Where is she?" he repeated, tightening the grip slightly in the mechanical hand that held Atton.
"She took her," Atton choked.
"Who?" the Iridonian asked calmly, but Atton could see something very uncalm in the alien's eyes. Seemed crazy was a common condition on Telos.
"Can't, breathe," Atton lied, bearing down a little on his diaphragm, to make his dripping face begin to purple.
The mechanic lowered him slightly, until his feet touched the ground, and loosened the hold on his throat, slightly.
"I will not ask again," the mechanic threatened softly.
You had to watch the quiet ones, Atton reflected.
"I fought her, tried to stop her," Atton whispered, letting a little bit of confusion enter his voice, "Silver eyes. White hair. Echani maybe," Atton said, letting his eyes defocus, musing slowly.
"Why were you in here?" the mechanic asked.
If not for the risk of his throat suddenly being crushed, this had to be one of the easier interrogations Atton had experienced.
"I was keeping an eye out for Choy. She kept me alive when everything went down on Peragus. Least I could do," Atton mumbled, letting his face flush.
The mechanic blinked a few times, and Atton worried that maybe the alien wasn't too familiar with human facial cues.
The sullen orange eyes searched Atton's for a few more moments, then the death-trap of a hand released Atton's throat.
"You owe her?" the mechanic asked.
"Yeah. I do," Atton agreed. To his surprise, he realized it was true.
The Iridonian stepped back, considering Atton for several long seconds before coming to a decision.
"I'm going to find her, and you're going to help me," the mechanic growled.
Atton held out his hand promptly, "However I can," Atton promised sincerely.
The mechanic smiled slightly, and shook the smaller man's hand.
"I'm Bao-Dur," the alien rumbled.
"Atton. Atton Rand," the rogue replied.
"Let's start from the beginning," the alien decided.
Atton nodded, touching his jaw gingerly, but it wasn't broken, just felt like it.
"I was keeping watch in the hall, there's no security here, and I didn't feel comfortable just leaving Choy here. It's easy to go missing like that," Atton started.
Bao-Dur nodded, his facing tightening. Clearly the thought had occurred to him as well.
"I saw you come out, and then a few seconds later, someone else went in," Atton lied.
"From which way?" Bao-Dur asked thoughtfully.
"Not sure. A couple of Duros were blocking my view, but I saw someone dart into the room from behind them. Could have been a medic but… I didn't like it," Atton continued, playing up to the guardian kath-hound.
"You were out of sight, so I got my ass in here quick as I could," Atton said.
"What did you see?" Bao-Dur asked intently.
"Well," Atton trailed off, letting some genuine embarrassment into his posture.
"Yes?" Bao-Dur asked tersely.
"Okay look, I'm not bad in a fight, but that's with blasters," Atton lied earnestly.
Annoyance crossed Bao-Dur's face, "Just tell me."
"The schutta didn't say nothing, just laid into me. Yanked me into the room and kicked my ass. I didn't see much. She was wearing white, maybe a jumpsuit? It happened really fast and I only saw her at the beginning," Atton sighed.
"Why do you think she's Echani?" Bao-Dur asked.
"Sure felt like an Echani ass-kicking," Atton confided.
"Been on the receiving end of many of those?" Bao-Dur asked sardonically.
Atton grinned ruefully, "Once or twice, but she was lightning in the sheets."
Bao-Dur laughed, but it didn't reach his eyes. A shiver went down Atton's spine.
The mechanic had mild-mannered down to a science. Except for the crazy eyes.
Eyes were always the hardest to hide.
((()))
Mical's comlink chirped from his breast pocket, nearly making him drop the cup of hot caf in his hand. The man fumbled the device free and blinked, recognizing the encryption code.
"This is Mical. How may I help you, Admiral Onasi?"
"You're on Citadel Station?" the admiral asked, not wasting time.
"I arrived three hours ago," Mical replied, curious.
"I need you to meet me on the Sojourn. Go to Hanger Jay-six-six-two-four. A shuttle will be waiting for you," Admiral Onasi said quickly. His voice was level, and Mical was not overly familiar with the man he nominally worked for, but… he sounded tense.
((()))
The Last Handmaiden sat beside the Exile, as guard. She had heard stories of the woman, from Mistress Atris. Cautionary tales mostly… but the handmaiden felt doubt, and knew she was weak for it. The Exile seemed to lack the physical corruption that marked fallen Jedi… In fact… the handmaiden compared the unconscious woman's face to that of the last video recording Atris possessed of the Exile. It was nearly ten years old, and yet the woman seemed unchanged.
Strange.
The woman moved restlessly, eyes flickering beneath their lids, feet churning the blankets that protected from the harsh chill of the air.
The Last of the Handmaidens watched her charge closely.
The Exile woke. Explosively.
The half-naked human thrashed out from under the blankets, eyes wide and unseeing, trying to escape from something, half-falling from the elevated mattress pad.
The Handmaiden caught the Exile by her shoulders, saving her from hitting her head, and the Exile's hands instinctively clutched at the Handmaiden's arms.
