Chapter Twenty-Six
CARTH
They landed on Dantooine again right on schedule. There was a lot of everyday business to take care of. The Jedi had to make a report to the Council on their progress so far, and an additional report on that monster they'd fought down in the Shadowlands, the one they'd got Bacca's Blade out of. Jolee had to have a physical and get outfitted; it turned out that he was a veteran of the war against Exar Kun, and he'd been missing from the Order for decades. The Council said he was a Jedi Knight, like Juhani, but Jolee insisted he wasn't part of the Order at all anymore. That annoyed them. Bastila and Juhani too. Aithne, though . . . she liked that. Carth had thought Aithne might try and maneuver out of their deal with Jolee now they'd got him of Kashyyyk, but she surprised him by saying they could use a medic, requisitioned a lot of supplies for their infirmary, and a few personals for Bindo.
They put in for some light maintenance on the ship, Aithne found the Lur Arka guy who had been inquiring about Sasha before, and he went overland for her relatives. While they were waiting for him to get back—because neither Canderous or Juhani was about to give the kid up to people who didn't know her personally—Aithne and the other Jedi went on an excursion to some crystal caves a ways out from the enclave, and Aithne spent a lot of time in the archives. Carth was pretty sure she was trying to dig up information on ways she might be accessing Revan's memories—without letting the Council know what she was doing.
Three days after they'd landed, though, Lur Arka was back with Sasha's father and two aunts. Her mother and older brother had been killed in the attack when she'd been taken, and her father had been crippled, but the rest of the family was grateful and amazed to find her again. They were weavers now and had a partnership with some of the other farmers in the area. The older of her two aunts was a sharpshooter and a member of the civilian militia in that area of the colony, and the younger one was a teacher and engaged to be married at the end of the harvest. They'd seen some terrible things in the Mandalorian attacks. They'd suffered. But they were tough, good people, and the general consensus on Ebon Hawk was that between them, they'd figure out a way to help Sasha deal with all she'd been through and connect with what she'd lost.
Mission gave Sasha a hug and datapad with a copy of her favorite holo on it before she left. Juhani kissed her on both cheeks and put a braid in her hair, claiming she'd shown determination and intelligence worthy of any Jedi apprentice. Canderous gave Sasha a blaster.
"Ret'urcye mhi, ad'ika," he told her. /Stay sharp. May you bring your clan great glory./
Sasha hugged him. "Ret'urcye mhi, alor! K'oyacyi! You . . . wait for I . . . for me, I say. I be mighty warrior, see you again!" She bowed to the rest of the crew. "Vor'e, thank you!"
She looked up sideways at her older aunt and offered her hand, and she and her people headed back out to their homestead with Lur Arka. Canderous watched them all the way out of the gate. Carth watched Canderous.
"Hey," he said, "You know, from the moment we met you, Aithne said if we ever fought, I'd lose. But I have to say, I'm not sure she gave me enough credit." Canderous looked over at him, and his grim, worried expression lightened up a bit. "What do you say?" Carth asked. "You and me, friendly spar in the Jedi training yard?"
Canderous eyed him. "Friendly?" he repeated. Carth shrugged, and Ordo started to grin. Like a shark. "I'm game," he said. "You any good with a sword?"
Carth shrugged again. "I guess we'll find out." Truth told, he'd earned most of his medals during the wars in space combat. He'd been in a few groundside scraps in his day, but he'd fought with his blasters with most of them. Melee fighting—well, that had always been for exercise, or when he'd wanted to learn something new in training. He could count on one hand the ground combats he'd been in against Mandalorian warriors.
Canderous hummed. "I could use a laugh," he said finally. "We'll use training weapons. Wouldn't want to end up spitting you by mistake."
"No, we generally want to avoid spitting our friends," Aithne said. She'd drifted over and was looking between the two of them, arms folded. Carth met her eyes for a moment, trying to convey there wasn't a problem. Wouldn't hurt if he had a distraction right now, Aithne. Aithne's shoulders relaxed. "I'll put Bindo on fuel detail," she said. "He wants to come, he can help our Hawk keep flying and do the negotiations with Aratech."
"How far we going?" Carth asked. "I'll need to do the astrogation so we can requisition provisions for the trip—and credits to resupply when we get there."
Aithne looked over at Mission, who was talking with Bastila, Zaalbar, and Teethree a ways away. "I hadn't decided yet," she admitted. "Advantages and disadvantages to anything we do at this point. Bounty hunters would probably have a harder time finding us on Tatooine, but it's also the hind end of nowhere and Hutt space on top of that. Supplies will be expensive, and help will be scarce on the ground if we end up needing it. Manaan? Neutral space—both Sith and Republics on the ground. It could be political nightmare. Korriban, though—it might be too hot to hold us at the moment." She frowned.
"Or the news might not have got there about what happened to Nord and the others," Carth pointed out. "What with the war and all."
"That's just it. Kashyyyk was supposed to be the safe bet. Zaalbar ended up in a hostage situation, and then we started a Wookiee revolution!" Aithne smiled, but her eyes were troubled as she gazed at Mission. She was weighing Mission's mental wellbeing against her physical safety. Could they handle the Sith on Manaan? On Korriban? Would they be better or worse than Mission finding out what had happened to her brother on Tatooine? And what if they couldn't find out at all?
"We'll handle what comes when it comes up," Canderous said. "Until then, are we going to fight, Onasi, or just stand here talking all day?"
