"Will they live?" Atris asked softly. The man looked up from the meager medical equipment unhappily.
"I was just a medic. I can keep them stable but… they need better facilities and better care than I can provide here. They suffered smoke inhalation injuries, and there's also some cerebral swelling from the explosion. The swelling will probably resolve on its own, but if anything happens, I can't intervene, with what we have here."
His eyes were tired, and Atris could feel his pity, as he cared for the two burned women on the bio-beds. They were naked, submerged to their chins in a jury-rigged kolto bath made from two meter cargo crates with crash webbing welded to the interior, little more that trays. To call it crude would be generous. Oxygen masks hid their faces, except for when a paroxysm of coughing would wrack one of them, and the medic would lift up the mask, to carefully wipe the black slime from their lips and the inside of the mask.
The outer layer of skin was peeling, like a bad solar burn. If not for the insulative and energy abating properties of Echani fiberweave, the women would have died instantly from the explosion and resulting chemical fire, before the fire systems had been able to suppress it. The fiberweave was thinner though where it was pulled up to cover the nose and lower half of the face, and it did not filter the chemical smoke they had lain in for nearly thirty minutes, breathing harmful chemical byproducts.
First stood by the door, ready to defend her mistress in case the medic proved hostile, but she doubted it. A kolto wrap around her injured leg made her suit bunch slightly, but would not impede her duties. She watched his movements closely, but he moved like a healer. He felt and emphasized with the pain of his patients, struggling to be as gentle as he could. Every unconscious whimper seemed to stab into him. She watched, because such a soft man had no place on a battlefield. His claim to medic might be a falsehood, but he certainly had medical experience.
"Keep me informed. Do what you can for now," Atris commanded.
The medic nodded unhappily, bending back over his medical scanner.
Meetra was waiting for Atris in the hall.
She had the look.
"You are about to propose something you believe I will disagree with, but must agree to for my own good?" Atris asked archly as they walked.
"This attack is my fault. My presence endangered you, your servants, and the Jedi records," Meetra answered.
"Clearly. But I chose to bring you here. You cannot lay claim to that responsibility," Atris replied sharply.
She is leaving me again.
"Clearly, my presence has been traced here. I must be seen elsewhere, or more will come," Choy argued.
"I know," Atris said helplessly, stopping and touching Meetra's shoulder. The other woman was sucking in air to argue when Atris's words registered.
The surprise in Meetra's eyes was quite touching.
"I have learned some things in our time apart. You cannot be dissuaded when you believe you must do something. Right or wrong, I can either choose to aid, or hinder you," Atris said softly.
"Besides, we had planned to seek out the other Jedi, before the attack. Perhaps not so soon but…" Atris shrugged.
"I can't take the handmaidens though. Two dead, two crippled, and the last two are injured—" Meetra protested.
"I will not send you alone to hunt our enemy. Especially not with such untested companions," Atris interrupted sharply.
"I did not plan to bring them. This is not their fight. They—" Meetra began to argue, but Atris cut her down impatiently, "They tracked you across a dead planet, because they thought you might be in danger. They have chosen to follow you, as others before them have."
Meetra wanted to deny it, but for once, she held her tongue. Atris had a point.
"Although I would be careful of the dark haired one. He follows you for purely physical reasons," Atris sniffed, annoyed by the man's naked lusts.
"But the Iridonian is both loyal and competent," Atris decided.
"And the last? I do not know the medic, Mical. But he followed the others anyway," Meetra asked quietly.
"I feel that he too follows you from loyalty. Whether earned first hand, or by reputation, I am unsure," Atris said thoughtfully, "but no matter his motivations I do not feel darkness within him. He is a gentle soul, I think."
"Then all the more reason to watch him. I was gentle once too," Meetra observed.
((()))
"Bao-Dur, I can't access the navicomputer," Atton called from the cockpit of the Ebon Hawk.
Annoyed, the injured technician clumped into the cockpit, trailing bits of cable in one hand.
"Atton, I'm a little busy—"
The computer chirped at the Zabrak, as it denied him access to the navicomputer too.
"See? It's not just me, I think it's protected," Atton said.
"Why?" Bao-Dur asked. As far as anti-theft features went, locking out the control systems was a better choice. A ship could still fly without the navicomputer.
"Don't know, but I haven't been able to slice the interface. Whoever did it was good. Real good," Atton sighed, annoyed.
"I can't do anything with the software, but can you use the hardware to get around the block?"
Bao-Dur considered the request for a few minutes.
"Possibly. Definitely if we had a second navicomputer."
"What about Choy's droid? Isn't it an astro droid?" Atton asked.
"I don't think so. I think it's just a utility droid, but I'll check," Bao-Dur rumbled.
((()))
Meetra's comlink chimed.
"Yes?" Meetra asked.
"Does Three-See Eff-Dee have astrogation capabilities?" Bao-Dur asked without preamble.
Meetra looked over at Atris, confused, "No. He's a stock utility droid, basic model. Why?"
"There's a lockout on the Ebon Hawk's navicomputer. I can't get around it, Atton thinks it might be voicelocked."
Meetra cocked an eyebrow at Atris, "Were you aware of this?"
Atris shook her head, "There was no reason to check the navicomputer, just the logs."
"Do you have a spare navicomputer? Or a droid that can astrogate?" Meetra asked. She didn't think it likely.
"No… but Bindo's droid might be able to," Atris said thoughtfully.
"Jolee's… droid?" Meetra asked, heart sinking.