"Where?" the Exile asked, disorientated.
"You are safe," the Handmaiden answered quietly.
The Exile stared up at the Handmaiden, shock on her face,
"Master Kae?"
The Handmaiden nearly dropped the Exile in surprise.
The name of her mother.
"That will be all. Wait outside," a wintry voice commanded.
The Last of the Handmaidens hastily helped the Exile back into the bed and bowed,
"Yes Mistress."
Atris turned away from the closing door to the supply vestibule, hands folded together within the warm sleeves of her white Jedi robes.
The Exile lay, partially exposed to the chill of Telos, watching her with guarded eyes… and Atris felt nothing from her. The Force flowed past, ignoring the failed Jedi entirely.
"I did not expect to see you again," the mistress said softly, her blue eyes like flecks of ice.
Choy shivered, seeing her breath condense in the air. Everything hurt.
"I didn't either," Choy whispered, a little dizzy, though the world had an interesting flickering quality around the edges.
"Indeed," Atris replied neutrally.
"Why did you come to Telos?" Atris asked. Her posture was stiff, just like it had been ten years ago.
"I needed work," Choy whispered. Things were coming loose. Things she didn't want to look at again. Not yet.
"And what work drew Choy Verdan to Telos?" Atris asked, an edge to her voice.
"I fix things. Always work for someone who knows the correct end of a hyperspanner to hold," Choy said, smiling hollowly.
Atris's eyes narrowed, "I know you were at Peragus. Death and destruction follow Meetra Surik, no matter how far you run from your crimes, or what name you take."
Choy trembled, pulling the thick blanket up to her chin.
"Why were the Sith at Peragus?" Atris demanded.
Choy squeezed her eyes shut, "I don't know," she whispered.
"What did you do?"
"I don't know."
"Why does it hunt you?"
"I don't know."
Each time Atris asked, her voice grew sharper.
Choy stared at the face that was once as familiar as her own. Even if the years had added a few more lines to it.
Oh so easy to read, even now. Especially now.
"Ask me the question you really want answered," Choy said softly.
Atris blinked, taken aback.
"Why did I leave?" Choy said, hollowly.
"You left because you were weak. You wanted glory and fame, a true Jedi craves not these things," Atris said reflexively. It had the sound of something oft spoken, to make it rote.
"Glory?" Choy demanded, her voice filling the small chamber, startling Atris.
"The outer rim was burning! Millions died every day the Council delayed!" Choy hissed, caught off-guard by how much the accusation had hurt.
She had never been able to explain. She had tried at the trial… but they would not listen…
"Look at what your heroes became! Revan and Alek fell to the dark side! They killed as many innocents as the Mandalorians they fought!" Atris snarled.
The words stabbed deep into Choy, but not for the reason's Atris meant.
"We… we had no choice. They had to be stopped," Choy muttered, curling her fingers, fighting the pending attack, once again standing at the precipice, staring down at the dark world spinning gently below her… as light from capital ship weapons blinked gently in the void. Each marking the deaths of men she commanded.
The lid to the box rattled, hungry.
"What of Taris, or Telos's destruction? Were those atrocities by your heroes not on par with the nuclear bombing of Serraco, or the annihilation of Cathar by the Mandalorians?" Atris retorted.
It was no use.
Choy felt the walls close in, as her knees curled against her chest, trembling, teeth clenched.
Choy barely noticed that Atris had stopped arguing.
"Meetra. What is wrong?" Atris asked guardedly, standing five feet away, aloof.
It was exactly the wrong thing to ask.
Choy couldn't control it, couldn't fight as the waves smashed into her, drowning her.
"I… I watched them die," Choy whispered brokenly, barely aware that she was speaking.
Atris stared at the wreck Meetra Surik had become. The strong, implacable woman Atris remembered was gone, replaced by this… thing. This Choy Verdan.
She was broken, rejected by the very Force itself.
It was a terrible thing to see. Beneath the pain of long-ago betrayal, Atris felt pity, for the women they once had been.
The last Jedi Librarian slowly crouched before the broken woman as she trembled and shivered.
"Who did you watch die?" Atris asked, feeling her voice gentle, even as she fought to hold to her emotional distance.
Meetra looked up from the bed. Atris stared into eyes of utter despair.
"All of them. We had to stop the war. So I did," the former Jedi wept.
"I killed them all. They were dying for me. I had to wait. Until the Mandalorian fleet consolidated. My men, my… children. They kept pushing the mandalorians back towards the planet. I had to wait. I had to let them keep dying, to save them. But when I saved them… they all died. It was too big. They were too close."
The words were chilling.
They had fought, the night Revan came to Coruscant, and stood before the Council, demanding action. Meetra had been moved by the compelling words, the honest pain in Revan's voice as he recounted his findings upon dozens of worlds that had tasted Mandalorian iron. He called for all Jedi to come, to bring an end to the massacres.
To protect life.
Meetra asked her to come with her.
Atris said no.
