Chapter Seventeen
AITHNE
Aithne didn't want to turn around and report right to the Council. She had a bad feeling about the whole thing—the visions she was sharing with Bastila, the origins of their bond, the way the droid in the ruins had supposedly "responded" to her—everything. She could sense Bastila and the Council holding back—and since Carth had put her onto the trail in the first place and heard her on it this morning, she also knew his own discomfort mirrored hers. She needed time to think and process, away from Bastila, who was currently completely occupied with daydreams of glory and heroism.
"We need to investigate the disappearance of Shen Matale," Aithne said. "We promised we'd look into it if we had time. We have time today, but I'm betting as soon as we report back, we won't. Still. I think you're right, Bastila. We should tell the Council about what we found as soon as possible. And you need to be able to lift that Stasis on Nemo's body. I say the three of us split up. Bastila, you should report back to the Council and arrange a retrieval for Nemo's remains. You can help the detail attend to him and tell them I'm going to attempt an independent resolution of the Matale-Sandral affair. Carth, you should go with her."
Carth refused this absolutely. "I'm not leaving you alone out here."
"You're assigned to Bastila, not to me," Aithne told him. "Besides, since our intervention with Juhani yesterday and all the cleanup you and the others have done these past few weeks, any kath hounds left out here should be pretty easy to avoid."
"He's right," Bastila said. "I can see your reasoning, Aithne. Unless I lift the Stasis upon Nemo's remains, I will tire soon, and we should not delay the search for Shen Matale. But you have only recently completed your training as an apprentice, and the plains are far too dangerous for you to remain alone. I mastered the art of Force speed at thirteen years of age; you have yet to master any similarly evasive abilities, nor do you possess any stealth abilities to speak of that could enable you to hide from hostile enemies or creatures. I will return to the enclave alone and do as you say. Carth can remain with you. And if you wish it, I will send one or two of the others ahead on speeders to join you at the Matale mansion. Even just the two of you alone presents more risk than is necessarily wise."
"You should stay with Bastila," Aithne tried again.
"It's not happening, Aithne," Carth told her. "If you want to mull over everything that just happened back there on your own, I'm not going to stop you. But I can keep a kath hound pack from surprising you while you're stuck up in your head."
Aithne glared at him, then looked back at Bastila, who now looked like she understood things a little better. Then she fished the Star Map datapad back out of her pack and handed it right back to Bastila. "Send Zaalbar, please," she said. "Just one of the others, though. Then we can double up on the speeders on the way back. I don't care if you send Mission or Canderous. Unless Mission can't drive a speeder. Did you teach her to drive a speeder?" she asked Carth.
"Yeah," Carth said. "Second week we were here, and she's practiced a few times since then."
"Very well," Bastila agreed. "We will both use the time apart to reflect on what has happened before making a full report to the Council tonight."
"Fine," Aithne said.
Bastila looked hard at her, then shot off toward the west in a cloud of dust and uprooted grass.
Aithne watched the cloud for a moment, then jerked her head northward. "Matale lands are this way," she said, having noticed signs on various gateposts the day before.
"Yeah, I know," Carth answered, watching her. "You alright?"
"No," Aithne told him. "But you said if you came, you'd let me brood in silence. So . . ."
Carth was just one more thing to worry about. She could sense his turmoil through the Force. Not in the same way that she sensed Bastila, an almost physical presence through a tether that she could picture inside her head, or a kind of holoterminal that could both send and receive psychic impressions. The connection was much fainter, harder to pinpoint. But it was there, nevertheless. She didn't think she could send feelings or impressions to him through it, the way she had found she could with Bastila. There wasn't a receiver on his end, or if there was, it was so full of static he might not have any conscious idea of what he was getting from her. But somehow, he was transmitting, alright, and doing so through the Force, and she was receiving from him.
After reading up some on what he'd told her on Taris about Telos and the Service Corps, she understood his ability to connect like this just fine, especially with a Jedi or a Force Adept, and it didn't concern her. She was more than a little concerned about why he had connected with her like this, or perhaps, vice versa, even though she doubted it had been consciously done on either of their parts. And since he'd viewed connections like this as massive invasions of privacy, she didn't really want to tell him he was transmitting and she was receiving, because her own psychic shields were spotty and imperfect after only eight weeks or so of practice, and she didn't think he had any. She didn't want to tell him she thought they might have accidentally formed a weak Force bond until she knew how to sever it or consistently make sure nothing he didn't want to get through to her did. It would just make him more uncomfortable and paranoid than ever.
"Huh. Brooding in silence is supposed to be my gig," Carth remarked after a while. She could sense her silence bothered him, the feeling that she was cutting him out just like Bastila and the Council were cutting her out.
She paced faster. The Dantooine grass whipped against her leggings, stinging slightly. She welcomed the pain. Focused on a brith, drifting above the plain. Tried to send her mind with it, instead of keeping it inside her body where there was so much unsorted confusion and anxiety. "Don't get possessive over the brooding, flyboy," she said. "A girl has to have her own time to stew and mutter at the sky."
"Hah," he said. "Guess I've been doing a little of that the past few weeks."
"I'm not trying to lock you out," Aithne said. "At least, not in that sense. I just . . . can't talk about it yet. You kicked off a lot of it, anyway, so to some extent it'd just be like shouting into an echo chamber."
"I didn't mean to start anything," Carth said, watching her, concerned. "Back on Taris, a lot of it was what I said—you're just so capable, it's . . . it's hard not to get caught up in the memories. I certainly never wanted you to end up distrusting the Jedi."
She looked at him then. "You don't trust them either," she pointed out. "You know there's stuff they're not telling us—more specifically, me—when I'm apparently right at the crux of their plan to stop Malak and the Sith. And you can see as well as I do that everything they tell us about that and my supposed bond with Bastila is full of holes."
"Okay—yes," Carth admitted. "And it's got me nervous as hell, but—"
"Me too," Aithne said. "Like I said—echo chamber. There's more, too, but I don't want to talk about it. Just—please respect that. Unlike your trust issues, mine actually have nothing to do with you, except for the fact that you alerted me to the fact that there were issues. You're probably the only person I do trust right now. Someday soon, I might want to discuss everything with you. When I know more, or when I have more of an idea exactly what it is I'm sensing. But for now—"
"Okay," Carth agreed. "Alright, beautiful. Just—I'm here. You know that, right?"
Aithne glanced over at him. "You like being the hero too," she observed, calling back to a conversation they'd had on Taris.
Carth laughed, a little self-consciously. "Well. To be fair, that's something I have in common with a lot of guys."
"Step off, Onasi," Aithne advised him. "You tend to take too much on, anyway."
Carth looked confused for a moment, then his face cleared. "What, you mean Mission? I—I had the time. You didn't. And it's not like I could let her go through . . . go through everything alone. I mean, I care about her too."
"I know," Aithne told him, as the Matale mansion came into sight in the distance. "And I know everything you two have been doing together has probably been a distraction for you both. But I also know you've been barely bearing up under your own grief and strain after Telos, even four years down the line, and you've been taking on a lot of Mission's too. Doing it better than I ever could, mind, or anyone who hasn't been there. But still. I feel bad enough for all that. Don't need you to be my shoulder too, especially if you're only doing it to save the damsel in distress."