"Somebody's excited. Alright, Canderous. Let's fight," Carth said.
In the end, they had to deal with an escort. Aithne understood what he was trying to do, but she wasn't about to let them fight without a ref, even just using training weapons, and Bastila, Mission, and Zaalbar wanted to observe as well. Jolee went off with Juhani to start on the provisions they knew they'd need to go anywhere, but in between the crew of Ebon Hawk and a couple curious masters and apprentices, Carth and Canderous had a little audience to their sparring session.
The Jedi had a selection of weighted training weapons for apprentices and practice sessions. Canderous went for a staff; Carth kept to a double-handed training broadsword. He was something of a specialist with dual blasters, but whenever he'd practiced with melee weapons, he'd stuck to the basics. He'd be at an offensive disadvantage, but on the other hand, he'd seen Canderous fight with swords. Ordo had never seen him.
They circled each other on the compacted dirt of the training arena. Carth tuned out the eyes of the others, the murmurs from the younger Jedi apprentices. He focused instead on Ordo: taking in his footwork, the set of his shoulders, and how he held his sword. Canderous feinted. Carth didn't react. He waited. The Mandalorian made a couple more feints before attacking in earnest. Carth met his blade with a crash of polished hardwood, and knew immediately that his initial defensive strategy wasn't going to work. The first blow sent shivers all the way up to his forearm and all the way down to his pelvis. Carth had planned to do what Aithne did against opponents like Juhani; keep up a defense and let Canderous wear himself and whatever he was feeling over Sasha out. He wanted to see if he could, and he figured they both could use a workout, but Canderous was brutal; incredibly powerful, especially considering he had to have ten to twenty years on Carth. Without the things the Force could do to extend a person's durability, Carth didn't think he could outlast the Mandalorian blocking head-on.
The kids murmured excitedly, and Carth felt Aithne and Bastila's sharp eyes on every move. He ignored them. He switched to dodging or sliding off Ordo's attacks instead and started taking advantage of the fact he was a bit lighter than the man, especially since Canderous almost always wore something with armor plating. When Canderous fully committed to an attack, Carth could sometimes get around him a little. He'd be exposed, just for a moment. Carth wasn't quite fast enough to catch him in that moment; Canderous always recovered and brought around his blade in time, but Carth saw Ordo start to get wary—then start predicting Carth's flanking attempts and preparing a secondary, follow-up attack to counter him. Mission exclaimed when Carth took an ugly knock on the left shoulder that way; if they'd been fighting with actual vibroblades, he wouldn't have been out of the fight, but he definitely would have been bleeding all over the grounds and a whole lot weaker after.
But Canderous was smiling. "You aren't half bad, Onasi," he remarked. "Better with the blasters, but I guess you're used to letting someone else handle the dirty work."
"You tell me: is it better to shoot an enemy in space or before they get halfway across the room, or wait until they're right in your face before you take them out?" Carth asked, sidestepping and jumping to avoid a blow at his legs. In spite of the throbbing in his shoulder, he was enjoying this. It'd been a while since he'd felt challenged in a workout; usually he just used body resistance or weights, alone in the hold, which they'd half-repurposed as a training room.
"Depends what you're going for." Carth tried a stab toward the Mandalorian's face. "Ah-ah-ah," Ordo chided him.
"If you were really trying to end this, how would you do it?" Carth asked.
Canderous considered. "Gunman on your flank," he admitted. "You think too much. Hyperfocus on a single opponent. You hold them off well enough, but while you're doing that, you're easy pickings for somebody else." He took another swipe. "You?"
Carth chuckled without much humor, taking in everything about the Mandalorian, from his size to his strength to his technique. It was pretty damn near perfect. Well, it would be. In retrospect, he'd probably been fighting about as long as Carth had been alive. "I'd send a Jedi. Or catch you in a fighter in the air. You're a decent shot, but I'm better. And a hell of a lot better at maneuver." He remembered the way Ebon Hawk had moved on Taris, even in the middle of everything that had been going on.
Canderous hit his blade then, and the sheer force of it sent it spinning right out of Carth's tired, battered fists and across the grounds. Carth's muscles buzzed. His shoulder ached. He was going to have a bad bruise there.
He sighed, ducked, and kicked out hard at Ordo's groin plating, under his guard. Canderous was protected, but the force of the kick still sent him staggering back. Carth stepped into his guard, seized Canderous's practice staff between the grips in his right hand and struck out with his left elbow at Canderous's torso, sweeping his left leg back at the same time. Canderous lost the staff but went right for his dinner knife at his belt. He tucked into a backward somersault instead of an outright fall and came up ready to throw, facing Carth with the practice staff.
For an instant, it could've gone either way. Carth hadn't recovered from the disarm. His head, neck, and thighs were completely open. Canderous's dinner knife was sharp, and Carth wasn't at all confident in his ability to knock it out of the air in time. And he'd been the one to break the unspoken rules of their bout. On the sidelines, everyone had gone completely silent. Aithne was taut all over, eyes glinting, ready to step in. Zaalbar was watching her for what she'd do. Bastila and Mission looked nervous. Then the moment ended, and Carth knew he'd read his man right.
