3951 BBY, Polar Plateau, Telos IV
Atris
Atris had imagined the encroaching moment many times in her mind's eye. Almost as often as she replayed the memory of their last meeting.
She ran through every possible scenario, exhausting every argument and counterpoint she could surmise in response to any myriad of things the Exile could say. In some iterations of the would-be event, they were screaming at one another, in others they were speaking quietly. Occasionally she would imagine the Exile in a variety of different appearances based on the woman's many aliases over the years, treating it almost like a game. She's dyed her hair before, but never purple – or – she's not one for makeup, perhaps she's employed some eyeshadow or face paint to further disguise herself…
But ultimately Atris would often imagine Eden as she remembered her, both as the angry young woman she'd been when she defied the Council as well as the young girl she'd been when they still shared a bunk together on Dantooine.
Are you still awake? Eden would ask some nights. Sometimes Atris would feign sleep, feeling that it protected her somehow, made her appear stronger. But some nights she would admittedly nod and mutter yes.
Within moments, Eden would be in bed beside her, her limbs entwined with hers. Tell me a story, she'd ask quietly. Please?
Eden had missed her brother a lot back then, so distractions were necessary. The boy had stopped speaking to her and Eden did not want to admit just how much it bothered her in the quiet aftermath. Atris knew it was for the better. Part of it was at the behest of their Masters, both individually as well as the overall Jedi that oversaw all students at the Temple. Plus, Atris secretly enjoyed being this close to her, relishing especially when Eden would tuck her chin into the nook of her shoulder, half-burying her face in Atris' pale hair.
Atris would oblige every time she admitted her own sleeplessness, warmed by Eden's faint breathing when the girl would eventually fall asleep wrapped in her arms. They never spoke of it. Come morning, they would simply wake and walk about their room as if this were normal, as if it were commonplace. Perhaps it was, were it not for the way it made Atris feel inside.
It was more than just a general feeling. There were two sentiments and both at war with each other – one feeling as Eden crawled into bed beside her, warm where their skin met, and another when they woke come morning, cold in the wake of it, a feeling both wanting and shameful of that lack.
They never spoke of it – had not spoken of it – until Eden came to train with her on Coruscant.
I know you feel it, too, Eden pleaded, wide-eyed and beautiful in the glow of the archive, leaning closer to Atris until their eyes glanced downward at each other's mouths before flitting upward again, their gazes locking. And if you don't, I'll leave it at that.
Atris liked to think she hadn't felt it but was compelled to, drawn to it in Eden's wake as so many were.
She's dangerous, Master Vrook had warned her once when she was all of fifteen. I know you're strong-willed, Atris. And knowing you, you may very well want to fix her. But that girl is unpredictable. Just look at her brother.
Aiden had withered in his sister's absence at the Masters' insistence, at least at first, which was part of the reason she agreed to take him on as a student years later on Coruscant. The young man had proven himself despite the Masters' insistence that he was damaged goods, equipped with a good head set on firm shoulders filled to the brim with scholarly pursuits. Just as Atris had been.
You wish I was her, don't you? Aiden had argued one harrowed afternoon before storming out of the archive months into his apprenticeship. You do, he muttered before slamming the door. You do.
They never spoke of that, either. It was a running theme. Atris wished to keep it that way.
In the present, Atris sat in her main chamber, fingers steepled over her knees as she rapped the tip of her boot against the floor. An imagined variety of Edens passed through her audience chamber doors and presented themselves to her in her mind's eye, both on harrowed knee and in defiant indifference. Eden's old saber sat in the open on her lap, the shards of the Coruscant Temple statue scattered at her feet like an offering. Would she remember it? Does it matter?
It was only a matter of time before the real Eden approached her location and stepped through those doors – this time, on Atris' terms. Her Handmaidens were at the ready and already patrolling the mountain. The Exile would be incapacitated and taken alive, as would her companions whoever they were, before Eden was to be presented to Atris like a prisoner at a tribunal. Which is what it was, wasn't it?
If it hadn't gone against everything she believed the Jedi should be, Atris would have slain Eden then and there on the Council floor – before Eden could have said her piece, before she could defy the Council, before she could destroy the statue. But Atris had let her talk, hoping she would eventually say something other than what she most feared, only to witness Eden do the very thing she did not wish to be true.