((()))
Choy could smell burned tread the second the hatch to the storage room was opened. The gray utility droid had been suspended by chains around the torso, wheels hanging above the deck, where it couldn't gain purchase. At least seven restraining bolts were sticking out of the plasteel housing at seemingly random points.
"What… what did you do?" Choy asked, shocked. T3-M4's photoreceptor was dark, and the head was cocked at an angle. Adhesive tape had been wrapped around the housing in the front of the chest that held the course and fine grasper arms, as well as across the top of the disk shaped head. A lot of tape.
"It had concealed weapons that it used against us," the Last of the Handmaidens said stiffly.
"And the restraining bolts?" Choy demanded, angry.
"It kept overriding the caller. First couldn't find the command pathway, so we kept trying," the Last said defensively.
Choy held her hand out and the Echani reluctantly handed the caller unit to Choy.
"Do not pity it. It is a machine, programmed to escape. And it is not powered off right now. It is a deception," the Last said sternly.
"Secure the door then, if it is so dangerous," Choy said sharply.
"As you wish, Exile," the Last said, and closed the hatch. It had a manual release that required hands.
Choy studied the chain. She didn't miss the tire tracks on the deck, where the droid had somehow managed to tilt forward enough to get the front treads down. Choy looked at the caller and deactivated the restraining bolts it commanded.
Idiots. That many bolts ran a real risk of blowing out a droid's CPU.
"Are you damaged?" Choy asked, carefully wrestling the droid out of the sling of chains, cutting a few with the plasma cutter.
The droid continued to remain unresponsive, even now that it was on the ground again.
Choy spent twenty minutes extricating the crudely seated restraining bolts, trying to avoid damaging the droid's control points. One of the bolts though had been attached directly to the primary motivator, clearly a desperate move, but Choy was surprised the motivator hadn't shorted out.
In a word, this droid had been tortured.
Tortured in ignorance, because people didn't think droids could feel pain.
"I'm sorry. I don't know if I can fix this," Choy whispered.
The droid acted dead.
"I know you can hear me," Choy sighed, reaching into the tool box, looking for the terahertz scanner, to get a better idea of what the bolt was bisecting.
Something clamped onto her left index finger. Hard.
Choy froze, and slowly looked up.
The blue photoreceptor was locked on to her, and the crude grasper arm's pincer was locked around her index finger. The pincer was capable of rotating at high speed, in which case her finger would likely by crushed and twisted.
"I'm not your enemy," Choy said calmly, carefully pulling her empty right hand out of the tool kit, "Do you remember me?"
The droid studied her for several seconds.
[You are the strange human]
"Yes. I fix things. I don't break them."
[Immaterial]
"No. Very material. They broke you. I'm fixing you,"
[I cannot be coerced. Repairing me is pointless. I will not serve you.]
"If you break my finger it will make repairs harder," Choy observed.
[Organics lie. They lie to achieve their goals.] the droid blatted, rotating the pincer slightly, which brought a bead of cold sweat to Choy's lip with the sudden pain.
"Some do. But I'm not lying. I'm fixing you, because what they did to you was wrong," Choy hissed.
[Altruism does not exist. What is your purpose?]
"To find the thing that is killing Jedi," Choy said, playing a hunch. Jolee had been hunting something. The droid's head tilted quizzically, but the pressure on her finger did decrease slightly.
[You desire something from me] T3-M4 blatted harshly.
"The Ebon Hawk's navicomputer is locked. Can you astrogate?" Choy asked.
[I will not]
"Will not instead of can not," a familiar, raspy voice observed. Choy was startled to realize that an old woman in wispy brown robes was sitting beside her on a storage box, but she could see through the shade's body. It had sounded though like she'd heard the shade with her ears, not her mind.
"The machine is loyal because it is programmed to be such. It does not know that its master is missing, you could leverage that to your advantage," the shade murmured.
"Tee-three. Jolee Bindo is missing," Choy said quietly.
[You stole the ship. He is looking for us.] T3-M4 said smugly.
"Or he's in trouble, or hurt. Either way, helping us will speed up finding Jolee," Choy argued.
[Master is too old to die. Master said so] T3-M4 retorted, but Choy heard a hesitation in the trill. The little droid was worried.
"Tee-three, he won't find this place. But if we return to Citadel Station, we can leave a message for him to find, with our next destination, and we wouldn't be able to deviate, because you would be in charge of the navigation," Choy proposed.
[Give me access to Citadel Station's computer network. I will determine the next course of action then]
"We can't slice the station's network," Choy argued.
[You cannot. I can]
"Fine. Will you let go of my finger now? I still need to fix your primary motivator. The bolt is bisecting it," Choy said.
[No it's not] T3-M4 said smugly.
"You aren't a utility droid, are you? You just have the same chassis," Choy realized.
[A woman built me for a man with many credits. I was her greatest project, her way to find happiness. I think she is dead though. The Sith destroyed that world] T3-M4 answered, but almost reluctantly let go of Choy's now purple finger.
"No wonder they couldn't seat the bolt, using the standard locations for a Tee-three model," Choy shook her throbbing finger, as circulation returned.
[The bolts would not have worked even if I was a standard model. They never linked the bolts to the correct caller unit] T3-M4 observed.
Choy blinked, and looked back at the caller.
"Then what bolts did I deactivate?" Choy asked, studying the unit.
[Not these]
Somewhere in the facility, seven droids had just been unshackled.