Canderous straightened, sheathed his knife, his face crinkled, and he let out a long, satisfied laugh. The tension broke. A bunch of the apprentices started chattering to their masters about what they'd seen. Aithne and the others all relaxed. Canderous strode forward. Carth gave him his practice staff back. Canderous gave Carth his hand, and they shook. "Well," Canderous said. "I guess if you can't fight fair."
"You Mandalorians never do," Carth pointed out.
"True enough." He nodded at the broadsword down on the ground. "We should train together. I'll bet the Aruetii's gonna drag you off the ship again at some point, and you're good enough with a sword it could be an advantage if your power pack goes out, or if we ever don't want to make a lot of noise. How'd you learn?"
They walked over to the weapon rack together and put the staff and practice sword away. "It's not the first time I've done a mission with the Jedi," Carth admitted. "I had a friend who taught me a few things once upon a time. Can you hit what you aim for with the knife?"
Canderous's hand fell to his belt knife, and his eyes moved sideways to Carth in a sly expression. "What do you think?"
I think there's not a weapon the Mandalorians don't train their commandos to use, if it comes to it. Carth winced, imagining fighting Ordo on an actual battlefield—that knife heading end-over-end into his throat. Or a bullet from one of his clan heading straight into his back. "I'll get you next time," Canderous promised him. "I owe you, now, Onasi. And I'll be ready."
"Yeah. Figured it'd only work once anyway."
"Hey, you didn't tell me you could use a sword too," Mission said. "You know, when I made do with a vibroblade, it kinda went like that. Luckily, Big Z's better when you need to slice some things up—or pretend to, anyway. And now, he's got that fancy sword from his village, I figure I'm about done kicking guys in the nuts when I start to lose." She chuckled and grinned. "Nice going, Canderous."
"You think you can get by without a melee weapon?" Canderous demanded. He shook his head. "Your blaster could jam up too, and Zaalbar could get taken hostage again. Seems to happen a lot, from what I've heard. You should train with us, Vao. You can't always count on your friends."
"Oh, no," Mission said. "I ain't filling in for you just 'cause Sasha's off Ebon Hawk now. Come on! I got Aithne and Carth on me already trying to teach me everything under the suns! I thought you were more relaxed!"
"It gets boring in space," Canderous said. "You aren't gonna tell me you've got anything better to do."
"I've picked up some more books from Master Dorak," Mission said. "A couple new holovids, too. A girl's gotta have some down time, you know?"
"Yeah, why don't you go and sort that out back on Ebon Hawk?" Aithne suggested. "You can check if Jolee's done with the Aratech fuel guys while you're at it. Bastila, go ahead and log and balance all our accounts—see how much we have left after the fuel-up, fitting out the infirmary, and the recent personal requisitions. And start thinking about what we'll do if we're short on any of the planets we might be headed to."
"Still got Davik's old swoop bike in the garage," Canderous suggested. "Should be racing out on Tatooine at least if you wanted to give things another go, Moran."
Aithne made a face. "I could live my whole life without sitting on another swoop bike." She considered. "Could be a decent cover, though—swoop bike racer, woman of fortune. We're going to need to say I'm something else once we get to Korriban."
"And at least one of the pair of us is likely to have to deal upon that world," Bastila added. "Yes, it will require some thought. I will be back on Ebon Hawk." She looked at Carth and Canderous. "Well fought, the pair of you," she added.
Canderous, Bastila, Mission, and Zaalbar started back to Ebon Hawk to follow orders. "You know, you are going to have to decide where we're headed next before I can do my part of things," Carth told Aithne as the others pulled ahead.
Aithne hummed, then tilted her head at a man standing on the sidelines of the training yard. Carth followed her gaze, focused, then stared. Czerka didn't have as many dealings on Dantooine as Aratech did, but they did occasionally drop off things at port. One of their guys had obviously come in during the spar. Carth hadn't seen him, but now . . .
The guy had been staring at him across the yard, and as Carth and Aithne strode toward him, he broke out into a wide grin. "Stars and planets, I was sure it couldn't be, but it is you, isn't it?!"
Carth grinned himself. "Jordo! Damn! How long's it been?"
Jordo had been a neighbor back on Telos, a friend. It'd been years since Carth had seen him. They shook hands. Jordo pounded his back. "I saw that damned awful flight jacket, and I just knew! You old spacedog, how've you been? I thought for sure you'd be fighting on some ship out there."
Carth's eyes cut to Aithne, who was smirking behind her fist at the jacket comment. He rolled his eyes at her and smiled. "I was," he told Jordo. "I crashed."
Jordo chuckled. "Same old-same old from you. Never a dull moment. Gonna introduce me to your pretty friend here?" His eyes drifted to Aithne with some definite interest but took in the lightsabers on her belt, and his smile stayed polite.
Carth evaluated his old neighbor. Jordo had always liked to tease back in the day. Morgana and Jordo's wife, Jes, had sworn there wasn't any harm in it, that Jordo just liked to make a woman feel good. Carth didn't actually know what had happened to Jordo's wife and kids in the attack, but when he glanced back at Aithne and she didn't seem uncomfortable, he nodded.
"Sure. This is Padawan Aithne Moran, captain of Ebon Hawk, the Jedi ship I'm liaison and pilot on right now. Aithne, this is Jordo Krin."
"Still messing around with the Jedi, huh? Pleasure, miss," Jordo said, shaking Aithne's hand in turn. "How do you do?"
"Oh, you know, desperate mission to save the galaxy, trying to keep this clown in line," Aithne said. "Pleasure's mine, Mr. Krin."