She still seethed simply thinking about it.
There is no emotion, there is only peace.
Atris inhaled, counting the seconds as she let the mantra steep before exhaling.
An image of a memory flashed before her eyes, of Eden leaning closer to her in the archive, their eyes still locked on each other's lips before-
There is no passion, there is serenity.
No matter what Atris wanted, however base or inane, she would have to stay true to the Jedi Code as it had first been written, not what it would eventually become before she was finally appointed to the Council, ever keen to restore its purity. Even if she still felt Eden was a greater liability alive than dead, she would not give in. Afterall, Atris was not a killer. There was no blood on her hands after all.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
And in that, she would have to be content.
For now.
There is no death, there is the Force.
3951 BBY, Telos IV
Eden
Eden didn't know when things changed, exactly. Yet they had.
Slowly, but also suddenly, the truth of the past and the reality of the present hitting her all at once as if the time in between spanned an entire decade within the mere blink of an eye.
That morning, she had awoken beside a man she no longer recognized. And yet the very same stranger coaxed her out of her dreams and into waking life as he always had, the only remaining constant in an otherwise alternate reality from the one she knew.
Another nightmare? Malak had asked, though Eden never called him by that name, still unnerved by the changed sight of him though calmed by his familiar warmth beside her.
No, just a dream, she said. Or… maybe a vision.
He'd lit up at that, a version of his old self possessing his hulking yet harrowed body. His eyes, though sunken, flashed with their old eagerness, intent bordering on mania, as he gripped Eden amidst the sheets and begged her that she tell him more.
I think she's right, Eden ultimately relented once she'd divulged her stranger visions. I think Revan will finally end this war.
He hugged her then, sweeping her up in an awkward yet famished embrace, as if all his prayers had been answered.
I knew you'd see it, too, he eventually said against her neck, again sounding more like Alek than he had in weeks. She also could have sworn that he might have been crying. After an age of a minute, he held her at arm's length, the reality of his new appearance reminding her of the present – his sallow skin, the gaunt of his cheeks, the way his muscles sharpened, looking more like a shambling corpse than a person. And yet his eyes were still bright as they always had been, alluring in their innocently boyish way as he surveyed her. For a moment, there was a bit of that old admiration in the way he looked at her, the way he held her, and then it all turned cold. His gaze darkened and he coughed, eventually getting out of bed. We shouldn't linger. We have important work to do.
And now here she stood on the bridge of the Ravager, Revan's final peace offering – both literally and figuratively. It was a breathtaking thing. A work of absolute craftsmanship.
I modified it myself, the Iridonian beamed beside her. Even if we don't end up needing the backup, this ship should do well against anything that comes our way.
And indeed, it had been.
It's almost as if we're invincible, Bao-Dur, she'd commended with a smile. Perhaps the last one she remembered for years to come. The ease of the gesture had come so effortlessly, her praise genuine. She still remembered Bao-Dur's quiet smile in response, the way his cheeks dimpled as he turned modestly away from her to look out from the bridge at her side.
That's the idea.
The moon was lush, she remembered. Almost as dense as Dxun had been. Thick with green and foliage, its surface covered completely and almost picturesque against the very edge of space, especially this far out from the Core Worlds. A marvel, if Eden let herself think about it for long enough. What they left behind was also green, but sickly and riddled with electrical storms, a husk of itself just as Malak had become. A skeleton only where there once was life.
They're not retreating, she'd said as she watched the horror unfold below. Malak's flagship, the Leviathan, shot into hyperspace. The Republic Navy ships left in his wake were moon-locked. Eden could not personally witness what was happening on their bridges, but she felt it – panic, unrest, betrayal.
What do we do? Bao-Dur asked, his eyes locked on the surface's readout. They had the bulk of the Mandalorian horde in their grasp. If word was to be believed, even Mandalore himself was planet-side and enough of a reason break out the big guns. We can't let them win, not here. But the rest…
Eden swallowed, thinking of Serroco, of Dagary Minor, and of Dxun. Watching as her men walked into death and beyond for her, at her beck and call, knowing that the cause was greater than any of them if it meant that all of this would simply be over, finally. Or so that was the story they all told themselves.