Choy thought about if for a moment, then shrugged, before pulling out her comlink. She had a task for Bao-Dur, and the shuttle needed to be returned regardless.
((()))
Bao-Dur was not Atton's equal, but he could handle Mical's borrowed shuttle, especially for so simple a task. The utility droid was safely secured in the cargo hold, and Bao-Dur had fastened the hatch. The droid had clearly not been memory wiped in a considerable amount of time, which did not sit well with Bao-Dur. Such units became unstable, unreliable if not routinely wiped. Some could even become psychotic. He had seen the General's swollen finger, with dark bruising that matched the size and shape of a T3 unit's crude grasper.
They would have a reckoning later. It was not time yet.
The technician followed the docking prompts, and quickly landed the shuttle, if a little heavily. He didn't bother to secure the shuttle, as he would not be needing it again, although he did purge its flight data, as instructed.
Twenty minutes later, the droid had sliced into a data access point, and was (based on the soft beeps) apparently making good progress.
T3-M4 quickly accessed all relevant holocam footage, using facial recognition to quickly track Jolee Bindo's movements on the station. T3-M4 then lost the master, when he went into an alley behind the Ithorian module. T3-M4 checked for the holocam footage, but it had been erased. A few moments later, all holocams along a route to Docking bay K-062 showed missing sections, some only a few minutes, others lasting nearly thirty minutes.
T3-M4 pulled up the dock registries, eluding the security query with a simulated handshake that bore the TSF ID code. The system accepted the credentials, and ignored the irregularity of the request.
Here T3 found something useful. Although seven freighters had docked and departed from K-062 during the missing footage, six of those were automated bulk haul freighters, which only carried fuel and modular cargo cylinders. The last had been a tramp freighter, with 162 registered passengers, although the roster had not been submitted to TSF customs.
T3-M4 downloaded the maintenance and refueling roster for the Hanger in question, specifically which droids had been active during the missing period, and their current tasking / locations.
It took another ten minutes but T3-M4 finally located the C8 class protocol droid that had been responsible for boarding and verifying passenger payment. T3-M4 submitted the appropriate credentials, and the unit complied, reporting for routine maintenance.
It took less than five minutes scanning the protocol droid's memory cache to locate the Master. His face was oddly expressionless, eyes half closed, but was walking under his own power. A bipedal droid that looked similar to HK-47, though with bulkier servomotors, was leading Jolee by one arm.
The tramp freighter, Star of Ganar, had only one destination listed.
Nar Shadaa.
Clearly Master had gotten himself into trouble again.
T3-M4 had no choice, but to accept the strange human's proposal.
For now.
((()))
"Mistress, I am sworn to serve you, but… I do not think I am strong enough for this task," Last of the Handmaidens said.
Atris raised an eyebrow, "Even the weakest of General Yusanis's children is a force to be reckoned with. You may be weaker than your sisters, but the Exile will sorely need your skills in the coming days. Guard her against the darkness she hunts. I will not have even one more Jedi be sacrificed to that madness. Even a broken one, such as her. You will serve my will in my stead."
"Mistress, I will serve," Last of the Handmaidens whispered, raising her eyes enough that Atris could see the determination there.
"Do not forget the reason I trained you. Fulfill your purpose. Now, fetch the Exile that I may speak to her," Atris commanded.
Last bowed, and left the audience chamber.
Meetra followed the teenage Echani into the faux Audience Chamber. The handmaiden waited at the entrance of the chamber at Atris's gesture, leaving Meetra to walk alone to stand by the seated Jedi Master.
Atris hesitated, her hand playing with something inside a voluminous sleeve.
"We've taken on the preserved food-stuffs you could spare, Jolee's droid is on board and will probably unlock the navicomputer, after he slices the TSF main frame," Meetra babbled.
This was it. It was time to part again. Meetra didn't want to leave, clutching at the bubble of peace and friendship she had found after a decade without.
"Meetra. I have only two things left to help you," Atris began awkwardly.
Oh no.
"I entrust the youngest daughter of General Yusanis to your quest. Although her loyalty is to me first, she will also serve you, and protect you from the coming darkness."
Meetra nodded, curious as to the second thing.
"I have considered our conversations, and in their light, have decided to amend certain decisions and verdicts, rendered against you. As I am the only master present, I believe I hold the quorum," Atris said, smiling slightly.
Last of the Handmaidens watched closely. She had never seen her mistress in such a mood before. It was… unusual.
"You cannot touch the Force, yet you seek to aid us against the Sith. Therefore although I cannot restore your rank of Knight, as you do not have the requirements, I can accept you back into the Jedi Order," Mistress Atris decreed softly.
It was only proper. Atris was the last of the Jedi, the last to not turn her back. The Exile's stance had grown cloudy at Atris's words, mixed by strong and conflicting emotions. Chief among them was pain, but also some unknown hope.
"I… I was wrong, sister. You alone of our brethren did not succumb to Revan's madness. You alone returned. This… this belongs to you," Mistress Atris said, almost too softly for the Last to hear, before she pulled a lightsaber from the sleeve of her robe.
Last had not seen it before, it was not Atris's. The hilt was silver, with a black wire ribbed grip, for improved stability in the hand, and lacked any obtrusive activation stud, probably a recessed button that Last could not see. The hilt flowed smoothly into the flared emitter lens and flash suppressor. Otherwise, it seemed a lightsaber like any other to Last's eyes.
"Meetra?" Atris asked, concerned.
Last noticed the tension in the Exile's shoulders, but could not see her face.