"So, what are you doing here, Jordo?" Carth asked. "You're Czerka now?"
"It's a job," Jordo shrugged. "Telos still hasn't recovered. I couldn't very well work the farm anymore, could I? We were lucky—Jes and the kids and I all got out, but we had to start over. We moved on. Czerka gave us a lifeline. I'm not home as often as I like, but the benefits are good, and there's a university package for Dara, if she works a couple years as an intern. We didn't see you after . . ." he hesitated. Carth looked away. Jordo had been there that day, just across the cratered street, backlit by a burning building. "That is, my condolences on your wife."
Carth forced a smile and clasped Jordo's hand. The man had been at his wedding. Jordo's kids, Dara and Tern, had played ball with Dustil. After everything that had happened the last couple decades, there were probably a lot of good people across the galaxy working for shady corporations. Shady corporations had the credits to pay and feed their families.
Jordo brightened. "At least your boy made it through alright, right?"
Carth's every nerve lit up. Instinctively, his hand clenched around Jordo's. "My boy?" he repeated. "You mean, Dustil?" He searched Jordo's face. He hadn't heard about Dustil in four years, since before the attack, but Jordo seemed so sure . . .
Jordo's eyes widened. "Yes, of course," he said slowly. "Saw him at my last stop, on Korriban, though he didn't recognize me. You . . . didn't know he was there?"
Carth's head whirled. The whole training yard spun around. Everything went cold, and his stomach dropped. He hadn't spoken Dustil's name to anyone since he'd given up the search, over two years ago. Then, three days after he'd first mentioned him, to Aithne, Jordo'd come with information. He looked back at Aithne, half wild. He could see her freckles more than he usually could; she'd gone pale. Her eyes dropped to his hands, and she cleared her throat. Carth followed her gaze, and saw he was still crushing Jordo's hand, and his old neighbor looked afraid. Carth hadn't realized. He let go.
"No," he repeated. Something clenched inside his chest. If Jordo was wrong, if Carth got his hopes up after all this time . . . "Jordo, Dustil has been missing since the attack on Telos! Are you . . . are you absolutely certain it was him?"
Jordo nodded, but then he looked a little nervous. "I'm sure it was him," he said. "He looks just like you, Carth. Maybe a little darker, with Morgana's nose, but it was him all right. But . . . uh, the truth is, I didn't go out of my way to reintroduce myself. You see, he's uh . . . he's joined the Sith. Company doesn't like us talking to 'em. Also—it's a bad idea."
After the sudden announcement that his son was alive—a location, even—the revelation Dustil was a Sith was too much to take. Carth couldn't even wrap his head around it. "What do you mean, he's joined the Sith?" Dustil was a kid! Or he was.
"There's an academy for the Sith on Korriban," Jordo explained. "He's a student there. I saw him suited up in their outfit and everything, lightsaber on his hip just like Ms. Moran. Sorry."
Carth tried to comprehend it, tried to process. Dustil, alive. Dustil, on Korriban. Dustil, one of the Sith who had killed his mother and destroyed his homeworld. Dustil—one of the enemy. Dustil, with a lightsaber?
"I thought you knew," Jordo was saying, but Carth didn't have time for him anymore. He could hardly see him. He fumbled in his pocket for that old holo he had of Morgana and Dustil. Activated it.
"No . . . no, I didn't." He switched the holo off, stuck it back in his pocket, shook Jordo's hand again. "Well, thanks for letting me know, Jordo."
"Sure, no problem. Good to see you again, Carth. I . . . uh . . . I gotta get going. Hope everything works out."
Carth had a vague impression of Aithne talking some more to Jordo, saying all the things he couldn't, getting details, maybe. He didn't know or care when Jordo's green-and-yellow uniform moved away into the sea of Jedi apprentices and knights and visiting Dantooine colonists. He took out his holo again and stared at a face four years gone.
He'd thought Dustil was dead. He'd accepted it. He hadn't ever even considered that the Sith might have taken prisoners.
But if Dustil had a lightsaber now . . .
No. There was no way the son he knew would ever have joined the Sith. Suddenly, Carth had to get to Korriban. He shut off the holo again, took Aithne's arm. "Dustil is alive! Did you hear that?! We have to go to the Korriban academy and find him!"
Aithne reached over with her right arm to detach him. The left arm he had already held a datapad. She didn't even look at him as she looked over a message she was composing. "Way ahead of you," she said. "I'm sending a message to Master Dorak. I want to see if he or someone else here can draw us up some fake identification papers. Or . . . me. Probably better if Bas doesn't step one Jedi toe out on the world. It'll be crawling with Sith."
Carth stared at her, already at work on his problem, and appreciated what it would mean, going to Korriban now. They'd just talked about it, but the bounty on her, him, and Bastila was still live. More than that, it was hot—less than a standard month old. Every Sith contact in space would be looking for them, and there would be a lot of them on Korriban. Maybe even Dustil. Tatooine was a dust pit in Hutt space, and Manaan maintained a strict neutrality; either of them would be safer places to gather more information than the Sith world of Korriban. He was asking her to run off half-cocked, take the risk that they might not get to the other Star Maps and head to Korriban now—bring Mission—and she was already working on it.
"Thank you," he said. "I just . . . we have to find him. I don't understand. A Sith . . ."