"I don't—I'm not—"
Aithne looked at him. He was blushing now. "You are," she said gently. "And I appreciate the sentiment. I'm grateful for Mission more than I can even start to tell you. But I don't need a hero." Whether she wanted one or not was a different matter. She still remembered the way it had felt to have him hold her back on Taris, hold her like he meant it, shutting out everything and everyone else in the entire galaxy, with his fingers on the back of her neck and his lips centimeters from her ear. Completely safe except for the bottom of her stomach dropping out, her lungs forgetting to breathe, her heart starting up like the beginning of a swoop race, and her knees turning to jelly. More, the way he'd hugged her or held her hand later and actually meant it, times she'd been looking out into the dark and just needed to feel someone was there.
She nodded at two speeder bikes up ahead, a tall shaggy figure and a smaller, girlish one beside it. "Conversation's over," she said, and if she hadn't minded talking as much as she'd thought she would, that was just one more thing she didn't need.
"Hey there," Mission said as they walked up. "So, I hear we're trying to stop a Dantooinian blood feud or something?"
Carth explained the situation to Mission and Zaalbar as the four of them walked up the paved path to the entrance to the Matale mansion. It was huge to the point of being ostentatious. There was nothing understated or unassuming. Everything was ornate and in the best of taste, but the sheer muchness of it was rather overwhelming, Aithne thought. Still, it did make for a nice distraction.
Aithne alerted the doorkeeper droid to their presence, and the master of the property was duly fetched. Ahlan Matale emerged from his household accompanied by no less than four security droids. The entourage echoed the muchness of the house, but the implication that Matale expected an attack from an envoy of the Jedi Council was yet another indication of the ego he'd displayed in the Council chamber.
"My protocol droid tells me you are here on behalf of the Council," he said. "I was beginning to think my demands had been ignored. Though I think your time would be better spent interrogating the Sandrals as to the whereabouts of my son Shen!"
"Are you so certain the Sandrals are to blame?" Aithne asked.
"Many years ago, I brought my family here to Dantooine to escape the crush of humanity on the Core Worlds," Mr. Matale explained, with some impatience. He tapped his foot just enough for Aithne to clearly see the movement. "Soon after we settled here, the Sandrals arrived. And they have been a plague on my house ever since!"
"Somehow, I imagine the story from the Sandrals would sound about the same, don't you?" Carth remarked.
Matale glared. "The injustices the Sandrals have committed against the Matales are far too numerous to name, but the Council is aware of our many disputes. Recently, I discovered several Sandral droids trespassing on my land."
"Did the droids communicate their purpose?" Aithne asked, hoping the man had come to a point.
"I have no idea what nefarious purpose lay behind their arrival," Matale shrugged. "My own assassination, perhaps. Destruction of my property. Maybe a simple spy mission. I wasn't about to find out. My own security droids destroyed the invaders; not a single one survived. It was shortly after this that Shen, my only son and heir to the Matale estate, vanished. Obviously Nurik, the unscrupulous head of the Sandral clan, has abducted my son in retaliation for the destruction of his droids!"
That would be a fairly ridiculous escalation of the situation, Aithne thought, but if Sandral had anything like Matale's temper, it could be true. She only said, "We shall go speak to Nurik Sandral."
This seemed to anger Ahlan Matale for some reason. "The only resolution possible is the immediate return of my son!" he cried. "Why does the Council insist on stalling? The life of my son is at stake! Is it possible . . ." abruptly Mr. Matale's face went still. "Yes," he said, in quite a different tone. "Of course. Now I understand. I am a man of the world. I know how things are done. I will make a . . . contribution . . . of one thousand credits to the Council in exchange for rescuing Shen from the Sandrals. I will present the credits directly to you, of course. Whether the Council ever learns of this 'donation' is completely up to you."
If anything, Aithne was amused. "If you 'understand' due process as playing for a bribe, I'm afraid you've understood the wrong message," she said. "The Council couldn't investigate, and then they could. I'm here to take your statement and then find out what there is to find. No lubrication of the wheels of justice needed here."
Matale smiled, as if he did not believe her. "Nevertheless," he replied, "my offer still stands. One thousand credits for Shen's safe return. Know, however," he said, now in a threatening tone, "that I will not sit idly by much longer. Eventually, I will take whatever action is necessary to rescue my son . . . including razing the entire Sandral estate!"
Carth stepped forward, gaze challenging the rich landowner. "You would be willing to risk open war over this?" he asked.
"It is the Sandrals who have started this!" he declared, "Not I!"
"And here I thought you would blame us, if we failed," replied Carth in a reasonable tone. His gaze hardened, and he continued. "It seems everyone is responsible for your actions except for you."
"Bravo, Carth," Aithne muttered.
Ahlan Matale stepped back, offended. "I don't need to stand here and listen to . . . such . . . such impertinence!"
"I've seen men like this before," Carth said. "He's so convinced that his hatred is justified, he's prepared to do anything, and if we don't intervene, there will be war."
Ahlan Matale seemed to feel that he'd been ignored enough. "Until you find Shen, Jedi," he spat. "We have nothing further to discuss. I suggest you hurry south to their estate, lest I take matters into my own hands." With a dramatic flourish worthy of a professional actor, he retreated into his mansion.
"Wanna take bets that Shen just up and left?" Mission muttered. "I would if I were him."
They made their way back to the speeders. Mission looked at Aithne and Carth from underneath her eyelashes, then moved to get on one of the speeders with Big Z. Her machinations were ridiculously transparent, but since Big Z sharing with Mission was also the most efficient weight distribution for the speeders, Aithne didn't protest. "You driving, or am I?" Carth asked.
Aithne considered. She wouldn't be able to see anything ahead if he drove; he was just enough taller and bigger than she was to pretty much completely obstruct her view. On the other hand, if she drove, a lot more of him could end up wrapped around a lot more of her than she was necessarily comfortable with. She thought she could avoid a similar situation if she was in back. So . . . "You're the pilot," she said.
Carth got on the speeder and hung his pack from a horn in front of the seat, and then Aithne got up onto the seat behind him. She grabbed his belt with one hand and the underside of the seat with the other. Her thighs were touching his, but that couldn't really be helped. Her torso was a good few centimeters away, and she could balance with the Force.
"Ugh, you're hopeless," she heard from a certain teenage Twi'lek's direction, but then the speeder bikes were running and they were moving further north and east toward the grove and, eventually, the Sandral estates.
Don't think about it, don't think about it, Aithne told herself, looking off to the side into the seemingly endless sea of grass instead of studying Carth's back and head. That was when she saw the knot of kath hounds huddled around a kill. At first, she thought it was an iriaz or a baby piket or something. Then she caught a glimpse of fabric.
"To the left!" she yelled out. Carth and Mission, who was piloting her and Zaalbar's speeder, turned instantly. With two speeders bearing down on them, the kath hounds fled, and Aithne sprang off her and Carth's speeder to the grisly remains of the kath hounds' meal.
The corpse was in worse shape than Nemo at the Builder ruin. This had obviously not been the first meal the kath hound pack had made of the corpse—an entire leg and arm and large portions of the torso had been completely gnawed away from the skeleton, and flies and slime and saliva had gathered on the rest. Parasites crawled in the eye sockets of a boy of about eighteen years old.