A moment and a millennium passed.
The stars spread thin across the sky, the surface of Malachor below almost tranquil. A peaceful lie.
We don't have a choice, she said eventually, her voice a husk and a whisper, a ghost of itself. Do it.
Another moment and another millennium passed.
As you say, General. Bao-Dur had sounded so sure, so confident, that in the aftermath Eden was sure she felt nothing but absolute awe as she witnessed the planet annihilated below, as if she were observing the birth of the universe instead.
But that is what she felt – nothing. A blissful, quiet nothing.
For the first time in her life, the Force wasn't just quiet, but entirely silent.
I thought you of all people might understand. Wouldn't you, General?
Eden yearned for that same serenity now as her eyes laid on Bao-Dur again, all these years later, buried deep in an abandoned Republic military base. A place that was both the first and last place she thought to have ever found the man. But surprised regardless to see him again, not here of all places even if it was indeed strange, but now after everything.
"You understand, right?" he asked again as she knelt by his side and offered him a hand. "I had to do it, I-"
Eden sighed, feeling the full weight of the Force within her and the pull of it as its unseen tethers mended the span of time she'd been deaf to its undulating and all-pervasive fabric. Since that moment at Bao-Dur's side almost ten years ago.
"I do, Bao," Eden said softly, thinking back to everything that happened on Citadel Station. Everything she'd done despite promising never to do so ever again. "I do."
3951 BBY, Hyperspace
Erebus
Erebus didn't often imagine himself as other people, yet in the time it took for him to take off from Malachor and make for the Japrael System, he began to think of the smuggler he briefly posed as on Nespis, wondering if Wyland Rhel's life was nearly as intolerable as his was shaping up to be at the moment. Or always had been, really.
From what little he'd gleaned, Rhel was a smuggler by necessity and not necessarily by trade, his background not unlike a certain Jaq who occupied more of Erebus' current mental bandwidth than he'd like to admit. Like Jaq, Rhel had been a fighter pilot during the Mandalorian Wars, only decidedly not assigned to any elite squad afterwards like Jaq had been. Erebus had checked briefly mid-takeoff because he knew his brain wouldn't let up if he didn't research it first. Rhel was like most Republic soldiers in the aftermath of the war – peacefully retired on his home planet alongside his family until his pension ran out, his job prior to joining the Republic Navy no longer enough to pay the bills. And bills ran high for a man with seven children…
"Are you okay?" Vash asked, breaking him out of his reverie.
"I should be asking you the same thing," Erebus said, eyeing her. Vash was pacing the cockpit instead of sitting in the seat beside him, biting her lip. "But you'll be fine, trust me."
Trust me, he thought. At least for now.
As anxious as he truly was but hoped he wasn't letting on, Erebus earnestly did believe that they would pull this off. He just had a feeling. He wasn't sure where it came from, just that it felt certain and true, and so long as he rode that high they would be golden.
"Your mind seems elsewhere, is all," Vash confessed. The woman sat for a moment, looking at Erebus for a beat before choosing to stand again, limping slightly around the cabin when he didn't answer her quickly enough.
"It is," he said. "And you're not exactly helping."
"Sorry, sorry," she muttered. Vash produced the glove from her robe, turning it in her hands and counting her breaths as if it were a talisman rather than a tool.
"Don't say sorry," Erebus ordered. "Not to me."
And he meant it. Not that he cared what a Jedi, or even a conglomerate, thought about him and his choices. Aside from that, he was the reason she was even in this situation. Not just for what happened at Nespis, but perhaps because all of this was set in motion before he was even born, the Force deciding that Vash would not only be the one to find Revan out on the dunes but that the woman would also be his first hapless instructor, granting her just enough forethought and familiarity with him to not simply kill Erebus on the spot as he was quickly fearing she should have as soon as they crossed paths again on his ship in the Nespis space port.
"We need to work together on this, right?" Vash asked. "We're both key to this panning out."
He knew she was referring to Nihilus, but part of him knew she also meant the grand scheme of things. Once they met with Nihilus, they would travel to Korriban as soon as circumstances allowed it. At least depending on what it was Nihilus wanted with him, exactly…
"We do, and we are," he rejoined, trying to sound reassuring. "But, change of subject here, I… actually want to ask you something."