Aithne finished her message, sent it, and lowered the datapad. She'd shaken him off before, but now she gripped his shoulder and met his eyes. Carth's mind cleared, and it almost felt like she'd done something with the Force, except the mind tricks the Jedi normally used confused people, they didn't inspire them. He could feel her with him, feel his heartbeat slowing down, almost like she'd reached through his shoulder into his chest to calm it down. Her expression was serious, but completely confident. "We'll find him," Aithne promised. "We'll bring him home. For now, I need you to focus. We need to go back to the ship and plot a course for Korriban. And requisition the supplies we'll need if we have to leave in a hurry with him."
Somehow, looking into Aithne's face, it was impossible to doubt her. After all the doubts he'd had about her, all the debates, he believed she would find his son. Just like he'd been there for Mission, she would be there for him and Dustil now. She wouldn't stop until they had him safe on Ebon Hawk. After four years, he'd have Dustil back. He'd have his family. He gripped her forearm, a second, silent thanks, and the two of them headed back to Ebon Hawk.
AITHNE
They were resupplied and ready to lift off four hours after meeting Jordo, flight path to Korriban locked in and good to go. Aithne had the fake ident card she'd asked for from Master Dorak—since Ebon Hawk had been an Exchange ship, she'd be posing as an Exchange gambler and smuggler named Addison Bettler. The Jedi had even purchased a shipment of weapons from Czerka for her to deliver to some undercover contacts on the Sith world.
She had none of the answers she'd hoped to find in the Jedi Archives on their return to Dantooine. Either the Jedi didn't have records on the kind of techniques or phenomena that could be allowing her to channel Revan's memories or she wasn't allowed access to the records they did have. She'd run into several like that—holocrons, journals, and other resources restricted by security access or rank within the Jedi Order, and she hadn't been willing to gamble that the answers she might or might not have been able to find by slicing into the computer systems or breaking into restricted areas would be worth the suspicion and blame she'd be in for if she was caught.
So, she still had no idea about how or why she was seeing Revan's memories, why Revan's technology on Kashyyyk had recognized her brain patterns, why the Jedi were so desperate to use her but so desperately afraid of her, or who the Sith thought she actually was. Going to the planet that was their most public stronghold, it might be a problem. She knew this. But they couldn't just leave Carth's kid on Korriban in the Sith ranks.
Force, his face when Krin had told him the news! Mission wasn't even Aithne's biologically, not even the same species, and she'd known the kid for a scarce few months, but when she imagined Mission being taken, showing up in the ranks of the enemy across a battlefield somewhere after feeding her, dressing her, teaching her, after taking her to the doctor, holding her hand until she slept after the nightmares—she could start to imagine how Carth might feel right now, even without that bond in her head making her feel it.
Carth was bleeding all over the inside of her head right now—concern, doubt, fear, panic. Joy, compounded with more fear and panic. He had no shields to speak of; it was on Aithne to block him out, all the time, and it was exhausting. Some part of her noted it was probably good practice—she could work on blocking Carth and better learn to block out Bastila, and she didn't think Bastila would know about it. She'd been aware of Aithne's distress when the two of them returned to the ship and noticed Carth's worry and anxiety, the silence and intensity that hung over him like a storm cloud. But Aithne was pretty sure Bastila wasn't feeling it like she was, that Bas didn't know Aithne had also formed a Force bond of sorts with Carth. And that's an advantage.
Aithne moved through stances with one of the big double vibroswords Canderous had looted off the Dantooine Dar'manda weeks ago. His and Carth's little duel had given her the idea: the less she looked like the Taris mock-up on the bounty posting when they landed on Korriban, the better. She'd considered cutting or dyeing her hair but decided in the end that wearing heavy armor—and a helmet—would probably work just as well without being near as permanent. She'd be another Sith-dealing scum on Korriban, not a Jedi. Bastila would stay on the ship.
"You know, you could take someone's eye out with that thing," Mission said. She leaned in the entrance to the cargo bay, watching Aithne from the door. "Got a minute?"
Aithne made a couple more passes with the vibroblade, grimacing. Staff combat had a very different rhythm than fighting with dual blades; the body had to make up for the lack of versatility in the weapon's movement. "Can't say I'd object to the interruption. Shoot."
Mission slipped inside the cargo bay. She closed the door behind her and hoisted herself up onto a rations barrel. "Something happened back there at the enclave after Carth and Canderous fought, didn't it? 'Cause you were watching that guy who was watching Carth, and now Carth's back all hot and bothered and not talking to anybody, and we're headed to Korriban instead of Tatooine."
Aithne nodded slowly. She racked her vibrosword and sat on one of the practice mats, hands on her knees. On the surface, she knew it could look to Mission like she was playing favorites, and she wasn't going to pretend to Mission like she wasn't going to look for Carth's missing family member before Mission's. "Carth lost somebody too. Around the same time you did," she admitted. "Like you, for years, he didn't know where that person was, or even if they were alive, until just like you, someone on Dantooine showed up and told him. But there's a couple of important differences between you that made me decide to go to Korriban first." She ticked them off on her fingers. "The guy we just talked to saw Dustil a few days ago, not months or years back. We have reason to believe Dustil may have wound up there involuntarily, whatever his circumstances are now. And Dustil's only a little older than you are."
Mission looked down at her. "Carth's kid got taken? Back when Revan and Malak blew up his planet?"