Mission took one look and went pale. She dashed off to the side and vomited. When she was finished, she stood shakily. "It's . . . uh . . . different out here from the Undercity," she explained. "Everything's all peaceful and pretty and . . . I'll just . . . uh . . . I'll keep watch for the kath hounds."
Aithne nodded. "Shen?" she asked Carth and Zaalbar in an undertone.
Zaalbar had been poking through the boy's pack lying nearby—bloodied and with a torn shoulder strap, but untouched by the kath hounds otherwise. /Here,/ he said, holding up a datapad. /A diary. It is not Shen, but Casus Sandral./
Aithne translated. "Those droids Sandral sent then, they were probably looking for him," Carth guessed.
/Casus's intentions here were not violent,/ Zaalbar said. /The final entry says he had been exploring some of the ruins near here. He was like Mission and I—or had an interest in things of that nature./
"He went missing," Aithne said. "And when Sandral's droids came looking for him, and Matale's droids destroyed the search party, Sandral must have assumed Matale had either killed or kidnapped Casus."
"So, Mr. Matale's probably right that Sandral's responsible for Shen's disappearance," Carth concluded. "We should hurry."
"Zaalbar, give me the datapad," Aithne said. "But—before we go—"
She ignited her lightsaber, and with it, cut a rectangle about 1 meter by 1.8 meters square into the dry Dantooinian earth. Concentrating with all her might, she used the Force to shift the earth within away from the spot. She didn't do it perfectly. Earth crumbled and fell away from the mass, showering underneath. Quite a lot of it ended up on her. Then she had to repeat the whole process twice more before she had a deep enough hole. She was shaking and sweating with the strain before she was finished. She started to stoop for Casus's body then, but Zaalbar stopped her, picking up what was left of the boy's oozing corpse himself and lowering it gently into the pit. Then he started to manually push the dirt Aithne had moved back into the makeshift grave. Carth joined him. Once she had a drink from her canteen, so did Aithne, and once the corpse was hidden from view, Mission came last of all. They all packed the earth tight with their boots, then looked at one another—satisfied the kath hounds wouldn't be eating any more of Casus Sandral.
They climbed back on the speeders, and this time, Aithne went ahead and wrapped her arms around Carth's waist and leaned her head up against his back. She was still shaking; she was so tired. She didn't care that she was filthy and stinking—so was he. She even fell asleep on the way to the Sandrals.
She woke up when he shook her knee. "Aithne."
"I'm up," she said. "Where are we?"
She saw before he could answer. The Sandral house was smaller than the Matale's, but the grounds were nicer. "What's our approach?" Carth was asking. "The man's a kidnapper."
Aithne fished Casus Sandral's diary from her pack and swung down from the speeder. She was dizzy. She needed dinner and to go back to sleep, but there wasn't time for that. "We tell him about his son," she answered. "Get inside the house. See what happens."
Although Sandral had a protocol droid doorman just like Matale, when Aithne gave her name and purpose to Sandral's droid, they were escorted inside the house. The interior was comfortable and well furnished without being elaborate, but Aithne saw an up-to-the-minute alarm system at the door and another equally high-tech service droid around the corner. There would be more inside.
Presently, a man who looked to be in his mid-fifties came out of rooms further inside the house. A tangible miasma of grief surrounded him. While Matale had seemed to view the disappearance of his son mostly as an excuse to fight with Sandral, it was immediately obvious that Sandral missed his son terribly.
"I have been informed by my protocol droid that you have news of my son Casus," Nurik Sandral said, looking from Aithne to the rest of them, taking in their disheveled appearances.
Aithne stepped forward and handed Sandral the datapad. "Mr. Sandral, I'm very sorry. Your son is dead. He was killed by kath hounds while exploring some ruins to the south. We would have brought his body as well as this datapad to you—but I'm not sure you would have wanted to see it. I can give you the coordinates of the grave, however, if your family would like to retrieve his remains."
"You buried him, and brought his diary home to us," Sandral repeated, reeling. "Kath hounds . . . I was so certain the Matale family was to blame. Please, let me give you something for your trouble. I have one hundred credits . . ." He rummaged in his pockets.
"Keep your credits," Carth said. "We only did what anyone would."
"You're kind, but I . . ." Sandral's face began to crumple. "Please," he said, voice breaking. "Leave me to my grief."
He staggered away and back through the door which he had come in by. "Poor guy," Mission said. "Should we . . . go, or something? I mean, you think Shen is really here? Mr. Sandral seems a lot nicer than Mr. Matale."
Aithne paused, but as she started to agree, another person strode through the doors leading deeper into the house. A young woman, maybe nineteen. She had Nurik's coloring, and had obviously been crying as well. Her features were too strong for classical beauty, but her face had character, and Aithne liked her on sight.
"You are here from the Council, are you not? Looking for Shen Matale?" she asked them in a low voice.
"That's not the official story—" Aithne began.
The girl cut her off. "My name is Rahasia. Nurik is my father."
"Aithne Moran," said the same. "I'm a Padawan from the Council. My companions are Zaalbar, Major Carth Onasi, and Mission Vao. We'd shake your hand, but—" she emphasized her filthy palms with a grimace.
"We don't have time for the formalities. You must listen to me, quickly," Rahasia said, speaking in a fast, very quiet voice. "My father has not been himself since Casus disappeared. He is mad with grief, and he has been convinced the Matales were responsible. He is not thinking rationally."
"The Matales had nothing to do with your brother's disappearance, Ms. Sandral," Aithne said. "We've just finished telling your father what happened. Casus ran into kath hounds on the plains. I'm sorry."
"Yes, I know, but I'm afraid now it might not matter," Rahasia answered. "Look, my father is a good man. When my mother died, he raised me and my brother by himself. He loves his children and we . . ." she hissed in a breath and bit her lip. "And I—I love him. I just don't want you to judge him too harshly."
"But now he's done something you don't approve of. What's going on, Ms. Sandral?" Carth asked.
"You must understand that Father has been under a terrible strain," Rahasia insisted. "I have no wish to disobey him, but there are matters where even my father's authority is not absolute."
"Just get to the point, already!" Mission burst out. "He's taken Shen, hasn't he?"
Rahasia hesitated. Then she bit her lip again and nodded. "After our droid search party was destroyed on Matale lands. Father was convinced it had to mean Mr. Matale had taken or killed Casus. He kept saying if Mr. Matale hurt Casus, he'd never see Shen again. And now that Casus is dead, I do not know if he will let Shen go, even though Mr. Matale had nothing to do with my brother's disappearance. It may be enough that Casus died near Matale's lands. Padawan Moran, I'm frightened. I don't want my father to do something he will regret forever once he returns to himself.
"Shen is a prisoner in a cell on the northern side of the house," Rahasia continued. She pressed a card into Aithne's hand. "This key will open an unguarded door at the rear of the estate. You and Shen can make your escape through there, though there are many security droids guarding the halls. I would take you myself—"
"But you can't be caught," Aithne finished. "Understood."
"Shen is an innocent victim in all this," Rahasia said. "Please, rescue him!"
"Thank you, Rahasia," Aithne said, and then, on a hunch— "Do you want us to tell Shen anything for you?"