At this, Vash truly paused. The woman stilled, her gaze set on Erebus as she finally sat down again, this time appearing as if she meant to remain still this time. She kept turning the glove over in her hands until she finally tugged the damn thing on and nodded at him absently, silently asking that he continue.
"Sure, go ahead," she urged. Erebus looked from Vash to the glove, and back to her face again. Does she not feel it now, the Force? Does she not want to?
"About your bond with your apprentice," he began, digging back into the person he was a week ago – or was it more? – when he first spoke to her on this very ship as they traveled from Space City to Dantooine, the trip feeling like eons and ages ago now that he thought about it. "I wanted to ask… do you still… sense him?"
"Korath," Vash exhaled his name, her voice echoing with a somber fondness. "Yes, I do, but perhaps not in a way that you imagine."
Vash's eyes went distant, her gaze middling somewhere in the space between them as she mentally retreated into memory.
"Tell me," he implored, thinking back to the years he didn't sense Eden and wondered what had happened to her. "Please."
He leaned forward, turning away from the ship's controls as the swirl of hyperspace glowed beside them from the cockpit window. In the blue-white light of lightspeed, Vash's silver hairs glowed, aging her instantly as she reminisced before responding to Erebus' question.
"I felt it, when he died," she said quietly, her gaze returning to the present, her pupils sharpening as she recalled the feeling. "It was like an exhale, followed by a sudden lack. But even in the wake of his passing, his absence feels like… I don't know… a numb limb perhaps? Pins and needles. There, but not. A ghost."
"An echo," Erebus said. Vash nodded.
"Exactly that," she said, her voice whispersoft. She dropped her head. "Something once near but now very, very far away. I wonder if that's what your sister felt, during the war. And after. Echo after echo, loss after loss, an unfathomable lack."
Erebus swallowed.
"I believe so," he said, his voice cracking where he did not expect it to. He'd felt it, too, but he had explained it away back then. Chalked it up to anxiety and imagination. He'd always been a worrier, his mind often wandering to the darkest places in what he imagined was survival instinct but now feared was the opposite. His heart raced uncertainly simply at the thought of it.
"You feel what she feels," Vash said, reaching a hand towards him, her fingers gesturing towards the center of his chest. "I didn't understand, then. Feared it, even." She laughed. "Which is taboo, I know. But they all did. The entire Dantooine Council feared what you and your sister shared."
It was strange to hear the validation of it now, after decades of apprehension had eroded whatever relationship he'd had with Eden – his twin, his other half – but also oddly relieving, too. It wasn't just my doing, he thought with a sigh. Maybe it isn't my fault after all.
"I think so, but I'm not sure if the mirror goes both ways," he said. "At least, not the way it used to."
"I see," Vash added, nodding. "I wish I'd asked more questions before, back when I was your teacher. I owed it to you then, and I didn't-"
"There's no use," Erebus said. "Past is past. All we have is the now, and the means with which to change the future, whatever that may be."
He was suddenly gripped with an unknown dread, a feeling that things would go sideways, though he knew not why or how, powerless against what was to come. But as always, ever curious, he knew he would press on anyway. Vash looked at him and nodded.
"You're right," she said. "And whatever happens now, happens. Just as the Force wills it."
Vash looked down at her hands, and there at her fingertips, Erebus swore he saw a spark – the faintest hint of electricity. Charged and palpable. Bright and flickering, violet-tinged like his own.
"As the Force wills it," he echoed bleakly.
Whatever happens, happens. For better or worse.
3951 BBY, Dantooine Grasslands, Jedi Temple Ruins
Mical
It was different when Azkul did it.
When the merc urged Mical to open himself up to the Force, it was as if his mere mortal mind were trying to apprehend life and all its dimensions through too limited a vessel. All his senses were beyond heightened, his understanding of the passage of time no match for linearity. Yet now… he didn't feel so different. However instead of feeling too vast for his mortal coil, he felt as if the coil did not exist, his being melding seamlessly with everything around him – the ruins, the laigreks, the sky and the distant trees. It's just as she said.
The fabric of the Force. The binding thread of all living things.
When he tapped into the Force of his own accord was like opening his eyes for the first time. Or hearing but only just finally listening. It was somehow both and neither of these, like opening a third eye or discovering an unused limb with feeling but had never noticed before.