Aithne hesitated, then inclined her head. Mission was silent for a moment. "You—you're saying he might of been a slave or something, all this time?"
Aithne hesitated again. "I'm saying he was taken from his homeworld. From Carth. Carth's friend said—well. We don't think Dustil's a slave or prisoner now."
Mission's eyes narrowed. She kicked her heels against the ration barrel. "Korriban. Gonna be dangerous. What're you planning to do about that bounty? They'll be looking for you and Carth."
Aithne shrugged. "Probably true everywhere we need to go, at this point. The only reason for those Sith assassins and Calo Nord to head to Kashyyyk was if they'd been told about the Star Maps."
"What about Carth's kid, Dustil?" Mission wanted to know. "What if he wants to turn you guys in for the bounty?" Aithne looked at her, and her lekku twitched. "I seen it happen before, is all I'm saying," Mission protested. "If he's been on Korriban awhile, if he's in with the wrong crowd or needs some credits? There were a couple of times Griff schemed about letting me turn him in to one sleemo he owed money to or another. Let me collect the bounty, break him out, then pay off someone else he owed. I always talked him out of it. Or he'd come up with something better."
Aithne battled to control her expression at the idea of Griff Vao suggesting sending his sister, ten or under, to swindle crime bosses and moneylenders then break him out of whatever hole they threw him into. She knew she was losing, because Mission started to scowl, and her lekku twitched faster. So Aithne didn't comment on yet another revelation of Griff's superlative guardianship but said, "Somehow, I think if Dustil turns us in, he won't be planning to break us out again."
Mission's defensive posture relaxed, though her eyes grew even more serious. "Yeah, I was kind of getting that idea," she admitted. "Korriban, you know? Can we trust him? Carth's kid? I mean, there are plenty of weasels younger than me who are hardened finks and killers."
Aithne looked at her, letting her weigh Dustil Onasi against her brother. Purple rose in Mission's cheeks, and her lekku swished more violently than before.
"Yeah, okay," she said, even though Aithne hadn't answered her. "I guess we can't just leave him there either. He . . . he's probably been through a lot. I guess I maybe see why you and Carth would want to go to Korriban right away." She kicked her heels a couple more times against the barrel. "Aithne, you wouldn't blow me off like the Beks, right?" she asked then.
Aithne straightened, offended. "I'm sorry?"
Mission shifted, uncomfortable. "I been thinking a lot since Taris. Since I joined up with you. They never . . . they never really let me in, you know? I mean, they let me stay in the Bek base sometimes, fed me and Zaalbar, sometimes. Maybe they thought we were funny, I don't know. But they never really let us in the Hidden Beks, and when the time came, Gadon was willing to send us off with you against the Vulkars when he would of never sent one of his own people in there. Because we weren't his own people. Not really. This isn't like that, is it?"
Aithne stood. She crossed over to Mission and enfolded her in a sideways hug, and Mission relaxed into her. "Mish, you're so much my own people I don't want to give you back to your brother, if we find him," she told the teenager. "He was lousy at being your people. He forfeited the right. I didn't want you in the beginning—not because I didn't like you, but because I knew what it would mean, what we were going into, and I felt like I would be a horrible person to take you into it with us. But I realized I'd be even worse leaving you behind, and so I made you a promise, and I haven't regretted it since. Worried. Plotted. Schemed and planned and navigated how to keep us safe, as well as together. But never regretted it.
"So, we'll track down Griff too. If he's not on Tatooine anymore, we'll find out what happened to him and where he went. If you talk to him, you'll get to ask him why he left and left you behind, and—if you want to—"
Mission broke in— "I'm not leaving," she promised again. "You're right: whether or not Lena was lying about Griff wanting to leave me behind in the first place, he did! I handled myself, but what if I couldn't? Or if you'd never come along? I would of died on Taris! You and Zaalbar have been there for me in ways Griff never was, through thin and thick! You saved Zaalbar from those Gamorreans, then saved him from his stinking brother—you started a revolution on Kashyyyk to do it! I don't like your leaving me behind when it gets dangerous—I could help you too!—but I understand why you do it. I'm no Jedi, and I ain't never been the kind of places you and Carth been either."
"You're going to catch up a lot sooner than I like."
Mission rolled her eyes. "You bet I am." But she seemed satisfied. "Okay. So. Sith Central to get Carth's people, who's probably not a prisoner and might want to turn us in. At least it's not about to get boring around here."
The trip from Dantooine to Korriban wasn't bad; turned out the secret Jedi Enclave was uncomfortably close to the public center of Malak's Sith movement. Still, space travel remained cramped and boring. Days fell into a predictable pattern, with a few notable exceptions. Aithne trained and exercised with Canderous, Mission, Carth, and Zaalbar instead of with Bastila and Juhani, practicing to pass as a vibrostaff-wielding thug instead of a greenhorn Jedi or the dual sword-wielding scout she'd been on Taris. Canderous and Juhani were off childcare duty and back on the regular chore rotation, but due to their efforts, Juhani's hand had stopped hovering over her lightsaber whenever she looked at Canderous, and Canderous had stopped trying to get a rise out of Juhani every chance he got. Unfortunately, the drop in tension between them was balanced out by Carth's rising stress. He had been Aithne's most frequent conversation partner from day one. Now he was so worried about his son, he couldn't hold a discourse for five minutes. The low-pressure system over Carth Onasi had left Aithne with a near-permanent headache, and it was difficult to find empty space on Ebon Hawk to meditate long enough to clear it out.