A lifelong friendship, something as close as sisters, shattered with a single word.
These were the first unguarded words they had shared in sixteen years.
Meetra looked up at Atris, drowning in the pain.
"Atris. I felt them die. Their shock, pain. They cried out for rescue. For me."
Atris, last Librarian of the Jedi knelt, and silently reached out, to take Meetra's hand.
The former Jedi's clutch was desperate and strong.
Atris was suddenly glad that she could not sense her former friend's thoughts.
She waited, listening to the sound of wounds worse than death, yet somehow survived.
It made her feel… sullied. As if she was listening to rape, but unable to intervene.
Hatred for Revan stabbed into Atris, and it took her several seconds to purge the emotion, as she studied his wreckage.
Atris had been alone for a long time. She was the last of her kind… but perhaps here, there might be another. Even broken.
Meetra had not fallen to the dark side. Not like the others. They had embraced the carnage. But Meetra. Meetra could not let go of her kindness. She would not let go of that last piece of the light… and the pull had ripped her apart.
Meetra had always been quick to protect others, to make them feel valued.
And we loved her for it, Atris thought, wistfully.
((()))
Admiral Onasi was pacing in the Sojourn's ready room. The oval room was cramped, since it also served double-duty as a conference room, when Carth didn't need it. The oval table had controls set into its surface at one end, to allow the leader of the meeting to display images from the small holoprojector set in the center of the table, and chairs without padding (to encourage succinct meetings) encircled the table, pushed in to allow the admiral to circle the room in his pacing. It was a little claustrophobic, but stretching his legs here meant the crew didn't see him roaming the ship, distracting them from their duties, and he didn't have to wear an admiral's mask.
The door chimed and Carth slowed instantly to a meandering walk, as if he'd gotten up to do something, smoothing his expression back into calm interest.
Mical was ushered in, and saluted Admiral Onasi.
"Well, you made good time, Mical," the admiral noted.
"How can I help?" Mical asked.
"Yesterday a riot broke out on the station. Reports are still coming in on casualties, but the TSF were overwhelmed in several sectors. I had to send over the Sojourn's marine detachment," Admiral Onasi said heavily.
Mical winced, "Never a good day when soldiers have to police civilians."
Admiral Onasi's face darkened, "Well, these civilians were more heavily armed and armored than my marines. Urban warzone might be a better description than policing action."
Mical nodded, waiting.
"Mical, I've lost Jolee Bindo, but more importantly, we've lost a suspect that Jolee was following closely, and was concerned that she was potentially a very dangerous threat to the Republic," Admiral Onasi admitted.
Mical felt a shiver run up his back. Jolee Bindo, the famous Gray Jedi, the most powerful padawan in Jedi history.
"Who was he following?" Mical asked, sharpening his focus.
"This woman, Choy Verdan," Admiral Onasi said, tapping at the conference table's controls, but not deigning to sit. A clip from an interrogation room shimmered to life over the table, but muted.
A woman in battered utility coveralls was seated at the table, her short cropped brown hair cradled a face that was just a hair too strong to be considered delicate, but the blue eyes held a world of weariness.
Mical felt his stomach lurch with recognition though. It was the eyes.
"All we really know is that Choy Verdan has been working at the Peragus mining facility for roughly ten years—" Admiral Onasi continued, not noticing Mical's surprise.
"Sir," Mical interrupted, catching Admiral Onasi by surprise.
"Her name is not Choy Verdan," Mical said. He'd always wondered where she had disappeared to after the war.
"That is General Meetra Surik, she was excommunicated from the Jedi Order ten years ago for her role in the Mandalorian Wars," Mical clarified.
She hasn't aged a day... even with hair that short.
Admiral Onasi frowned, staring at the now frozen picture.
"Are you sure? We didn't get a facial, fingerprint, or bio match to anyone except Choy Verdan," Admiral Onasi said, uncertain.
"I'm sure. I've met her before," Mical said confidently.
Admiral Onasi continued to look uncertain.
"The first step for an assumed identity is to switch the data records. An automated search wouldn't notice any discrepancies. May I access the ship's computer?" Mical asked.
Admiral Onasi nodded, and Mical sat down at the computer controls.
He pulled up a holo recording of the briefing for the battle of Dagory Minor. He captured the face of the Jedi commander, then asked the computer to compare it to the face of the woman from the interrogation recording. The computer reported a 99.96% positive correlation.
Mical looked up from the report calmly at Admiral Onasi, "As I said Admiral. It's General Surik."
"Fierfiek. I'm getting old," the admiral sighed, wiping his face tiredly. He'd heard of General Surik, but never actually met her face to face. Not surprising given the differences in their rank. Besides, Admiral Saul Karath had kept him close during the war.
"Mical… I need you to find them. Surik has priority… but Jolee is also important," Carth said, a sinking feeling in his gut, that also churned with guilt. He hadn't believed Jolee. The last thing he needed was one of Revan's old generals running loose. The Republic was a bit fragile at the moment.