Mical had always been able to do it. He'd tapped into his inherent ability a few times within the walls of this very academy even, Master Vandar's proud smile still a ghost that often lingered in his memory when he thought fondly of his Jedi upbringing. From birth he'd known how to reach out and feel the Force, sense his place within it as well as those around him. It was how he understood the world as a child, shocked to discover that not everyone sensed it as he did. But it did not always come easy, especially as he grow older. Especially after the war. If he were being honest, he felt it always, like an undercurrent - even still.
Despite the disparate familiarity, had no way to categorize what he was sensing now, what he was experiencing - both past and present, known and unknown, a calmer wave than before but a rider on the storm still - but he rode with it nonetheless, all while trying to drive the fear of what he'd felt at the behest of Azkul and his strange experiment from his mind.
"We've come 'round these parts already," a voice muttered, exasperated, in the distance.
"Shut up," another voice rejoined. "We have orders to scout the ruins again, so scout we shall."
Mical closed his eyes, though he knew doing so wouldn't matter. Though it did help him hone in as his mind perceived a vision of two figures traversing the ruins just outside of where he stood, their eyes scanning everywhere but the small crevice from which Mical sat poised and waiting.
Focusing, he was able to hear them more clearly than he might have otherwise, imagine what they were doing and where they were headed as if he had eyes on them. The logical part of his brain wanted to wish it away, dismissing it as simply a figment of his imagination conjuring something akin to what he might have almost heard. But he did hear it. And he did know where the trespassers walked, their each and every step obvious in his mind's eye.
"What does he want, anyway?" one of them said. "I thought we retrieved everything we needed-"
There was a scuffle and a muffled ow.
"Doesn't matter about the items right now," the other one retorted. "We need to find a way back in. We didn't get a chance to access the archive's data stores."
"But what about Khoonda? I thought they had the motherload. Everything the Jedi had and all."
"Aye, they likely do. But that's only half the job."
Half of what job?
There was more scuffling and indiscriminate arguing, the footsteps circling in an unproductive roundabout before one of them finally punched the other in the arm and declared, "There's no bloody way in, idiot."
"Fine," the other said with a slap. "You tell Azkul we found nothing, then."
Azkul, that bastard. Of course, Mical thought bitterly. He couldn't help but think of the radio transmission he'd eavesdropped on days ago as well as Erebus' confirmation that the man yet survived. I didn't need the Force to tell me that.
"He won't be glad to hear the experiment's off," the first one continued again.
"Experiment?" Another one? "Figured that was old news, especially with what happened at the ruins and all."
"For now, but rumor has it the Jedi have conducted similar work before, maybe on Revan. Azkul wants to find out what. That was the plan all along."
"An' why we're still here," the other one grunted. "How's it of all the mercs gone, I get stuck with you?"
Mical both heard and sensed a scuffle above, the two scouts muttering and flailing their arms at each other until one or both of them relented. Mical absently rolled his eyes.
"It's a wonder a dumb idiot like you was even hired, let alone assigned to this job, you oaf."
There was more arguing, more scuffling, and more wandering around, and while he unfortunately heard nor sensed nothing else of note, Mical remained tapped into the Force anyway – proud of himself regardless – tracing the energies outside the temple ruins until they eventually wandered away, allowing him a breath of relief once they did.
See? Mical's mysterious host chimed in again once the threat was clear. Fear ruins all.
"What do you mean?" Mical snapped, annoyed.
I could read you the entire time, his host said. You were only getting half the picture.
"Half the-?" Mical spat before stopping himself and breathing deep. "Please, explain yourself."
He sensed a laugh. He swore he didn't hear one, but he might as well have, the ghost of a giggle still fresh on the air as he awaited a response.
Fear, the voice repeated. They feel it, too. They know nothing, at least not yet.
Mical sighed, shaking his head. He gleaned that from the tone of the scouts alone, their apprehension at returning with no news evident in their voices. And yet he still felt the fool.
"You got all that through the Force?" he asked, wondering how such a thing were possible even if he already knew the answer.
Of course, the voice said. He could sense the smile in their voice. You just need practice.
Practice, sure.