Rahasia hesitated. "He will know," she said. "Understand, Padawan Moran, Shen and I were taught to hate one another, just for being related to our fathers. But I met Shen alone one day in the capital, away from his father, and, and Shen was so charming. So sweet. He didn't care at all that I was a Sandral, he just accepted me for who I was, with no reservations. We talked, and met again over months, and fell in love. My brother Casus met him too, and they were beginning to become friends . . ." Fresh tears welled up in her eyes, and her voice broke. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to see him again after this whole mess, but as long as he's safe, I—it will have to be enough. Please, just save him!"
"We will," Aithne promised. Rahasia gave them one last look and vanished back into the main house. Aithne led the others out the front door and around to the rear entrance Rahasia had mentioned.
/I do not like sneaking the Matale boy out in this fashion,/ Zaalbar growled. /It could be Rahasia Sandral who is punished for his disappearance from Sandral's home./
"Did you have a better idea?" Mission asked. "We can't just leave him here! If Mr. Sandral's daughter says he might go crazy and hurt Shen, it's a good bet she's right. I mean, she seems to like her father. I don't like bringing Shen back to that awful Mr. Matale, but I guess it's probably better than being a prisoner."
They keyed open the rear door. The first assault droid spotted them right away. Aithne activated her lightsaber and sprang at it, cutting it down in two strokes before it could sound the alarm. Sweeping the hallway, they found some mines, which Mission retrieved for them before they proceeded. This was obviously the wing of the house where Sandral kept most of his valuables, as well as his prisoner.
The first door they tried turned out to lead to the main security room and three more assault droids. Aithne and Zaalbar cut them down; they didn't want the sound of blaster fire to alert any other droids, or Sandral, if he was nearby.
There was a security console in the room. Aithne walked over to it. "Mish, could I get a few computer spikes?" she asked presently.
Mission rummaged in her pack, then handed the requested items over. Aithne worked for a few moments. Then, throughout the house, there was the sound of several muffled explosions. Aithne smiled.
Mission grinned too. "Uh-oh. Don't tell us. We can guess."
"Did you just blow up every assault droid Sandral owns?" Carth demanded, incredulous.
"Just the assault droids," Aithne confirmed. "I left the protocol droids and serving droids. I think the Jedi would approve of me making it a little harder for Sandral to fight his neighbors. If it makes you feel any better, if I'd had the chance, I would've blown up Matale's droids too."
"Would probably do a hell of a lot more good, as far as I can see," Carth muttered.
"For all his threats, Matale's only blown up trespassers on his property. Sandral's the one who's escalated to kidnap, even though he seems the nicer," Aithne pointed out. "Come on. I found Shen's prison on the cameras."
She led the others through the halls. When they stood in front of the door, Aithne nodded to Mission. "You want to do the honors?"
"Want to? Please, I live for this stuff," Mission said, stepping into place. In three seconds flat, she'd cracked the cell open. The door opened, and Aithne found herself face to face with a young man, perhaps twenty, who had been pacing up and down in his cell.
Aithne had to give Sandral credit for humane treatment of his hostages. The cell was tiny but well furnished, and Shen Matale didn't appear to have a scratch on him. A meal lay finished on a small table to the right, and there were both sheets and a comforter on the low bed against the back wall. Shen was a handsome young man, Aithne thought, if a bit short. He must take after his mother, whoever she was, because the dark hair and regular features didn't resemble his father.
Now, however, those features were twisted in confusion. "Who are you?" he asked. "What do you want with me? Are you working for my father?"
"Jedi Council," Aithne corrected him, lifting her inactive lightsaber to show him and grimacing. "I know we probably don't look it at the moment. This is Mission Vao, Major Carth Onasi, and Zaalbar. But we are here to rescue you."
Shen raised his hands and stepped back. "Rescue me? No. I won't leave. It's too dangerous."
Aithne raised her eyebrows. "The assault droids are all blown up," she pointed out. "And there are four of us with weapons, and two speeders out front. I'd venture to say we'll probably be fine."
"It's not my own safety I'm concerned about," Shen clarified. "I am worried about the fate of Nurik's daughter, Rahasia. She has been trying to convince her father to release me ever since I was captured. If I escape, Nurik will think Rahasia is to blame. Nurik is insane with grief over the loss of his son, Casus," Shen explained, his face full of compassion. "If I leave with you, it is Rahasia who will suffer. I cannot allow that."
Aithne looked at Zaalbar. "You called it, Big Z," she sighed. She put her hands on her hips. "Okay, but we've got to get you out of here, Shen. How can I convince you to come with us?"
"If you can convince Rahasia to escape with us I will accompany you," Shen promised. "Though I do not know if she would be willing to turn her back on her home and family. Who could imagine a Sandral doing such a thing for the sake of a Matale? But if she will not go, then I too shall stay. I would rather face my own death than have her face her father's wrath because I escaped."
"Sandral probably isn't going to kill his only remaining child, however mad he gets with her," Aithne pointed out. "Your odds aren't so great." But when Shen didn't budge, she drooped. "Fine. We'll go talk to Rahasia."
They left Shen in his cell and went tromping through the house toward the main living quarters. "Starting to wish I had gone back with Bastila to report and left all this mess to someone else," Aithne muttered.
"Yeah, love," Mission said sarcastically. "Who needs it, right?"
Aithne glared at her. "I've got no problem with Rahasia," she said. "She's a wonderful girl who, even grieving her brother, is willing to expose her father's criminal activity to the authorities and potentially give up her lover for good to keep him safe, because it's smart. But Shen's just being stupid. Sandral won't do anything too bad to Rahasia. Now, if Shen was just making Rahasia an excuse not to head on home . . ."
"Yeah, I could get that," Mission agreed. "Anyway, it didn't look like Mr. Sandral was treating him too bad. It could be Rahasia's as crazy as she says her dad is and in a little while, Mr. Sandral might see reason."
"We can't take that chance, though, Mission," Carth pointed out. "Shen and Rahasia know their fathers a lot better than we do. If they think there's a danger, there probably is."
They got lucky enough to find Rahasia before they found her father; the security console hadn't had cameras trained on the family quarters. When they found Rahasia, she looked terrified. "What are you doing here?" she whispered. "Haven't you found Shen yet?"
"We found him," Aithne confirmed. "Tried to rescue him and everything, but the idiot won't leave without you, Rahasia."
This, though, made the Sandral girl light up with smiles. "Shen can be so stubborn sometimes!" she said, delighted. "But if one of the security droids sees me wandering the halls, Father will get suspicious. I can't risk it."
Aithne cleared her throat. "Yeah, well . . . um, the security droids might not be much of a problem."
Rahasia looked, if possible, even more worried than before. "I know Shen would rather die than leave me here alone to face the wrath of my father. And he'll be angry—"
"Hey," Mission reasoned. "You were worried you'd never see Shen again, right? If you run away with him now, at least that won't be a problem."
Rahasia hesitated, then seemed to come to a decision. "Alright. I'll do it," she said. "Tell Shen I will meet you outside the gates. Please hurry." She turned to her dresser and began stuffing a bag with essentials. Aithne and the others wheeled around and went trotting back through the rear wing of the Sandral house.
When they reached Shen, they found him pacing even more anxiously than before. "You keep that up, and you'll wear a tunnel out so we don't even need to go back through the door," she observed. Shen turned.
"Have you spoken with Rahasia?"
"She promised to meet us outside the gates," Aithne reported.
"I pray she is not just telling me what I want to hear," murmured Shen. "But I will have to take that chance. Come. We must not keep Rahasia waiting."