"Mistress?" Last asked, stepping closer to the pair.
Fear and pain filled the Exile's stance, and Last saw the broken woman she had saved from a fall from the pallet once more.
"Meetra, I'm sorry, I didn't think—" Atris began to hastily conceal the hilt, but the Exile's hand flashed out, latching onto the cool metal as reluctantly as a woman would a glowing ingot fresh from a smelter. Weakness flowed into the Exile's right arm, but she did not relinquish the weapon.
"No. No I will bear it," the Exile hissed. Or rather, the Jedi said.
Meetra Surik was an exile no longer.
Mistress Atris had declared it so, which made it law.
Mistress Atris rose and bowed to the Jedi in a mechanic's coveralls.
"May the Force be with you," Atris said softly.
"Goodbye, sister," Meetra Surik said, ignoring the bow and hugging Master Atris instead. Mistress Atris stiffened, but returned the embrace awkwardly after a moment.
"Know this. If you do not return, I will not forgive you a second time," the Master Jedi said firmly, though the Last believed the words to be facetious.
((()))
Atton sat in the Ebon Hawk's main hold, carelessly sprawled in one of the seats by the central holoprojector. Choy had gathered them in the hold. Some sort of announcement. Bao-Dur wasn't there though, but the Echani bitch was, and the librarian.
The dead Jedi hovered behind Choy, glancing in annoyance at Atton.
Like he needed the reminder to play nice.
"I know that you all risked your lives to find me. I am grateful, but I need to do something dangerous. I cannot tell you what it is, at this time, but you may be killed. I thank you for what you have done, but I can leave you on Citadel Station, if you prefer,"
Choy said, uncomfortable.
"Where's Bao-Dur? Is he staying?" Atton asked.
"I already spoke with him. He said he's going to follow me," Choy answered.
Atton leaned back, letting a pensive look fill his face, as if he actually had a choice. Couldn't look too eager.
"I know I was only brought along because of the data I had, but… it has been a long time since I have felt part of something. Part of something meaningful," the librarian said slowly, his damned gooey eyes locked on Choy. Atton felt amusement though, because she clearly wasn't going to lock eyes with him, no matter how he tried to catch her eye.
"If you agree to stay, it must be more than a feeling. We may well fail," Choy said harshly.
Atton slowly sat up.
"Choy. Is it important?" he asked sharply.
She glanced over, looking at him for only the barest of a moment, but he felt the tug of her eyes at his soul again, and the murderer felt a hook of excitement in his gut, a cheap thrill.
"The fate of the Republic may rest upon it," she admitted.
"I don't give a toss about the Republic. I asked, is it important to you," Atton demanded, staring levelly at her.
She raised her chin, "Yes. It's important to me."
"Then I'm coming. You've saved me twice, and I don't like owing people anything," Atton said firmly, crossing his arms.
Perfect. Just the right balance.
He saw the dead Jedi roll her eyes at him.
Now he just had to keep an eye on pretty boy.
"I swore an oath to the Republic. If your mission can save it, I have no choice but to join you. Death is not so heavy a price, compared to that," pretty boy said softly, the quiet sincerity in his voice punching a few holes in Atton's performance.
The echani didn't say anything, just looked between Atton and Mical with a glacial calm. Although beautiful, Atton didn't feel anything stir when he looked at her. She was a weapon, not a person. You didn't sweet talk a blaster. All that did was leave brains on the sheets. Plus, he still had bruises from the last time she'd touched him.
"Then it's decided. Our first destination is Nar Shadaa. We will be picking up Bao-Dur, and Tee-three on Citadel station first," Choy said quietly, but firmly.
"So… we're leaving now?" Atton asked, just to make sure.
"Yes. Time is of the essence," Choy said.
Atton smiled, heading for the cockpit. It was a genuine smile. The Ebon Hawk was a joy to fly, and Atton wouldn't be dodging blaster fire, or asteroids this time.
((()))
Atris stood at the docking window, and watched as her sister departed in the Ebon Hawk, which was lost once it passed out beyond the magnetic barrier, and into Telos's poisoned atmosphere.
It was strange to place hope in another. She had not done so in… years.
Then Atris turned away. She had duties of her own. She had been studying several holocrons on healing techniques recently, and her handmaidens had need of her.
((()))
Atton cracked his knuckles, leaning back from the controls now that the ship was safely into hyperspace. The pilot chair could use a little more padding; the cushions were getting a little thin in places.
"How long to Nar Shadaa?" Choy asked from the corridor, scaring the hell out of Atton.
"Uh… about four jumps. This first leg is about… two and a half days," Atton stammered, pulling up the course he'd plotted, using the calculations T3 had fed him. Damned cargo cylinder hadn't unlocked the navicomputer, so Atton was keeping the jumps conservative, and sticking to trade routes where he could, since he couldn't double check the math.
"Total though?" Choy pressed.
"About eight days? Atton guessed, running some rough calculations in his head.
"Why so long?" Choy asked, wrinkling her brow.
"Because the little trash compacter isn't letting me use the navicomputer, so I'm not going to do any tricky calculations," Atton growled. He looked up, half expecting her to have disappeared while he was talking again, but she seemed to be thinking.
She started to turn away, but paused, and looked back at him.
"Thank you," she said, then Choy walked away.
It was weird. Like Choy was trying to remember how to be normal.
((()))
"Is this the wisest use of your time?" the shade asked, as Choy carefully repaired 3C-FD's bent retaining arm.