((()))
Choy shivered in the cold, even with the thick robe Atris had given her. It wasn't actually cold enough for water to freeze, but only just. She had fallen asleep after the last attack, but had not been so far gone that Choy had not noticed the hand that had held hers.
She cared for you once, the shade observed.
"At the trial. She wanted more than just excommunication," Choy whispered, "But Master Kavar protected me." Even though I left his side, to serve in the war.
The bitterness runs deep, the shade replied knowingly, for she lost more than you did with your departure.
Choy felt… a little lighter. Carefully the woman sat up, waiting for the room to spin, but it didn't. The room had once served as a storage room of some kind, Choy could see the holes were brackets for shelves had been removed. Cautiously, Choy looked down, and saw some cheap synth-fur slippers on the corrugated metal floor.
A prisoner would not need footwear.
Choy slipped into the shoes, and tried the door to the small utility chamber.
It wasn't locked, but a hooded guard was stationed across the hall, standing at ease. Her white jumpsuit looked padded, and had an odd sheen to it that made Choy suspect it was probably better armor than it seemed.
"Exile," the woman said stiffly, tilting her chin respectfully, though her silver/gray eyes did not waver from her. After a moment, Choy decided the silver might actually be a very pale blue, but wasn't sure.
She also looked exactly like Master Kae.
Which could not be. Master Kae had died at Malachor… and this woman was younger. Perhaps seventeen? Maybe older, but still not yet mature. There was an unfinished look to her features. Choy also did not miss the collapsed shockstaff that poked over the woman's shoulder.
"Are you my jailor?" Choy asked lightly.
The Echani shook her head curtly, "My mistress has given you leave to move about the facility, with a few restrictions. I am your escort."
But if one cannot leave a place, then a prison it remains, the shade pointed out, amused.
"A meal would be nice," Choy said, feeling hunger claw at her belly.
The Echani inclined her head, "Follow me, Exile."
Interesting.
Choy studied the hallways they moved through. She saw a lot of thick piping that lined the walls and ceiling, but very few terminals to control whatever was in the pipes. She saw a handful of small maintenance droids, almost spider-like in construction, servicing some of the pipes, but couldn't tell what they were doing, beyond adjusting valves.
"What is this place?" Choy asked, curious.
For several strides, the Echani was silent, before she spoke reluctantly,
"This was once a major irrigation center for Telos. It tapped the polar ice and diverted it to more arid regions of the planet. It survived the Sith bombardment, but the workers did not survive the poisoned atmosphere."
It was a strange place to hide.
"If it's functional, why isn't it being used? The restoration efforts have struggled with filtering the poisoned water to reintroduce into the containment zones…" Choy asked.
The Echani nodded, but Choy thought she seemed uncomfortable. A disagreement?
"They do not know. Our Mistress removed all knowledge of this place from the records."
Strange indeed, the shade mused.
((()))
"Look, Benok, I'm just asking for a favor, that's all," Atton said quietly.
Atton knew that Benok was jealous of anyone else who slept with Luxa, but he didn't understand the man's reluctance. Sure, Benok'd gotten banged up protecting Luxa during the riot, but he was still in one piece, even if the kolto bandages across his chest looked painful.
"I follow Luxa's orders, and she hasn't told me to help you," Benok replied firmly. He was acting like someone whose position wasn't stable.
"You're head of security, not a flunky," Atton complained.
"Yes. Luxa's security," Benok growled.
Atton was currently very much in Luxa's good graces, after the recovery of the Telos data that was nailing Jana Lorso's career to the wall, one bloody rivet at a time.
So why the hell wasn't he getting anything? He was close to repaying his debts. The Exchange should have been trying to play the favor game harder, mire him deeper to their organization.
"Look, man, my friend is missing. I put my life on the line for Luxa, I got her the data! I just need a little help finding one woman," Atton snapped.
Benok's eyes hardened.
Shit. Pushed him a little too far with the act.
"A lot of people are missing. I'm busy," Benok said coldly.
Atton grimaced, but raised his hands in defeat, backing out of the office. Getting shot wouldn't exactly help him collect the bounty.
He also studiously ignored the dead Jedi laughing at him in the hallway.
He was going to have to try his other option.
((()))
Choy ate the meal quietly. It looked like half of it was from preserved ration foodstuffs (and thus unrecognizable once reconstituted), and half from a hydroponics bay somewhere. The unidentified tubers and vegetables looked crisp and fresh.
The echani teenager sat across from Choy in what had once clearly been a small cafeteria for the pumping station. The benches and tables were utilitarian metal, though clean.
The Echani did not stop watching her as she ate. It was a cool gaze, devoid of emotion.
"Do you have a name?" Choy asked between bites.
The girl tilted her head to the left, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, I can't keep thinking of you as you, or the echani. It's exhausting. For me," Choy joked, smiling slightly.
The girl regarded her carefully, "Atris warned us of you."
"Oh? What did Atris say?" Choy asked softly.
"She said you betrayed the Jedi by going to war when it was forbidden to you. You turned on your masters, your teachings, and yourself," the girl recited.