She'd fallen back on active meditation techniques. Bastila, raised by the Jedi and frequently enclave-bound due to the value of her talents, was slower to recognize any of the techniques non-Jedi often used to quiet and organize their minds. Aithne, however, had realized soon after the start of her training at the Dantooine enclave that the mental state she fell into doing tech maintenance or weapon and armor upgrades wasn't too far off the state the Jedi utilized breathing techniques, lightsaber katas, or sitting on a mat to achieve. She spent more and more time doing maintenance on T3-M4, communing with Ebon Hawk's temperamental hyperdrive, or tinkering with Addison Bettler's gear. She lost herself in electric pulses and programming codes, built a wall of armor mesh between her and Carth's urgent, brooding worry, his guilt and fear. Then, later in proper, Jedi meditation with Bas and Juhani and sometimes Jolee, she would try to build it again, without the armor mesh physically between her hands. She would practice keeping it up as she went to dinner; as she took her turn cleaning the common areas or the head; as she reviewed languages, history, and planetary practices with Mission; when she taught Bas to count cards at pazaak. Eventually, she wasn't sure if the headache was Carth's mental bleed or her own mental fatigue. She called that a win.
She tried not to worry about Dustil herself—what the Sith might've done to Carth's kid in the four years they had had him. What kind of person he might be now, how Carth was going to take it. What they were going to do if he didn't feel like leaving the Korriban Dark Jedi Academy, sounded the alarm. What they—she—was going to do if Dustil Onasi attacked his father or any of the rest of them.
She didn't win so much on that one.
Canderous found her by Davik's old swoop bike one night. He'd taken to spending more and more time in the garage lately, and after their last mention of racing back on Dantooine, she'd occasionally seen him eyeing up the bike, like if she was really done with racing, he might want to give it a try.
Aithne straightened and wiped the grease off her hands with an old rag. "How's she looking?"
Canderous laid a hand on the back fender. "She looks alright. You've looked better, Aruetii."
"Vor'e," Aithne drawled, wiping her forehead and shoving hair out of her face. She wondered idly if wearing a helmet on Korriban all the time would help in keeping the stuff out of the way, or just make it easier to overheat. She considered moving toward the head to clean up, then decided she wouldn't give Ordo the satisfaction of seeming bothered by the insult. So, she grabbed a spanner, laid on her back, and took a look at the swoop's undercarriage instead. She thought maybe she could do something to improve the shock absorption when it hit track ramps.
"I don't mean the hard work or the dirt," Canderous told her. "I mean, something's eating you. You're letting all of this get in your head." Out of the corner of her eye, Aithne saw Canderous make a gesture around his torso.
"Side effect of being a Jedi. Or Force Sensitive. Whatever."
"Mmm. I hear that's why they went bad," Canderous mused.
Aithne sat up and sat down her spanner. Canderous smirked at her.
"Caught your attention, did I?"
"What do you mean? The Jedi in the war?"
Canderous shrugged. "Sure. There were only a handful who joined the war, lived, and didn't turn on the Jedi and the Republic. The Butcher of Malachor. A couple others. And most of them went crazy. The Jedi Council says that the Revanchists were asking for it, don't they? That the second Revan's people picked up their lightsabers to fight instead of keep the peace, they were already doomed." Canderous rolled his eyes and grinned mirthlessly. "Wonder just where they see you and Bastila heading."
/Do you ever taste the shit you're talking?/ Aithne asked. Canderous grinned wider, apparently appreciating her refusal to fight with him as much as he would have the fight itself.
"I'm just saying, Aruetii. A bit hypocritical of them, sending you out to do the same kind of dirty work they shat on Revan for doing and say started this whole thing in the first place."
"If you hadn't picked me out to be your getaway car from the Exchange on Taris, would you have eventually joined the Sith, do you think?" Aithne returned.
She respected that he didn't just dismiss the question out of hand. Ordo's ideals of strength and challenge in battle aligned with the Sith philosophy on a lot of points. She wouldn't have believed him if he responded with an immediate denial. Still, she was glad everyone else wasn't around to see the honest contemplation on Ordo's face.
"I generally get along with Sith better than Jedi and Republics," he admitted. "They don't pretend they're pacifists, and they're at least up front about planning to stab you in the back. But they do it so often, there's no living with them. There's no stability in any Sith organization. You can't count on the guy who's paying you one week to still be alive the next one. Things used to be better, at least on the broader scale. But since Malak's taken over . . ." he shook his head. "Revan's Sith—I might've joined them. That might've been something. But Malak's—no."
Aithne stared at Canderous. "Revan destroyed your people. If the Mandalorian clans are ever able to unify and build up to anything like what they were, it'll be more than I expect of them. Revan crushed you. And you'd've worked for her?"
"Her?" Canderous repeated. "Few thousand vode 'round the galaxy who would've loved to hear that." He snorted. "Couple thousand more who wouldn't've cared. We never knew if Revan was a man or a woman. Hell, we never knew what was under the helmet. It didn't matter. Revan was a warrior. The best the clans had ever seen. Clever. Ruthless. Brutal. Fighting Revan was an honor. Surviving Revan was an honor. The Mando'ade, the real Mando'ade, who fought until the end—we would've followed Revan anywhere by the end if they took up Mandalore's mantle. Imagine the kind of strength Revan could have brought the clans. Imagine the warriors Revan could have raised."