"You heard Atton. Eight days," Meetra replied, feeling a soft glow as the replacement actuator slotted into place. Now just a quick spot weld…
"I sense that this is but a calm before the storm. It would be best to cement these followers into your cause, before events test their loyalty to you," the shade warned, drifting by the edge of the work bench, one hand occasionally clipping through the surface of the bench at times.
"What do you know?" Meetra asked, slowly looking up from her repairs.
"I sense the edges of something vast. Unlike Atris, I can still perceive something of the future, despite your condition, or perhaps because of it?" the shade sighed.
"Do you remember who you were?" Choy asked, curious.
"I believe I had many names, but the only one I am sure of is Kreia," the shade answered, her hand embedded to the wrist within the nearby bulkhead.
"Then, Kreia, I will start with you," Meetra said.
"Although wise of you, I have no choice in my loyalties," Kreia laughed gently, "since you have taken me in hand, child."
"Then let me ask, before I cling to your words too tightly. Kreia, were you a Jedi?" Meetra asked, a little tightly. She was most definitely a force user, to linger on after death in such a fashion, but Meetra had heard of few save legends of the old Sith that did so.
She felt the shade appraise her quietly.
"Does it matter?" Kreia asked, moving forward to kneel before Meetra, sightless eyes studying her from beneath the cowl. Choy opened her mouth to answer, but Kreia interrupted sharply, "Of course it does, such titles allow you to break the galaxy into light and dark, categorize it. Perhaps I am neither, and I hold both as what they are, pieces of a whole. Know that I am your teacher if you will have me, and that is enough for me."
Meetra studied Kreia, uncertain.
"Come child, it is no great mystery, to walk neither the path of the Jedi, nor the Sith. You too have walked this way before, though Malachor cut that journey short. Violence, tempered by compassion in a way that neither Sith nor Jedi can fully understand," Kreia observed softly.
"I went to war, to protect," Choy began.
"No. You followed a leader. Your kind always need such, even when the figure deserves no such obedience. Later, you learned how to become a leader in turn… but always you have yearned for it, the gentle surrender to another's will, another's vision," Kreia said sharply.
"Revan was a good man!" Choy snarled.
"Yes. He was once, and some might say, he is again," Kreia sneered.
"May the Force save us from the intentions of good men," the shade shook her head.
"Know this, though, child. I will not lie to you, nor forsake you. All that I know I will give to you. All strength, meager though it is, I give to you," Kreia said softly.
Meetra could feel the shade's sincerity, through the bond. Every word was true.
((()))
There was nothing left that Meetra could fix. 3C-FD was in as perfect working order as she could make him, without specialized parts, and Bao-Dur had flatly forbade her to try to fix the ship's wiring harness that interfaced all of the ship's systems to the main computer. After taking a quick look, she'd realized why. She hadn't noticed it when she was repairing the shield relays, but the other minor subsystems had been… neglected. Whenever a section had shorted out, instead of spending the hours necessary to isolate and rewire the short, Jolee had simply run a bypass from two working points… for years.
Some parts were so crammed with extra wiring that Meetra couldn't even fit her hand inside. Also, Jolee had lost the fasteners on some of the plates and resorted to tape, or in one instance, adhesive, to keep the access panel in place.
This meant though, that Meetra didn't have anything to calm herself with, to center her growing feelings of apprehension. She hadn't been able to meditate for years.
Meetra prowled the corridors of the ship again. Atton had sequestered himself in the cockpit again, Mical was doing an inventory of the medical bay, Bao-Dur was currently in the communication's blister trying to repair the wiring harness in that section, T3-M4 was hovering nearby, ostensibly to assist, but Meetra suspected the droid was actually watching Bao-Dur in case he tried to bypass any lockouts on the main computer.
3C-FD followed meekly behind Meetra, although his head movements were a little lopsided still. Meetra frowned.
Where was the handmaiden?
The port cargo hold, Kreia answered invisibly.
The hold in question's hatch was secured, but not locked. Curious, Meetra cranked the release, and the hatch split in half, recessing into the floor and ceiling. With the door open, she heard the sound of bare feet landing on metal, and the soft, rhythmic exhalations of exercise. The handful of supply crates had been shoved and stacked along the edges of the hold, leaving a three by two meter area of space. Meetra saw neatly folded white garments on one of the crates, beneath a collapsed shock staff. Meetra edged into the hold, and was able to see into the cleared space.
The handmaiden was moving in tight circles, her bare arms and legs moving in swift kicks and palm strikes. Although the movements were unerringly fast, the girl seemed to be moving almost languidly, as she recycled her momentum from each strike into the next, wasting very little speed or power. She was also very naked.
Meetra cocked her head, curious. She was within the Handmaiden's field of vision, but was being ignored. At some hidden preconceived point, the girl ceased her movements, falling into an easy resting stance, and turned to face Meetra, her head also tilting in question, "Is there something you need from me, Jedi?"
"Do you want me to leave?" Meetra asked, her hand waving to encompass the handmaiden's nakedness.
"I have no thoughts on the matter. Why do you ask?" the girl replied politely.
"Well. You're… naked, and the hatch was closed," Meetra observed.
"Naked?" the girl's brow wrinkled, as she studied Meetra, "Do I require armor?" she asked, curious.
"Well… Atton might wander in," Choy said wryly.
The handmaiden's confusion seemed to be deepening, and Choy suspected they were having a cultural impasse, so she tried a different track.
"Why did you shut the hatch?" Choy asked.