By the time they had left through the rear door and circled the house to the front again, Rahasia was waiting for them. The kids flew into one another's arms. Aithne guessed they did probably need it. It sounded as though Sandral had kept his daughter locked up in her room almost as strictly as he'd kept Shen locked up in his cell since the beginning of the Matale kid's imprisonment, and both had been more worried about the other than themselves, not to mention Casus Sandral.
"Quick tip," Aithne advised them. "When running away, it's usually a good idea to run first and hug later. Look, we've got two speeders, but we won't fit three to a speeder. You two take one, and Carth and Mission can take the other to escort you back to the Jedi enclave. They offer housing to refugees, and you can probably buy your way onto an Aratech transport shuttle there if you need to, too. Zaalbar and I can stay behind to deal with any pursuit."
"Thank you for all you have done," Shen told them. "We know you must have gone to great personal risk to get us out of the Sandral estate undetected. Is there anything we can do for you?"
They hadn't told him about the droids. "Look, 'undetected' is a stretch," Aithne admitted. "You two need to go, now. It's nothing, trust me."
"But surely we can . . ." Shen began, but the grass swooshed, and a fallen branch cracked in the distance. They all looked south and saw a very angry-looking Ahlan Matale making his way up the trail, two assault droids in tow.
And of course, that was when the door behind them opened as well, and Nurik Sandral came out. He had clearly discovered the sabotage of his guards or the disappearance of the young people. He also had armed droids behind him, though his, Aithne noted with satisfaction, were protocol droids that looked very confused by their new function.
Matale had drawn close enough to see Shen. For a split second, relief darted across his face. But then anger and annoyance overtook it.
"There you are, Shen!" he shouted.
Shen moved between his father and Rahasia. "Father," he said, sounding apprehensive.
"Mr. Matale," Rahasia whimpered, clinging to her lover.
"Rahasia!" called Sandral, closing in on them. He gestured furiously to his side.
Rahasia only pressed in closer to Shen. "Father, I—"
"Mr. Sandral," Shen began. "I can—"
But Matale had drawn level with the group. Aithne made a gesture to Carth and Zaalbar with her fingers and caught Mission's eye. The four of them took up positions around Shen and Rahasia, facing off with the two old men.
"Nurik," Matale spat.
"Ahlan," Sandral said in the same tone of hatred.
"I knew this was all your doing," Matale growled at Sandral, justly enough, Aithne supposed. "I knew you had captured my son!"
"You had taken my Casus from me long before that!" Sandral retorted, not justly at all. "You started it!"
"Sandral, he didn't," Aithne said. "Your son just happened to die near his lands. Matale didn't even know Casus was missing. He destroyed your droid search party without bothering to ask any questions, which, granted, was rude, but you also had sent them trespassing on his lands without notice. As for you, Matale, Sandral's acted rashly, but he hasn't hurt your son."
"Please, listen to Padawan Moran, Father," Shen begged.
"Why should I listen to the Jedi?" Matale snarled. "Or to you? Look at you, standing beside that Sandral harlot!"
"My daughter is not a harlot, Matale dog!" cried Nurik Sandral from behind Aithne. Carth and Rahasia turned to face him, to stop him from making a move.
"Both of you," called Aithne in a voice of command she didn't know she had, "Calm down now!" She layered her voice with the Force, willing the two old patriarchs to obey her. "Your madness has brought your children to this. You were within a few moments of losing them both. If you're prepared to listen, it might not come to that."
"We are willing to be reasonable here," Sandral said, controlling his tone with difficulty. "We are sensible people, after all. And, as you say, if Mr. Matale truly had nothing to do with Casus's disappearance, and no knowledge of it—"
"Of course I didn't, you paranoid old fossil!" Matale snapped. "I would never dream of kidnapping or harming a man's only son! That treachery is something only a Sandral could dream up! Shen, leave that Sandral girl this moment! We're going home!"
"I won't, Father," Shen said.
"Shen is capable of making decisions on his own," Aithne said, layering her voice with the Force once again.
Ahlan seemed to wither. "But he is my son! I don't want to lose him . . ."
"And I won't let my daughter go with him!" Sandral cried. Aithne turned to face him.
"That's her choice, Sandral," she said. "She's a grown woman, and this has been going on for months." Rahasia barely qualified as a woman, but honestly, Aithne did believe she was better off with Shen than with either of the Matale-Sandral patriarchs.
"Rahasia," Sandral pled, looking at his daughter. "So soon after Casus?"
Rahasia's eyes shone, and a tear ran down her face. She left Shen and ran to Nurik, embracing him. "Oh, Father, I am sorry. I love you! But I—I love Shen more."
Nurik bowed his head over his daughter's shoulder and held her in silence for a long, long moment. "I—I understand," he said brokenly then. "I—I felt the same . . . about your mother." Then he looked up over Rahasia's head at his rival. "I don't know why we fight like this, Ahlan. We got along in the beginning, didn't we?"
He released his daughter, and she returned to Shen's side. The two watched their parents, waiting.
"I don't know how you can think of that when we have our children trying to run away together," grumped Ahlan.
"Your son—he isn't so bad," Sandral admitted. "He seems to genuinely care for my Rahasia. He might be a good husband for her someday."
Matale looked over the two young people, and his hard face softened. "Humph. As much as I may dislike it, I think I see it too."
"Then you're willing to let them remain together?" Aithne asked.
Matale considered. "I suppose—I suppose I might be convinced to see that Sandral girl with my son," he admitted. "If she is loyal to him. But I don't trust you a centimeter further, old man!" He flung the words at Nurik like a challenge. "Your daughter may treat Shen well, but you will never see them. They will live with me!"
"Great, a custody battle," Carth muttered. "This guy's a real piece of work."
"Of course not, you pompous old windbag!" Sandral cried, "They'll be living with me!"
Neither man moved to hurt the other, though. They knew that were they to kill each other now, it would only distress their children. And if Aithne was sure of one thing by this point, it was that in their separate ways, both Matale and Sandral loved their children, though she still preferred Sandral.
"Why don't you compromise?" she suggested.
"I will not have them set foot in a Sandral household!" declared Ahlan.
"They shall not live with the Matales!" Nurik responded, with equal vehemence.
Rahasia spoke up suddenly. "Do you propose to buy us a new house, then?" she asked, as if this was the only logical solution.
Both men opened their mouths to shout some more, then shut them. For a moment, both resembled nothing so much as a pair of gray old fish. Sandral was the first to speak. "Um . . . well, yes, actually that sounds like a good idea."
Ahlan looked dazed. "I'm surprised—that does sound like a good idea."
"A neutral territory where you both may visit your children and forget for a time about this pointless feud. I approve," said Aithne.
"We should discuss this more," Sandral said, beckoning to Ahlan. The droids forgotten, the two old men strode off into the fields to discuss the purchase of a Matale-Sandral household.
Shen and Rahasia sighed in relief. "Padawan Moran—thank you," Shen said, after his father and Rahasia's were out of earshot. "Thank you for bringing us together and getting our parents to accept us."
"Thank you to all of you," Rahasia said. "You were willing to stand in the middle ground between the assault droids of both our fathers. You were brave and good. Your names—Aithne, Mission, Carth, and Zaalbar?"
"Yes," Aithne confirmed.
"We will praise you to the Council," Rahasia promised, "and name our children after you."