The words cut Choy a little, but she made a continue motion with her free hand. Best to get all of the rot out in the open.
"That is not all she says. She says you know nothing of loyalty to any cause except your own animal instincts, and she told us why you fell to the dark side. She says that you fell in the Mandalorian Wars when you gave in to your lust for battle. Once you tasted war, you could not give it up."
The girl studied Choy closely as she spoke, looking for a reaction.
"Because here I am, waging war, unable to stop," Choy replied tartly, annoyed.
The girl shrugged, "My Mistress says when the dark lord Revan returned to the Republic, you did not march with them because you had fallen so far you could no longer feel the Force."
Choy stared at the girl, trying to wrap her head around that argument.
"I believe that is the extent of her expressed feelings toward you. There are variations at times, but all rise from the same foundation," the Echani girl finished.
"The Dark side would not have prevented me from feeling the Force. If it were so, the Sith would not be a threat," Choy pointed out sternly, "I turned away from war after Malachor."
The girl continued to watch Choy calmly, unmoved by the counterpoint.
"I only asked your name," Choy pointed out.
"You lead, and others follow. It is your nature. I have sworn to serve Mistress Atris," the girl responded.
"I understand, but how should I address you?" Choy asked, annoyed.
"She is the Last of the Handmaidens," a woman said from behind.
Choy turned on the bench, but not before seeing the girl flinch at the words.
"You may address her as such."
Two more echani stood in the doorway to the cafeteria. They too wore identical clothing/armor, and carried collapsed shock staffs on their backs. But their faces were different to the girl, although similar to each other. They were also women, not girls. Older, more experienced. Not twins though. One looked a little older than the other.
They also had hard faces.
"Mistress Atris requests your presence," the one on the left said bluntly. It was not a request. The one on the right spoke next to the girl, "Return to your training."
The tone was disapproving.
Choy was led to a large circular room, roughly twenty meters in diameter. It was jarring, because it had been turned into a simulacrum of the Jedi Temple's Council chamber. Twelve chairs were spaced at the precise intervals, and someone had taken the time and energy to hide any hasty marks of conversion. The walls were painted, and the floor had been buffed and painted as well. Atris sat in one of the council chairs, though the others were empty.
Curious indeed, the shade remarked, but Choy could feel the weight of the spirit's scrutiny as it studied the room.
The guards bowed, and left the chamber.
Atris watched Choy coolly, but did not speak.
"Hello, Atris," Choy said quietly.
The silence continued.
"Shall I approach?" Choy asked, smiling slightly as she used her hand to encompass the room.
Atris inclined her head in answer, still seated. Choy moved to the center of the room, where tradition held for supplicants.
"Have you recovered from your… attack?" Atris asked neutrally.
Choy almost said yes. But there was an ache in her heart as she looked upon the woman that had once been closer than her own shadow.
She was done.
Carful, the shade cautioned, it would be wise not to reveal all to this woman. Her plans are unknown to us, and although you knew her, you do not know her now.
"It has passed. But some scars do not heal," Choy answered softly.
Atris nodded, conceding the point.
"I confess that you are not how I thought you would be," Atris admitted coldly.
"It's been ten years. People change," Choy shrugged.
"Perhaps."
Atris continued to stare at Choy, and the woman did not look away.
Choy hated this place. This chamber. It was suffocating.
Isolating. Removed from reality.
Tradition. It cloaked the Order, allowed thousands of different species united only by the Force to transcend their cultural identities and come together as one… but it also sanded them away, made them interchangeable.
Choy hated it.
And she hated Master Atris of the Jedi High Council.
But not Atris.
Choy stepped forward from the center of the chamber, towards Atris. The woman stiffened, but did not rise from the chair.
Perhaps her friend still lived.
Choy stopped half a meter from Atris and knelt, to stare up into Atris's eyes.
"Do you know why I came back to the trial?" Choy whispered.
Atris shifted uncomfortably, "Guilt, I suppose," the woman guessed.
Choy shook her head sadly.
"The council did not summon me. After Malachor I fled to you. I was broken, and I didn't know what to do. So I came home. I knew you disapproved and couldn't support my choice, but I… I needed my sister," Choy admitted.
Choy looked up and saw realization in Atris's eyes.
"You didn't know of the trial," Atris breathed.
"I thought you had forgiven me, to convene the council for my sake," Choy shivered as a distant echo of the knife edged hope she'd felt, at the entrance of the temple wafted through her. A hope that had been violently ripped from her within moments of entering the Council chamber.
Atris stared into Meetra's eyes. Horror warred with suspicion within Atris's heart.
She was a Jedi. She could not feel Meetra, did not know if the Exile lied. But… her eyes and heart believed.
But.
If true…
It cast Atris's memories of the trial in a terrible new light.
Meetra had come to them for healing, vulnerable, fragile. She had instead been met with hostility, suspicion, and punishment… then isolation. Denied the knowledge she sought.
"It was not contempt I saw in your eyes that day," Atris said quietly.