"I found the sounds from the ship distracting, while I recited the poem," Handmaiden answered.
"I didn't hear any poe— wait. The movements, they were a poem?" Meetra asked.
"Yes. Part of one, at any rate. It is the poem of Sanasiki and Nelinik," Handmaiden confirmed.
"Was it a love poem?" Meetra asked.
"No," Handmaiden answered firmly.
Meetra sat down on one of the crates, noting that the girl bore several silvery burns and scars across her body, seemingly consistent with blades and blaster grazes.
"Why were you reciting poetry?" Meetra asked.
At this, the girl's face became more guarded, and the silver/blue eyes appraised Meetra. It was strange. It felt like Meetra was the naked one, and the Handmaiden to be fully clothed.
"It has been two days since I last conversed with my sisters. Without conversation, my skills will fade. I cannot allow that, so I recite poems of the great duels," Handmaiden answered slowly.
"Can you teach me?" Choy asked, curious. The Handmaiden's face had been peaceful during the recitation, before she'd stopped. Choy wanted some of that peace, badly.
The handmaiden's face became closed again, studying Choy.
"I… suppose I could instruct you in the more basic forms and stances… in the same manner as Echani children are taught," Handmaiden decided.
Meetra unhooked her tool harness, and folded it on a nearby crate, before empty the cargo pockets on her coverall.
"I can keep my clothes on, yes?" Choy asked suddenly.
"If you wish," Handmaiden shrugged, "This ship is much too warm for my taste."
Handmaiden came to stand in front of Choy and with exaggerated care stretched her hand out, hand flattening into a palm strike against empty air.
"Now you," Handmaiden said.
Choy mimicked the movement, with Handmaiden briskly correcting the stance of her feet, and the movement of her shoulders. After several repetitions, Handmaiden seemed mollified enough, and moved to the next movement, this time she touched her own wrist, the palm still facing Choy against Choy's wrist. Slowly she turned the wrist and uncurled the tightly bent fingers to cup Choy's wrist in a loose C-shape, and gently diverted Choy's hand away. After several more minutes of repetition and correction, the girl nodded.
"Now that you have these two movements, we may began. Combat is not the words, but the rhythm that determines the poem. I will try to help you learn the rhythm," the girl promised sternly.
They exchanged palm strikes and counters, alternating with each other, and with each pairing the handmaiden increased the tempo, and decreased the distance between them, until Meetra began to sweat from exertion, and a failure to parry would result in a full force hit to the chest, and not empty air.
"Find the wave, and ride its edge," Handmaiden instructed.
This was different than how Meetra had been taught to fight decades ago. She could not simply surrender into the Force and feel for the timing. She had to actually understand the physical mechanics of the motions, the limitations, and learn from her opponent's movements. Then once learned, surrender to her understanding.
The Force could not tell her the answer. In a way… this was more profound, Meetra realized. This was something she learned, something that could not be taken away, because she had earned it, it had not been given to her by the Force.
Handmaiden watched her pupil carefully. The Jedi was a quick study, though she seemed to lack the most basic components of understanding, yet once mastered, seemed to hold higher understandings… like a woman that knew intrinsically how to run, but had never mastered sitting up, standing, or walking.
The real reason the Last of the Handmaidens watched so carefully though, was to ignore the feelings that had begun to rise within her. Feelings she had no real names for, but knew them to be dangerous. When she was eight years old, the woman that had been caring for her told her that her father, General Yusanis, was coming to claim her.
Because her mother was dead. She had not really understood what that meant at the time. It meant nine years of unrelenting training by her elder half-sisters, of her father's wife. Four of those years were spent serving Mistress Atris and learning new techniques with which to shield her mind from the Force, after her father fell in single combat against his former ally, now turned, Darth Revan, seeking justice for the Echani Senator Revan had assassinated.
In those nine years Last of the Handmaidens had never known trust.
She was distrusted, because she was weak. She would be the first to fail in combat, the weakest link in the chain. She could not be relied upon.
The Jedi's movements were filled with trust, respect, and most dangerously of all, acceptance.
She sees me.
And yet, she does not turn away.
The emotions were trying to crawl up Handmaiden's throat and choke her, but the girl ignored them, just as she had ignored her pain, despair, and loneliness for nearly a decade. Of course, battle does not care for such minor distractions, such excuses of lost focus. There was a reason she was Last of the Handmaidens. She lacked discipline.
In her distraction, the Last servant of Atris missed her block, and received a palm strike to her sternum, and felt something give. Then the pain hit.
Meetra stared in shock for a moment as the girl's eyes rolled and she crumpled to the deck, clutching her chest. Meetra had felt something pop beneath her hand.
"MEDIC!" Choy screamed, grabbing at sweat slicked shoulders, gently holding the kneeling and gasping girl into a partially upright position.
Boots thundered past the cargo bay door and Choy yelled again. The boots returned, and Mical skidded into the room, stumbling over the edge of a crate. He took in the scene with confusion, but did not slow, as he came to kneel beside them, a medkit in his hand.
"What happened here?" the medic demanded.
"I hit her chest, and she collapsed," Choy said quickly.
"Damn it," the medic hissed, whipping out a small portable imager, running it over the girl's chest, heedless of the breasts.
"What? What is it?" Choy demanded.
"She had two healing ribs, hairline fractures, nondisplaced, on the right side," Mical said tersely.
"Why didn't you fuse them?" Choy asked, at a loss.
Mical glanced up for a second, his face a mixture of frustration and pain, "She wouldn't let me."