Aithne laughed at that. "A Dantooinian family with a human Aithne, Mission, Carth, and Zaalbar," she said. "That'd be something to see."
"I never had a namesake before," Mission said, "We'll have to come back to Dantooine someday to meet the little Sandral-Matales, you know?"
"Good luck," Carth told Shen and Rahasia. "You both deserve it."
"We will remember you always," Shen promised in his turn.
Aithne and the others walked away from the happy couple. "Guess no one's running away today," Aithne remarked. "How boring."
Zaalbar made a low rumbling sound that was his equivalent of laughter. /You did well, Aithne Moran. Had we not been there, two families would have been severed or a blood feud would have broken out. I for one will sleep well this night./
Remembering what waited for her back at the enclave, Aithne forced a smile. "Yeah. Wish I could say the same." She got back on the speeder bike behind Carth. "If I promise not to drool, will you let me sleep on you again?" she asked.
She felt Carth's chuckle. "Sure, beautiful," he said. "All bets are off if you drool, though. You drool, I'm dumping you into the dirt."
Aithne looked down at her robes and tangled hair. "Couldn't make me look worse than I look already," she said.
The sun was red over the Dantooine plains and little insects could be heard chirping in the brush when they all finally returned to the enclave. Aithne was tired and itchy and just about starving. She slid off the bike to the ground in front of Ebon Hawk. "I've got first turn in the fresher," she said. "I need to head back to the Council to make my full report with Bastila."
After showering and changing into an old combat suit for lack of a fresh robe to change into, Aithne trudged up to the enclave once again, stomach growling. Odd, how physical urges could distract from mental upset. Aithne knew she wasn't going to like what the Council would tell her after she gave them the Star Map data from the ruins. She'd liked nothing they'd told her so far. But as hungry and as tired as she was, she couldn't bring herself to care overmuch. Finding and burying Casus Sandral and sorting out Shen and Rahasia's little melodrama had done that much.
She found Bastila meditating in the courtyard a few yards from the Council chambers, where she'd met Juhani the night before. The other Padawan rose as she entered. "Aithne, you've returned—though improperly dressed for a formal debrief with the Council."
Aithne shook her head. "Trust me, the way I was dressed after today wasn't suitable either, and I haven't had time to do laundry. Figure the Council's been waiting for hours, and they probably don't want to wait for me to wash my clothes or requisition something new from the quartermaster. You take care of Nemo at the ruin?"
"Yes, and attended his farewell ceremony with several of his other friends from the enclave," Bastila confirmed. "You solved the issue with the Matales and the Sandrals?"
"It could have been a holovid drama," Aithne said. "I'll tell you about it later. We should report."
"The Council has waited this long," Bastila said, catching Aithne's arm. "They can wait for half an hour longer. You're half dead upon your feet. Whatever occurred with the Matales and the Sandrals, I sense it took a still greater psychic and emotional toll upon you than our exertions of this morning. Have you eaten anything since this morning?"
Aithne shook her head wearily.
"Come," Bastila said. She led Aithne to the cafeteria. She heaped a tray with meat, fruit, and vegetables for Aithne, and got a piece of fruit and a small tart for herself, having clearly already eaten her own evening meal. They sat at a vacant table, and for several minutes, Bastila let Aithne devour her meal in peace. But she stared intermittently at Aithne, poking at her tart with her fork rather than truly eating it.
Aithne swallowed a piece of bread, steaming and airy. "Go ahead," she said finally.
Bastila, ever the dutiful Jedi, had only needed the permission. "Now that we have found the Star Map, the bond the Jedi have told us about becomes of much more consequence. It may be that the two of us shall be working together for quite some time. I do not dispute the fact that our bond exists. I can feel it, as I'm sure you can. But how this may affect any mission we undertake in the future remains in question."
Aithne sighed. "I'm tired, Bastila. Cut to the chase, please."
"I admit, I'm a little disturbed that we are bonded in such a way—that the bond exists in the first place," Bastila said.
"Yes, and you said so this morning."
"Please, hear me out," Bastila said. "I saw your service records when you were transferred aboard Endar Spire. I have observed you on Taris and throughout your training, but I confess I know very little about your history. I suppose I just . . . want to get to know you better."
Aithne chewed her forkful of steak, swallowed, and laid down her fork. "You saw my service records when the Jedi asked for my transfer, you mean," she said. She groaned, rubbed her temples, and closed her eyes.
"I explained—we were short on reconnaissance personnel," Bastila began. "You were stationed closer than anyone of comparable skill—" Aithne heard the flustered edge to the Jedi's voice and tried to suss out whether it was because she, Aithne, was pressing again or because Bastila was lying.
She couldn't decide, but she knew one thing. "Look, sorting through what's true, what's a half-truth, and what's a load of crap after this day is giving me a headache. Your dessert is forfeit." She snatched Bastila's poor abused tart over to her own tray. Bastila's mouth dropped open, her cheeks turned pink, but then she actually smiled, held up her hands, and allowed it. Aithne picked up a forkful of tart and pointed it at Bastila. "I'm holding off Carth for now, mostly because I don't want to deal with the mountain of stuff you and the Council aren't telling me either, but I can tell you right now, our reprieve from Republic won't last."
Aithne shoved her forkful of tart into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. The flavor burst in her mouth, and she did her best to savor it. She had a feeling it would be some of the last, fresh real food she would get for a while.
"Carth's inclusion in our doings for the Council is merely a courtesy to the Republic," Bastila said. "If you mean to threaten me with his prying, it may be an irritation, but it will be little more than that."
Aithne shrugged. "A little bit of irritation can go a long way to ruining someone's day, week, month, and life. Just saying. You never caught him at his worst back on Taris."
"No, that, I believe, is something that is reserved for you."
"Everyone reserves their worst suspicions for me," Aithne said. "Like I'm walking around in a big black cloak with 'treacherous snake' tattooed across my forehead. I'd like to know just what it is I'm supposed to have done or to be, except with you Jedi, when you get past all the dark hints and dire warnings, I'm scared you might actually be able to tell me. Now, before you key up the lecture, I know fear isn't the Jedi way, but I also only agreed to train as a Jedi, not to become one, and at any rate, I've only been here six weeks.
"So. I am practicing Jedi patience with whatever it is you and the Jedi aren't telling me until I can work through my fear and be ready to make you talk. But I will not make you talk until I'm no longer scared or I judge that knowing has become so vital I can't ignore it anymore. However, you should also know I'm keeping a log of all the times I think you're lying or trying to jerk me around and a log of the patterns I see in those times, and that when it becomes particularly annoying, I will take petty or passive-aggressive vengeance, which in its mildest forms may simply mean refusing to take the crap and in more serious forms might mean deliberately doing my utmost to drive you up the wall."
"And you're surprised we fear your Dark Side?" Bastila demanded, cheeks pink, "When you joke about torture and vengeance, as if they were laughing matters?!"
Aithne blinked. "See? That, right there. I never said I would torture you. I said I would make you talk, which could involve any number of ways or methods. Your mind went to torture."
She'd been trying to speak lightly, but the weight she'd been feeling for weeks in her chest suddenly felt too much to bear. She'd been feeling it through her bond with Bastila, through the warnings of Master Vrook and the way the other Council members took his fear-mongering seriously, even if they didn't repeat it to her face. She'd felt it after waking from her visions of Revan, in the ruin today with the droid who said she was like Revan.