"No." Meetra agreed.
Atris wanted it to be true, and that desire cautioned her. There was much at stake for the future. If she trusted the wrong people now…
But already the plan was in jeopardy, and Atris was at a loss.
She had carried this burden alone for a long time. The temptation to share it with another was nearly overwhelming.
Atris shakily centered herself, and considered her options, before she came to a decision.
"Meetra. Come with me."
((()))
With Slusk's death, Luxa had become scarce, since she was in charge now. Which made it harder to get in touch with her. But not impossible.
She didn't play Pazaak into the graveyard shift anymore, but she was a creature of some habits still. And this was her favorite cantina.
Atton spent several hours fleecing the desperate hopefuls among the exhausted off-duty workers. They'd come to try and turn their tiny pile of credits into a larger pile, to book passage off the station. A large chunk of the workers had lost their quarters from the riot's damage.
Atton knew the look. A refugee was a refugee. Dead, numb eyes, but there was still a spark looking for advantage. Driven to the wall by desperation they'd lost the self-illusion that they were still "good people."
They'd realized that stealing food was a viable alternative, or worse.
Survival was a game that didn't have rules.
Atton was very good at survival. It actually wasn't a team sport.
At 0100, station time, a certain pink-hued zeltron finally made her appearance, trawling for a likely bedmate, trailing a few unobtrusive guards.
Atton spotted her and dropped his mask, letting the lust, desire, and frustration he'd been suppressing lash out across the room. He saw her actually stumble, head whipping unerringly towards where he lounged at the pazaak table, alone. He'd driven off the easy marks already.
He grinned, hiding behind the mask again.
Tag. Want to play?
The predatory sway to her hips as she closed the distance was almost answer enough.
Atton had her number. Now he just had to play her game to win his.
"Jaq, Luxa purred, settling down at the table. Her eyes were still almost fully dilated, hiding the color of her irises.
"Lonely?" Atton asked, shuffling the cards idly.
"Not the word I'd choose, handsome," Luxa whispered.
"I know. Just the polite one," Atton shrugged.
Luxa studied him, her eyes drawn to his dexterous manipulation of the cards he was shuffling, remembering the other uses his fingers were capable of. As Atton intended.
She smiled knowingly at him. They were both actors in a play, and could appreciate the craftsmanship of the other. It was a joy to watch.
"What are the stakes?" Luxa asked, tapping at the table.
Atton slowly grinned. It even reached his eyes, for once, sending a shiver down the Zeltron's spine.
((()))
Atris led Choy deeper into the facility, before they came to a room that wasn't unbearably cold. Small wonder, since it was apparently the source of the vegetables. Sun lamps cast a warm glow on the growing plants, and there was even a crude fountain at the center of the room, with a bench beside it.
It reminded Choy a little of the Room of a Thousand Fountains in the Jedi Temple.
"Tell me about the one who hunts you," Atris said, after they had seated themselves upon the bench.
Choy shrugged, "I'm not entirely sure what it is. I don't think it's alive, but it definitely wants to kill me."
"Strange, that it killed everyone but you," Atris pointed out.
"I don't think it could sense me, like it knew I was nearby, but couldn't pinpoint where," Choy offered.
Atris raised an eyebrow.
"I hid under a deckplate and it walked right over me without noticing," Choy confided.
"Do you think the destruction of Peragus was intentional?" Atris asked.
"No. It knew I was on the Ebon Hawk, and it needed to kill me. Everything else was just in the way," Choy decided.
"And in so doing may have doomed us," Atris sighed.
Choy studied Atris, curious, "But surely, the resources invested, the Republic will not just abandon the project? A new source of fuel can be acquired?"
Atris blinked at Choy.
"In the state the Republic is currently in, it has neither the means nor the resources to divert fuel on the scale Telos needs."
Choy had been isolated at Peragus, insulated from the wider galaxy. Even Revan's civil war had just been a ripple to Peragus… and she had not wanted to know.
"Telos was a test, to restore worlds ravaged by Revan. If it fails the other dead worlds will be left to rot."
That is not her whole concern. There is more, the shade hissed.
"And what else, my friend?" Choy asked softly.
Atris paused at the word friend, but did not deny it.
"Something is killing the Jedi. We did not notice when it first began, we thought they had turned their backs upon the Order, but… they could not be found."
"Assassins? I encountered Force users that could mask their presence in the Force, even from sight, on Peragus," Choy suggested.
"How did you escape?" Atris asked.
Choy smiled sickly, "I could see them, and I had a blaster."
Truly. If the hunters relied solely upon the Force… then Meetra was perhaps the perfect foil. Could… could it have been the will of the Force?
Atris studied the broken woman with new eyes.
"If they hunted you like Tarentatek, why not come together, oppose them with the greatest strength of the Jedi, cooperation?" Choy asked.
"That worked, for a time. Until Katar. A secret council was convened, to try and use the Seers of Katar to enhance our own vision of the Force," Atris answered sadly.
"And? What did they see?" Choy pressed as the silence stretched into minutes.