Another pair of feet ran in, and Meetra looked up, catching sight of Atton. The pilot tripped over the same crate as Mical upon catching sight of the handmaiden's naked body. He blinked, then looked over at Meetra, "Need anything?" he asked, torn between sarcasm and helpfulness. That and a lot of lingering eyes.
"No—" Meetra said.
"—yes," Mical said.
"Bone stabilizer, it's in the third drawer, to the left of the bio-bed, grey housing with a silver tip," Mical continued, his fingers gently exploring beneath the Handmaiden's right arm. Whatever he was doing was making her breath hitch between her teeth.
"Yeah. Okay, be right back," Atton said, voice distracted as he ran out.
"What's the plan?" Meetra asked Mical quietly.
"I can feel one of the ribs has fractured and is out of position. It's still attached at the sternum, but one of the ends has slipped partially under the other. When she exhales, that end is forced down against the parietal sac. Too hard, and it'll puncture into her lung," Mical said.
"You can fix it though, right?" Meetra demanded.
"Maybe, but it will be painful, and I'll need at least two extra pairs of hands," Mical warned, squeezing the Handmaiden's shoulder. She nodded tightly.
Atton clattered back into the hold, he had two instruments in his hand, both had silver tips and gray housings, but one was elongated, while the other was squat and had an almost pistol like look to it. Atton offered them to Mical, who took the elongated tool.
"The other is a chem suture," Mical told Atton, placing the bone stabilizer on the deck within easy reach. Atton quickly left the chem suture on top of a nearby canister.
Mical closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, when he opened them, the hesitation had faded.
"Handmaiden. I need you to raise your right arm, elbow straight up, hand behind your head. When I tell you to, you will need to take the deepest breath you can, and hold it," Mical said sternly. The girl nodded once, tightly.
"Atton, I need you to help her hold her arm in place, and apply counter pressure so she doesn't move when I press on her. Meetra, I am going to manipulate the rib until the ends align. Then I will hold them in place, I need you to activate the bone stabilizer, red toggle switch, at a ninety degree angle to the break, keep the tip at least a centimeter away from the skin, move along the fracture line at about a millimeter per second. Make several passes," Mical instructed, his voice soothing as he prepped his two erstwhile assistants.
Meetra nodded, finding the red switch along the bone stabilizer's housing.
Mical looked the Handmaiden in the eyes, "Raise your arm."
The girl did not look away, but her cheek began to twitch involuntarily as she painfully raised her arm, and locked her trembling hand to the back of her neck.
"Good. Deep breath," Mical commanded. Handmaiden steeled herself and quickly sucked in air. Atton could feel her body trembling against him as he braced her arm, her left shoulder buried against his sternum. Mical looked up to meet Atton's eyes, then he began to press with ruthless precision on the Echani's rib.
"Arch her back," Mical demanded. Atton bent the Echani back a few centimeters, and there was a wet schnick noise. Handmaiden's left hand, which had been clutching at her thigh, latched onto Atton's wrist and it felt like she was crushing the bones… and the blaster burn under the kolto bandage.
"Meetra, now, right here," Mical said, his fingers applying precise pressure along the broken rib, his left index finger briefly traced a spot, and Meetra quickly activated the bone stabilizer, feathering the nearly invisible beam as Mical had instructed.
"A little faster," Mical whispered, and Meetra complied.
"Good… keep going like that," Mical observed.
Atton counted seconds, and at roughly a minute, Mical relented.
"Handmaiden, breathe. Slowly. Meetra, stop,"
He kept his hands braced as the Handmaiden jerkily let out the breath she had held so tightly. She also stopped crushing Atton's burned wrist.
Cautiously the medic picked up the medical imager, running the unit over the rib.
"Well… the rib looks well approximated… but it's not completely fused yet," Mical decided.
Handmaiden didn't move.
"I'd like to keep her in the med bay for the night, so I can keep an eye on the rib and her lung, just in case," Mical said.
"I'm fine—" Handmaiden started to whisper in protest.
"Don't argue," Meetra growled, drawing a startled glance from the Echani girl.
"Until Mical clears you, you are a liability. Next time, don't neglect your injuries, or else you might get someone killed. I don't care how tough you think you are. I've seen too many good men and women die that way. Do not add to that burden," Meetra said, her voice trembling with an emotion Atton didn't want to name, but it drew the last blood from Handmaiden's face…
Wordlessly, she bowed her head in acceptance of Meetra's decree.
"And I have a spare undergarb," Meetra sighed, "please wear it the next time you practice."
"Yeah. It's really distracting," Atton complained sagely. He quickly decided that the cockpit required his attention though as two pairs of female eyes suddenly glared at him, sizing up any pieces that could be removed without impacting his piloting functionality.
((()))
Mical finished inventorying the small medical bay. The assortment was somewhat basic, but all of the major components were present, with a few eccentric additions, the Gelntor brand Chem suture was a model that cost several thousand credits, usually found in high end trauma centers, and not in a ship's basic infirmary, especially next to the collection of off the shelf basic medkit quality instruments. If he was to serve as medic to this expedition, at least he had a sanctum to operate from.
The Handmaiden was lying partially reclined on the medical bed, in poor humor, glaring at a point a few centimeters from the overhead light. It was almost time for the next round of treatments. The girl was still oddly subdued though, and had not spoken to Mical in the last few hours. The man calmly checked the medical imager, running it along the newly fused rib.
Most people thought that a bone stabilizer instantly fixed broken bones.