But you heard what they said then? He thought into the void like a question. About the Jedi conducting experiments?
There was silence at first, and then a laigrek chirped somberly nearby.
I wouldn't know anything about that, the voice said, almost seeming disappointed. Not anything at all.
He waited for some elaboration, some change of topic, but the voice said nothing further. It was time to move on again.
Mical huffed and began meandering his way back to the archive, suddenly craving the incandescent light of the inactive holos lining the walls, their calm blue glow bringing him back to a childhood reverie he'd yet to let go of even after all these years after being denied by the Jedi.
But what if the mercs were right? Rumor had it that Revan was changed before the end, though the theory of how remained a mystery. The possibility of Revan's mind being altered after taken in as a prisoner of war was a conspiracy theory he'd heard across the galaxy, though talk of Revan's defeat and subsequent victory over the Sith had long fallen out of public interest. And yet…
Breaking into a run, Mical rushed towards the archive, wondering why he hadn't thought of it before. He'd almost uncovered the truth of it, if only he'd remained eavesdropping when he knew he shouldn't have. He could imagine the scene still - Master Vash about to relay the truth of what happened to Revan to Erebus before Mical had awkwardly re-entered the Star Forge vessel's cargo hold, announcing their arrival to Dantooine. It felt like an age had passed since then, and yet he couldn't help but curse himself for forgetting so easily.
Mical arrived at the archive's console and began typing away furiously. Command after command led to dead end after dead end – but not in the way he imagined. Instead of coming up completely empty, his searches resulting in an all-too-expected NO RESULTS FOUND, he was instead met with the following phrase: FILE CORRUPTED.
He paused, staring at the aurabesh.
There had been a file. There had been answers. Only… someone thought to sabotage their discovery. But if so, why not simply delete the record? Why not remove the file entirely? Unless…
Mical entered a command that instantly allowed him access to the login files, a series of dates and logs filling the screen in an endless wave. He scrolled and scrolled and scrolled until he saw it: an error code. Linked to the files in question.
UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. FILE FLAGGED AS UNOBTAINABLE.
Self-corruption. Either the file was set to corrupt should anyone try to access it, or it was destroyed without alerting the initial log's creator, as many Jedi-sanctioned records were set to by default. Even in his little time spent at the Coruscant Archives taught him that. Still thinking of Erebus, Mical looked up all recent queries and permissions from Erebus' old account as they discovered had been the case with the oddly recent shipments authorized under his name. Other than the obvious, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Whoever had been using Erebus' account for the last five or six years was smart enough not to breach user-locked files, which led him to think that whoever had been using Erebus' account must have also been an archival alumni, though that could point to hundreds of Jedi across the galaxy, many of whom were lost in the wind now that all of them were in hiding. So, who would be stupid enough to try and access such a series of files?
Mical clicked a few more times before triggering another run command feature, digging even deeper. He plugged in another query.
USER REDACTED.
Not User Unknown, not even a default ADMIN. But… USER REDACTED. Someone who had once been a user and whose account access had since been revoked, though not entirely erased.
Mical switched his login from Erebus' to Vash's and ran all the same queries after clearing his history. Everything came up the same.
FILE CORRUPTED.
USER REDACTED.
FILE CORRUPTED.
USER REDACTED.
Mical glanced at the pilfered comm laying demurely on the console beside him, Erebus' severe face in his mind's eye as he imagined the man picking up again after so short a time, wondering what clever quip he'd be met with this time.
He picked up the comm and hailed the last person he'd communicated with.
Like last time, at first there was only static. And then…
"What, Vash's login not working?" Erebus asked as if bored. Mical almost wanted to laugh if only for the inanity of it all, knowing it was all a front.
"Master Vash's login is just fine, I've found a lot," Mical admitted in a hushed breath. Though nothing I'm ready to share with you yet. "But speaking of which, I actually happen to have a question for her."
Mical heard Erebus laugh lightly over the comm, the sound of it almost calming, almost nice, before Vash's harrowed voice greeted him instead.
"I'm here," she announced, sounding as if she'd aged ten years since they last spoke days ago. Mical brushed past his worry and alarm to get to business.
"As an acting member of the Jedi Council, you exiled many Jedi, correct?" Mical asked, not waiting for an answer. "Was there anyone who happened to be a Jedi Historian? Someone whose account access would have been revoked?"