"I know not. I could not attend, and later heard that all life had been stripped from Katar. The greatest of our Order felled in a single stroke," Atris said sadly.
"A fleet?" Choy asked, sickened.
"No. My sources found no signs of conventional weapons. The planet was sterile, though the bodies lay where they had fallen for days, without decomposition. Even the microscopic life was dead," Atris answered, her eyes haunted.
"To kill on such a scale. How?" Choy asked, terrified.
Atris shrugged, her eyes hard, "The Force. There can be no other answer."
Indeed. It is rumored that the Ancient Sith knew many secrets lost to the ages, the shade observed, worried, some secrets are best left forgotten.
((()))
Luxa loved dangerous men. Most of them seemed to forget, once they started, that although a woman was singularly vulnerable during sex, did not mean she was harmless, and that the man was also vulnerable.
Truly dangerous men didn't forget, and it was those men that Luxa treasured.
It was the knowledge of the noose that made the sex exquisite. It was the gamble, the rush of success.
Jaq plied her ocean skillfully, and she rode the waves of his emotions.
The waves no longer raged with random fury. There was a pattern to the storm now. The self-loathing remained, but it seemed something had risen, in more ways than one.
There was a new determination in his cold eyes, that took her breath away. She wrapped her legs tightly around him, pushing him hard against the mattress, unable to look away. He knew she could kill him. He also knew he could kill her, but he would not blink from his course. Jaq was a treasure, and Luxa shrieked, clutching to his chest, letting the waves wash over her.
Exhausted and spent, both killers lay in the bed, sweat slowly drying on bare flesh.
"So, Jaq. What do you want?" Luxa asked, content and sated, still basking in the warm afterglow.
"A friend is missing," Jaq said tightly. A flicker of anxiety, and guilt slipped out from under the meaningless lusts and feelings that habitually swirled beneath Jaq's mind.
"Oh? I didn't think you were capable of friends," Luxa teased, curious.
"She saved my life. Again," Jaq grumbled.
"Without her, we wouldn't have gotten your data," Jaq admitted.
He wasn't lying.
Luxa thought about it for a few moments, studying Jaq's profile in the dim light.
"Why do you care?" Luxa asked, still curious.
"It doesn't matter," Jaq whispered, the self-loathing surging a little into his voice.
He had to care a great deal about this woman. Luxa knew his service to her was a thing of convenience. He had gone along with the debt, but was close to erasing it, and if forced into a corner, would have already disappeared onto a tramp freighter with whatever he could pilfer.
But Jaq was here now, risking more entanglements for this woman. Luxa felt a burst of envy, but let it slide from her shoulders.
"You're asking for me to use valuable resources," Luxa whispered, her fingers trailing down Jaq's whipcord thin body to more interesting areas.
"Yes," Jaq hissed, as her fingers goaded him.
Luxa straddled the murderer, pressing down on his shoulders, lips to his ear.
"I'll help you. But you'll owe me a favor," she breathed, waiting for his answer. This was the test. Would he tie the snare to his foot willingly, or walk away?
"Agreed," Jaq growled.
"Well then, let's not waste tonight, shall we?" Luxa purred.
Then they were off again.
((()))
"How did you get this information?" Bao-Dur asked, studying the datachip with his work terminal.
"People like me," Atton shrugged. Bao-Dur made a neutral noise in his throat.
The Iridonian's "quarters" were a repurposed supply module. It had enough room for a bunk, a data terminal with folding chair, and a tiny, almost barbarically simple refresher. The bed was bolted to the wall on one edge, and looked like it could hinge, folding flat against the wall. Clearly, he didn't spend much time here. Choy's utility droid had been reassembled, and was watching them from under the bed.
"Well, this is farther than I was able to go using my credentials," Bao-Dur murmured, peering intently at the illegally copied TSF recordings.
"So I tracked the schutta to this area of the station," Atton said, holding up a map of Citadel station's docking module on his pad, running his finger along one of the corridors.
"No cameras, but she never came out. Two ships launched from hangers in that section. A shuttle down to Telos, but it came back two hours later. Now, she could have snuck a bodybag onto the shuttle, but it launched only five minutes after I lost her," Atton reported.
Bao-Dur nodded slowly, "Not enough time, especially if the pilot checked the hatch pressure seals before launch."
Atton nodded. You ignored preflight check-lists at your own stupidity.
"The other ship is the Ebon Hawk. It went down to Telos, and the navigation satellites lost it in the lower atmosphere, but it never came back out," Atton emphasized.
Bao-Dur frowned, fingers flashing over the terminal.
"There's no record at any of the sanctioned landing zones either…"
"A ship can't run its shields indefinitely, and it won't last long without shields down there," Atton pointed out.
"Illegal landing site?" Atton offered.
"Maybe," Bao-Dur muttered, searching.
After the first few minutes Atton shrugged, and sat down on a corner of the bed. The mattress was pretty thin. He could wait.