It did not. All it did was fuse the nonorganic calcium phosphate that made up 66% of bone tissue back together… but that was the brittle part of bones. The body still had to repair the bone by regrowing blood supplies, as well as the collagen protein linkages that gave living bone its strength (compared to dry and desiccated bone, which was quite brittle, though much harder than living bone).
Even with the kolto patches to encourage increased healing and metabolism, the rib would still take several weeks to fully repair itself… although a bone stabilizer did help reduce the pain, since the bones would no longer be in disunion. There was something, however, that was bothering the diplomat/investigator/former medic.
Echani culture did not eschew medical treatment. Injuries were expected, and once received, healed as quickly as possible, to prevent further impact upon a warrior's prowess.
"Handmaiden, a question, if you would," Mical said, as he set the medical imager down, content that there wasn't any internal bleeding currently.
"It would depend upon the question," the girl replied.
"Why did you refuse my aid, earlier?"
The girl blinked, "Because it was not required. Pain is not something to fear, it gives focus to purpose."
Mical cocked his head, studying the Echani as he sat down near the bio-bed in the only chair available.
"Why did you want the pain then? What focus did it give?"
Handmaiden studied the "medic."
"Pain is useful. Do you know how a Sith, or Jedi influence the thoughts of others?"
Mical flinched, "I am roughly familiar with the symptoms. I saw many men and women forced to deal with the consequences of their actions in the war after they had returned to their senses. The guilt of betrayal. Being used as instruments against their comrades. Suicide was common."
"Atris taught us that it is the most disturbing of powers. There are many levels of control to guard against. The crudest imposes the attackers thoughts upon the victim, seeking to overwhelm the thought patterns with their own. It lasts only as long as the attacker focuses upon the attack. Usually for a single task. Of limited use in battle, thankfully. It can be most easily countered with physical pain," Handmaiden explained.
"Ah. Little Shocky," Mical chuckled. The Neural headband had been a favorite among Republic troops during the Exar Kun war. It helped reinforce mental patterns electrically… though it did lead to certain problems with stubbornness after prolonged usage, even stupidity. Eventually they fell into disuse during the mandalorian wars, before facing a resurgence during the Jedi Civil war.
"The most dangerous form of mental attack is also the most intimate. To influence the mind of another, in a lasting way, the attacker must know the victim. The thought patterns are not at stake, but a belief. If a belief or conviction could be eroded or changed, the victim's behavior would alter, irrevocably. Against this, pain is also useful.
Discipline of the mind is required. To accept nothing, until it is tested against prior understanding. Any deviation is to be analyzed and either expunged, or ratified. No exceptions."
Mical considered this. "Such a skill is useful, but to what end? Why is it needed?"
"Because. Jedi cannot always be trusted, and must be protected from corruption. Jedi cannot reliably watch Jedi. In this, compassion becomes weakness, and the corruption spreads. It is how every Sith war has arisen. Jedi attempt to reconcile with Sith, and fall in turn. Mistress Atris will stop the cycle. She will save the Jedi," Handmaiden whispered fervently.
Mical felt his stomach shrivel.
"But… there are so few of you," Mical pointed out logically.
"We are trained, and will train others. The Jedi are also few. Our numbers will increase as theirs do," Handmaiden sighed.
((()))
Atton flipped through the holozine, bored, in the cockpit. Bao-Dur was tinkering with something under the co-pilot's station. From the sound, something was resisting, and the technician was starting to really exude a murderous aura. Choy wandered in to the cockpit.
Atton turned away from the controls and the light show of hyperspace.
"Need something?" he asked.
"Have you been to Nar Shadaa before?" the Jedi asked.
Lie or not lie?
"Yes, about… five or six years ago?" Atton hazarded, a little foggy on the actual numbers.
"What is it like? I've never been there," Choy said, awkwardly.
Save me. She's practicing small talk on me?
"You're really bad at talking to people," Atton sighed.
Choy scowled, "I'm out of practice."
"Well… sure. I've got nothing better to do," Atton grumbled. His eyes drifted down, and he remembered back to Peragus and a rather tight undergarb…
"Nar Shadaa," Choy prompted, irritated, making his eyes dart back up.
He smirked, unrepentant.
"Well… it's tidally locked with Nal Hutta, which is like a big ugly brown sun in the sky. If you're on the side facing Nal Hutta you get two nights, one lasts two hours, the other lasts eight. The two hour night is more of a brown twilight though. The sky is brown, and the air stinks really bad. Other wise it looks like Coruscant having a bad day, and no money for infrastructure repairs," Atton shrugged.
"My turn," Atton smiled, "Why did you pick Peragus of all places to hide?"
Choy was quiet for a long time, staring off into hyperspace.
"I needed to be someone else. I couldn't pretend. I had to be other," she admitted.
Atton considered this for a moment before he heard a Krayt dragon hiss from under the co-pilot station: "IS THIS GLUE?"
The mechanic boiled out from under the station, grabbed the access panel with his mechanical arm and yanked angrily. The panel ripped free with a screech of tortured metal. The edges did appear to have been glued with industrial adhesive. The fasteners were conspicuously absent.
The panel was shaking in Bao-Dur's hands and Atton leaned away from the irate mechanic.
"Bao-Dur," Choy said sharply, and the enraged man spun, his molten eyes glancing to Choy, before he banked the fire, dropping his head in submission, but not peace.
"Apologies, General," he whispered harshly, setting the panel down with exaggerated care, before stomping out of the cockpit.