Her temples pounded, and she tried to shield so Bastila wouldn't sense how truly distressed she was, but she'd only been shielding six weeks and couldn't always manage it. "What did you want to know about me?" she asked, as a cover.
"Well—everything," Bastila said. "I have known you only a few weeks, and we have been fighting for our lives or incredibly busy the entire time. Perhaps we could start with your background, with some of planets, corporations, and causes for which you have worked. Your file is somewhat sketchy, apart from the list of alien languages."
Aithne shrugged. "I've been all over," she answered. "Done a lot of work on Rim Worlds and around upcoming and recent battlefields in the Mandalorian Wars. I was a freelancer. I worked for corporate suppliers, bankers—scouting out safe routes for deliveries. Ran a few hostage and POW exchanges after the fighting ended on different worlds. In the past five years, I did some negotiations for isolated groups of Mandos trying to work out a deal on worlds they had to give back to the locals. Sometimes I got intel for bounty hunters when times were bad. Also did a lot of escort work for travelers navigating treacherous terrain—deserts and swamps, trackless wastes, and the like. Whatever legal work I could get that paid the bills and didn't get me tied into any major factions."
Listing it off calmed her down, thinking of all the trouble she'd got herself in and out of in the past. There'd been other jobs she thought would never end but had. There'd been other jobs she'd thought would kill her but hadn't. Nothing was ever as bad or dramatic as it seemed. It would be the same way with this saving-the-galaxy gig.
"And before that?" Bastila pressed. "You grew up on Deralia?"
"Till I was nineteen, yeah," Aithne said. "It's the hind end of nowhere on the Rim, but at least it's not a Hutt- or Exchange-controlled world like some of them." She finished Bastila's tart and went back to work on her own steak. "You want to tell me what you're looking for in all this personal information?"
There was a flash of anxiety from Bastila, and the other Jedi licked her lips. "Our backgrounds form our characters," she answered. "With a Jedi who joined the Order at the more usual time, I can make a reasonable guess at what their background might hold. You, however, are a mystery in that regard. Our connection allows us glimpses into each other's minds. We can feel some of what the other feels, and what I feel within you can sometimes trouble me. A Padawan must receive considerable training. They must learn to control their emotions and darker impulses. Often it takes years before using the Force can be considered safe. The fact that you are so strong in the Force and have had such relatively little training could have terrible consequences. For you, and for everyone around you. So, I want to know you, to see if I can . . . can begin to predict how you might act. I must confess, merely watching you, and only receiving passing glimpses of your mind over our bond—you are often beyond me, Aithne."
Aithne probed. She sensed only sincerity in Bastila's words. Sincerity, and an odd, shy earnestness, a confusion, what could be a budding fondness, tinged with apprehension. But all of it together just made her sad and frustrated. So, she looked straight into Bastila's wide blue eyes and let her shields down completely. "You all halfway think I'm bound to go bad," she said, very clearly and distinctly. "I've sensed it in you from the moment we first met, before I even knew that sensing was what I was doing, and it's the same with every master on the Council, even though Master Lamar is the only one who says so openly. Master Zhar is, on the whole, optimistic, but even he thinks I'm high risk. And you guys don't just think I'm going to go bad. You think I'm going to go Revan, Dark-Lord-of-the-Sith bad. And when I'm not pretending I don't notice, I joke and pretend like it doesn't bother me instead, but not only does it scare me, it hurts. I can't even excuse you and the Council the way I excuse Carth—when he thinks I'm about to stab him in the back, it really isn't personal; he's just got baggage. But as far as I can tell, this thing you and the Council have about me going Dark Side is very personal and based off of nothing more than the fact that I happen to have a similar power in the Force and a similar Force signature to a dead woman.
"Bastila, that's not good enough. I'm not out to screw anyone over. I'm not a traitor. I've never lied to you, and I'm not out to conquer the galaxy. I'm not perfect, and I'm not about your Jedi rules and Jedi religion even if I do have Jedi powers and training now. But I don't think I'm evil, and I like to think I have a choice to go that way."
She felt a wave of compassion, pity, and sympathy from Bastila. The younger woman reached across and gripped her hand. "Forgive us," she said. "In this time of war and conflict, when we have lost so many good Jedi to the Dark Side, it can be difficult not to be wary, especially when a Jedi's circumstances are . . . unusual, as yours are. You are unique, both in your sheer power and in your situation. When Carth suspects you of treachery, you forgive him, because he has experience of others he has known and admired who have betrayed him. You claim things are different here among the Jedi, but do you truly believe that is the case? Through your training, you yourself have often observed that we Jedi are individuals with passions, regrets, and failings just like those outside of our enclaves. We train to be better, we strive to do better, but we cannot always succeed. Think of how many pupils the masters here have seen fall, abandon their teachings and become the worst possible versions of themselves. Then imagine someone like you coming along—a veritable aurora within the Force. They cannot do without you, but if you fall, how much damage could someone like you do? The Republic's efforts against Malak and the Sith are already balanced upon a knife's edge! You and you alone could tip the scale, one way or the other."
"But no pressure," Aithne muttered.
"But you have a choice," Bastila continued, pressing her hand. "Of course you have a choice, always and forever. You must simply remain aware that the choices you make matter—not only to the war effort, but to my fate as well. There is much at stake. I believe there is a possibility that those who doubt you are wrong; with Master Lestin, I believe you could be our salvation. But I sense your struggles—with fear and frustration, with selfishness, arrogance, and calculation. I also sense the Light within you. I see you working through your Dark impulses to follow the Light! Maintain your self-awareness and self-control. We must all resist the influence of the Dark Side! It is everything we are fighting against! This is doubly important for you, with your natural affinity to the Force!"
Aithne shook Bastila's hand off. "Don't try to save me, Bas," she warned. "Believing there's a possibility those who doubt me might be wrong is also believing they're probably right. But no, you 'see the good in me,' so you're going to make sure I don't fall to that horrifically Dark fate. I don't need your help. I need you to actually believe in me, to get past what all those other Jedi have done and get it through your head that I'm not them, and I'm not Darth Revan, and a little eccentricity or weirdness in my circumstances doesn't have to turn me into a Dark Jedi either."
"Do not discount the risks!" Bastila warned. "Please. I am only concerned for you, for our mission, and for myself as well. Our destinies are intertwined. Everything one of us does will have consequences for the other. Any reckless behavior on your part is likely to affect me as well."
"And you call me calculating," Aithne said, disgusted. "Tell me, Bastila, is it your standing in the Order or your soul that's in jeopardy when I go off the deep end?"
She'd asked it sarcastically, but Bastila answered quite seriously. "Quite possibly both. I've staked a great deal upon your value to our Order, Aithne, and to our efforts against Malak and the Sith. But beyond that, you've spoken how the psychic overflow from my spirit can overwhelm yours, up to and including causing you physical pain. The bond between us does work both ways. And where you go, I am, to some extent, bound to follow."
That stopped Aithne up short. She searched the younger woman's face for any sign of deception, probed behind those sky-blue eyes. Bastila, too, had let her shields fall completely. She was telling Aithne nothing but the absolute truth right now. Aithne wrinkled her nose. "Well, don't do that!" she said. "I may not be evil or planning to head that way, but I'm never going to be the good-girl Jedi the Council's going to entirely approve of either. I am crazy. You know I'm crazy. I don't want to pull you there too."