((()))
"Here," Bao-Dur hissed, "A small anomaly in the shield network's power grid. It's subtle, more like an error or random flux than anything suspicious."
Atton stood over Bao-Dur's shoulder, the readings were gibberish as far as Atton could tell. He didn't know what to look for, but the Iridonian seemed confident.
"You sure?" Atton asked.
"It doesn't spike. The power draw is consistent, but low. It would look like a slightly out of tune power converter, but it's not," Bao-Dur said firmly.
"What if it is a power converter?" Atton asked.
"If it was, the power draw would have slowly increased over time. This looks like a converter that's just starting to come out of tune, which means it is very low priority for maintenance, you would still have a few months before it threatened the grid. But look at the logs," Bao-Dur replied, pulling up another display that Atton also couldn't understand.
Atton frowned though, and pretended to study it.
"No increase, for years," Bao-Dur said flatly.
"Not a converter," Atton agreed sagely. Whatever you say, big guy.
"How big a shield are we talking about?" Atton asked.
The technician was silent for a few seconds, calculating.
"Depending on field strength… probably no more than three hundred meters," Bao-Dur shrugged.
"Where is it?" Atton asked eagerly.
"Not sure," Bao-Dur answered, making Atton blink.
"But, the power draw…" Atton said.
"It's a physical tap. I'll have to trace it, and I can't do it from this terminal," Bao-Dur said flatly.
"Why not?" Atton complained.
"I'm tied in to the restoration program mainframe, but this is using existing infrastructure from before Telos was slagged. That means—"
"Administrative records," Atton interrupted, sighing.
Bao-Dur nodded.
"Well, at least most of those are available," Atton growled.
"Let's go," Bao-Dur rumbled, securing his terminal. The utility droid perked up, and nearly tripped Atton, chirping at Bao-Dur like a kath hound puppy.
"Of course you can, just stay close," the technician replied.
Great. Another creepy droid lover.
((()))
"I think I found your files," Atton said tentatively. Bao-Dur leaned over from the console next to him, studying the screen.
"… no. Wrong hemisphere. We're looking for something in the northern polar region," Bao-Dur answered.
"This stuff isn't indexed," Atton snarled, slapping the screen angrily.
"There probably wasn't time, and now, no money to do it," Bao-Dur answered honestly, hunching back over his keyboard, tapping keys with murderous calm.
The administration records archive of Citadel Station was something of a joke. It was a modified Tympan-class freighter that had gotten it's engines chopped off, and welded into the mess of cargo containers and other modules of Citadel Station. It was probably the original freighter that had hauled Telos's mainframe from the surface too. People had just installed chairs and screens to the mainframe.
"Can I help you?" a mousey clerk asked. He looked friendly and tired.
"Did you organize these files?" Atton demanded.
The clerk's smile faded slightly, "Regretfully, no. I don't think anyone has been able to so far. But if there is a topic you're needing I might be able to help."
Atton had a stab of paranoia, but it's not like anyone would know what they were up to, and being secretive would just raise flags.
"Yeah. We need files on the northern polar region of Telos, from before the bombardment," Atton said wearily. Bao-Dur glanced at Atton sharply, but stayed silent. The clerk didn't see Bao-Dur.
The clerk sat down at a third console interface, "I think I can help… just a moment."
Bao-Dur looked at Atton silently, questioning. Atton shrugged slightly, and jerked his head towards the clerk. Reluctantly, the hulking technician rose and stood near the clerk, dwarfing him.
The smaller man seemed too intent on the search though to notice the threatening posture.
After about thirty minutes, the clerk leaned back, sighing, "I've pulled up everything that remains for the northern polar sections of Telos, but it isn't much, I'm afraid," the clerk apologized.
Bao-Dur leaned over the man's shoulder, to look at the files.
"Thank you. That will be all," the Iridonian rumbled.
"Of course, sir. If you need anything else, just ask," the clerk promised cheerfully, before wandering off.
Atton sidled over to Bao-Dur, keeping an eye on the clerk who was now sitting about twenty meters away, working at another console.
"Is it what we need?" Atton whispered.
"Perhaps. I'm tracing the existing power conduits, but it's just letting me narrow down the search area. An unauthorized line could have been run as well, but I doubt it. Using existing power conduits would have been the easiest option," Bao-Dur answered.
A file began to flash though, and Bao-Dur frowned.
"Now what's wrong?" Atton whispered.
"A file is missing," Bao-Dur growled.
"That's not surprising, with all the damage," Atton pointed out.
"It's not corrupted. It was deleted. The file exists, but the contents are missing," Bao-Dur explained.
Sloppy.
((()))
Mical watched his screen as the Iridonian and the black haired man tried to restore a file. He had linked the console displays to watch what they did. He had a played a hunch, and let them look through the data he himself had collated in his search for Master Atris… but it seemed they had a piece of the puzzle he did not. They had painstakingly followed a path across the surface of Telos, which terminated at this particular missing file. A discrepancy hidden among thousands.
There.
Mical was certain of it. The question was, who were these men, and how did they fit the emerging pattern?