His heart raced as he was met with shocked silence, a few moments that spread into a life's age as he awaited a reply.
Eventually, Vash cleared her throat, the surprise evident in her voice.
"Only one, but she died shortly after her exile." she said. "Master Arren Kae."
3951 BBY, Telos IV
Atton
Kreia's empty-hooded gaze met his the moment they exited the hallway. Atton shrugged just as Kreia's attention moved from him to the man now walking at Eden's side, their heads still hung close in quiet conversation, the Iridonian's droid hovering as close as a hungry mosquito.
Kreia crossed her arms as Atton neared, and muttered, "Why do I sense that we've picked up another pathetic life form?"
The utterance of another told Atton that he was likely the first.
"I thought you sensed this, or whatever," he brushed off, turning to follow Kreia's gaze this time instead of meet it head on as Eden and Bao-Dur approached. It was almost as if neither of them noticed they weren't alone, still deep in conversation.
"I had indeed, however this outcome is yet unexpected," Kreia answered with a sly whisper, her voice thick with wondering. "No matter. It changes nothing."
How? Atton wondered, though he didn't dare ask. It didn't matter, right? He was as good as gone. And with a solid technician around, Eden had no use for him anyway. The man could probably pilot a ship as well as Atton could until they found another port, if not repair it and mod it into oblivion, sending them across the galaxy at top speed as needed, zipping their way here and there to do Maker knows what.
"Kreia," Eden said, "This is-"
"No matter," Kreia interrupted. "I fear we must-"
"I can track down your ship," Bao-Dur interrupted in return. Kreia's mouth thinned to a line as the man stood his ground. "It's what you wanted, yes?"
Kreia's mouth opened and then clamped shut. Her head shifted from Eden to the Iridonian, as if she could still secretly see from beneath her hood, and then gestured beyond her to the console at her side.
"By all means," she said with a wan smile, the shadow of her hood making contact with Atton's gaze again. He shivered, but he didn't blink, and he didn't waver.
"I saw it flying overhead days ago," Bao-Dur said, his voice oddly calming and quiet, though it reverberated through the space nonetheless. "It's unusual for any spacecraft to traverse these parts, so I took note of it. And… here."
Atton and Kreia exchanged supposed glances again before looking over the stranger's shoulder and examining the screen. The console displayed both a map as well as a live camera feed of what appeared to be a mountain range not far from where they were now, their peaks capped with snow. Atton tried not to think of Alderaan.
"So that is indeed where the Ebon Hawk remains currently?" Kreia asked. The Iridonian nodded. "So be it."
"Wait, wait, wait," Atton cut in, feeling instantly uncomfortable as soon as all eyes and hoods were on him. "That's it? That's all it takes?"
Eden, Bao-Dur, and Kreia all stood staring at Atton, incredulous. He let out an exasperated sigh, bordering on feeling desperate.
"What if it's a trap?" he urged. "Whoever stole it surely meant to-"
"Lead us there?" Kreia finished for him, smiling. She seemed so at ease now, just when she'd been so thoroughly annoyed moments ago. "Precisely."
Precisely?!
Atton glanced at Eden pleadingly, disappointed when the woman only shrugged. Meanwhile, Bao-Dur's eyes shifted from each of them before he eventually relented and returned to examining the map readout once more, nodding sagely as his hovering droid ball bleeped and blipped nonsensically at his ear.
"I can't explain it," Eden offered with a shrug, "I just have a feeling."
A feeling, Atton thought with a huff. Right.
Atton had had plenty of feelings, and none of them good. Especially this one.
Kreia's odd smirk only widened. Whether she could read his mind or not, he could not tell, though he didn't like the fact that he questioned it regardless. He began reciting Pazaak hands in his head again, angry with himself that he'd even lapsed.
"Sure, whatever," Atton said brusquely. "Whatever gets me the hell out of here."
He'd muttered the last part, though Eden obviously heard it full well. Her face fell, her eyes glancing at him sideward just as Atton avoided her gaze entirely, his face grim. Whatever gets me the hell out of here, he repeated internally. Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.
Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.
Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.
Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.
Switch the face of the +1/-1 card, the totals are nine-ten.