"Consider that I may, without ever trying to 'save you,' actually manage to pull you up to sane," Bastila sniffed. "As I said, the bond does work both ways."
"Bas, if we're gonna play tug-of-war, you think you're gonna win?" Aithne asked, gently and not unkindly, but very seriously.
And in an instant, the shields were back, and so was the status quo. Despite Bastila's "belief" in her, despite the fact that she actually had vouched for Aithne and Aithne had seen her do it, Bastila was no less terrified of her than any of the Jedi Council when push came to shove. Aithne pushed aside the remnants of her supper. "Let's go," she said. "See what the Council has to say about your proposed Star Map hunt across the galaxy."
She and Bastila returned Aithne's tray to the cleanup line for the cafeteria droids, then walked down the hall and to the Council chambers. Sometimes Aithne wondered if the Council ever left, if the times she'd met Zhar in the training room or Dorak in the Archives were just figments of her imagination. They seemed to spend every waking hour just standing in a semicircle in the rotunda, waiting for her reports.
"Padawan Moran," Vandar greeted her. "Bastila has reported to us on your trip to the ruins this morning. You have done well in discovering the Star Map hidden there. But there is more you must do in the battle against Malak and the Sith."
"Color me shocked," Aithne said.
"We Jedi know victory over the Sith will not come through martial might," Vandar continued. "The Council has a mission for you."
"I have consulted our vast archives in an effort to discover the nature of this 'Star Forge,'" Dorak said, "but all my efforts have been in vain."
"Still," put in Vrook, "the Council is in agreement. The Star Forge must be found. Revan and Malak sought it out when they began their tragic fall; the Star Forge is surely a powerful tool of the Dark Side."
Vandar continued, "The Star Map in the ruins showed you four planets, but it was incomplete. It did not show the location of the Star Forge itself. We believe there may be similar Star Maps on other planets. Each Star Map is likely a small piece of a larger puzzle. Find the Star Maps on Kashyyyk, Tatooine, Manaan, and Korriban, and we believe they will lead you to the Star Forge."
Aithne looked from one to the other of the Council members. "You want me to do this?" she asked. "Not Bastila and a senior Jedi or two, assisted by me? You're putting me in charge?" That had been the last thing she expected, and it knocked her feet out from under her and made her feel more off-balance and apprehensive than ever. She glanced at Bastila, checking for signs of outrage or humiliation, but the Jedi's face was placid, and over their bond, there wasn't a single indicator of either surprise or distress. Bastila had expected her to be put in charge this time, or had already been told that she would be.
"It is a weighty responsibility for one so new to the Order," Vandar said, "but the Jedi have been ravaged by this war—by defections to Malak's cause and by Sith assassins. We realize the importance of this mission. Yet if we sent a company of Jedi Knights with you, we would surely draw the full attention of Malak and the Sith, dooming your efforts to failure. Although Bastila is the senior Padawan among you, her Battle Meditation can make her more suited to a support role than to the constant vigilance required of a commander. You were the leader of your efforts on Taris. You will continue in that role in your search for the Star Maps."
"I won't leave Zaalbar and Mission," Aithne said.
"We did not expect it," Vrook said.
"If any of your companions from Taris wish it, they may accompany you on this mission," Vandar added. "They possess skills you may find useful in your quest. Remember that secrecy and discretion are paramount to your success. You will not be able to hide the fact that you are a Jedi, nor should you. But the true nature of your mission must not reach Malak's ears. Nevertheless, you will not be without Jedi help either. We are also sending Bastila, for there is a powerful connection between you two, a connection that might be the key to unraveling the mysteries uncovered by Revan. And Juhani has also asked to accompany you," he added. "After long deliberation, we have granted her request."
Aithne blinked. The Cathar from the grove. She'd made knight, so at least the Jedi had acknowledged that she had completed her training missions. Theoretically, she had the seniority of both Aithne and Bastila, but Aithne didn't believe she was more capable, and it seemed like the Council agreed—if Juhani had had to request to join their mission, she was unambiguously coming on in a subordinate role despite her rank. Still, she was a strong warrior with at least a few more years' experience than Bastila had and a whole lot more than Aithne, and Aithne would be happy to have her along.
"Juhani nearly fell to the Dark Side," Vrook said. "Perhaps her presence will serve as a reminder of the dangers of that path."
"Yes, yes, 'don't turn evil, you reckless, feckless, arrogant degenerate.' I've heard you the 87 times you've told me and the 137 you haven't," Aithne told Vrook. She bowed to Master Vandar. "Thank you. We'll be glad of Juhani's aid."
Vandar bowed as well. "You may return here at any time. Dantooine will be a sanctuary for you, a safe haven. Here you can find supplies and whatever advice or other aid we may give you."
"When should we leave?" Aithne asked.
"You can leave whenever you wish," Vrook replied. "The sooner the better. The longer you wait, the stronger Malak becomes. But first, a warning, Padawan Moran—"
"'Don't turn evil, you reckless, feckless, arrogant degenerate'?" Aithne guessed.
Vrook met her eyes, and for once, Aithne could see the raw terror behind the constant veneer of harsh disapproval. She remembered Bastila's words: Think of how many pupils the masters here have seen fall, abandon their teachings and become the worst possible versions of themselves. Then imagine someone like you coming along—a veritable aurora within the Force. They cannot do without you, but if you fall, how much damage could someone like you do?
She shuddered, and Vrook spoke. "You jest, but the lure of the Dark Side may be more difficult to resist than you believe. I fear this quest to find the Star Forge could lead you down an all-too familiar path. The fate of the galaxy is in your hands, young Padawan. We pray you are up to the challenge. May the Force be with you."
Aithne and Bastila bowed again and left the Council chambers for what would be the last time in a while. They walked out into the courtyard, heading toward Ebon Hawk.
"You are troubled," observed Bastila presently.
"I expected to be sent out with you chasing Star Maps. I didn't expect to be put in charge," Aithne said. "I was nervous as a loth-cat this morning. Now, I'm—" she broke off. "Now, I feel like the Council just tossed me into the sea in the middle of a storm. Without a life preserver."
"Not without a life preserver," Bastila replied. "That is why I am accompanying you, Aithne, and Juhani as well. What are your orders?"
Aithne stopped just outside the ship, wondering if they'd still have it in the morning. On the whole, she thought so. She thought everyone aboard Ebon Hawk would sign up for this new mission she'd been assigned, but that just added a new weight to all that she bore already—the responsibility not only for making the decisions for two senior Jedi on a quest to save the galaxy but also for four more lives. And an astromech. She shook her head. "No orders," she said. "We'll call a crew meeting in the morning. Put the question to everyone: Do they want to come on a highly dangerous covert intelligence mission to try and track down an ancient Dark Side artifact of untold power that might be the secret behind the Sith war machine? Juhani had to sign up. Everyone else does to. Everyone gets a choice. If one or more of the others doesn't swing the way I think they will, we'll deal with it then, whether that means finding a secure boarding school for Mission, new transport and a reliable flow of credits to support regular shuttles to different worlds, or a new pilot."
"Understood, Aithne," Bastila said. Then the younger Jedi put a hand on Aithne's shoulder. "Try and get some sleep," she advised. "We will all need it before morning."