Aithne shifted. "So, the collective Mando'ade have a masochism-submission kink and a hard-on for the Jedi who ground them into the dust. That what you're telling me?"
Canderous showed his teeth. "You ever been with a woman who could crush you into dust but didn't, Aruetii? Who chose to be a family with you instead, even for a little while?"
Aithne threw the rag at him. "Not my kink."
Canderous snagged it out of the air. "I wouldn't knock it, if I were you," he advised. "You're gonna have to find someone who respects your strength, or you won't find someone."
"Could always take Bastila and the masters' advice and not find someone," Aithne returned.
"You could," Canderous agreed. "You already got a kid. You could adopt some more. Family—a clan—is more than blood. You can raise and train warriors without a partner or ever being a parent, and someone like you is bound to. Still. Don't do everything by their rules, Moran. Wouldn't want to turn to the Dark Side from the pressure." He smirked again and threw the rag back at her.
Aithne tied it into a ball. "You're chatty tonight," she remarked, tossing it back again. They started throwing it back and forth, making it into a game. "Full of reflection and sage advice. Got any more for me, Master Ordo?"
"Ha," Canderous deadpanned. "Fine. Be frigid, uptight, and judgmental all you want. Clench up into knots. Drive yourself crazy and worry yourself sick over kids you don't plan to adopt into your clan and men you aren't sleeping with."
Aithne narrowed her eyes, and Canderous widened his, mocking her. "You want to hear about the war where Revan crushed my people or not?" he asked. "You're usually up for old stories."
Aithne recognized grace when she saw it, and she appreciated it. "Go," she said, throwing the rag ball back to Canderous.
"So, you know we started our conquest with worlds just outside of the Republic," he related. "We did it quietly so the Republic wouldn't really know what was going on until too late. When we finally did hit the Republic worlds, they had no idea we were coming." He smiled a bit at the memory. "We came in through three invasion corridors in adjacent sectors. Anyone who put up a fight—or wouldn't fight—was was crushed." His face darkened unexpectedly. "We razed whole worlds trying to provoke the Republic into fighting us," he growled. "I don't particularly enjoy wiping out worlds for its own sake, but the cowardly tactics the Republic defenders used left us little choice."
No, Aithne thought, Canderous wouldn't enjoy wiping out worlds on its own. A difficult battle, sure. Training and instructing warriors—she'd seen that much in his interaction with both Sasha and herself. But Canderous wasn't by nature a bully or a tyrant, and she now was almost certain a large part of his frustration on Taris—along with the breach of contract—had been that Davik had so often used him that way. "Tactics such as?" she asked.
Canderous sneered. "Hiding in the homes of civilians," he spat. "Using families as shields. Thinking we would not use appropriate force on their bases inside major cities. They underestimated our resolve and what measures are acceptable in war. Those who cannot defend themselves should not be around those who can in battle." Something flickered in his face, and Aithne found herself focusing on certain words. In war, he'd said. Should not. Aithne got the feeling that Canderous felt somewhat guilty for the things he and his people had done early on in the Mandalorian Wars. Well, he should, Aithne thought. The devastation had been massive, with civilian casualties by the thousands. Canderous continued, disgusted. "If annihilating a city was the kind of power it took to overcome a Republic shield device, then that's what we did. Necessary force to destroy all opposition."
Aithne threw the ball back but folded her arms, stopping the game. "Atrocities to pick a fight the Republic never wanted," she returned, voice even.
Canderous turned away, angry now. He threw the rag ball violently enough into the wall it came undone and lay like a downed battle flag across the workbench. "I have no time or patience for cowards!" he cried. "They deserve to be hunted and exterminated like vermin. Did they think they would be unchallenged forever? There was no honor in wiping them out like rats," he admitted. "But some of your forces did redeem the Republic in our eyes . . . especially later."
"Later?" Aithne asked, but she knew. Later, when the Jedi—or the Revanchists—had taken up the Mandalorians' challenge. Later, when under Revan and Malak's leadership, the Republic had stopped defending and gone on the offensive, and matched violence for violence and outrage for outrage until entire worlds were left smoking, poisoned ruins.
"Later," Canderous agreed. "When Revan had joined the war. But we'll get back to that some other time."
Aithne left Canderous and the swoop bike thinking hard. She'd been initially surprised to hear about the depth of the respect Canderous—and, according to him, the Mandalorians in general—had for Revan. In retrospect, it made a twisted kind of sense. Canderous's comments about her personal life had been annoying, intrusive, and unwanted, but had also demonstrated a level of respect for her personally that had taken her by surprise. He still called her Aruetii, but by now she had a feeling it was out of habit, or almost a goad. He liked her—as a warrior, as a captain and an employer. And his remarks on her family choices were the kind of things he might have said to a younger warrior in his own clan, especially an unpartnered one. Mandalorians married young, and they believed in big families—biological and adoptive. She hadn't thought of it before—Ordo didn't give off family man vibes nearly as hard as Onasi—but she now thought Canderous probably had been married before too, and possibly a father. She didn't know what had happened and it wasn't any of her business. She could respect his privacy even if he didn't respect hers.
But what really had her thinking was what he'd said about the Jedi and the way they had turned in the wars. He hadn't been speaking seriously; Canderous was contemptuous of the Republic's initial reluctance to engage in the Mandalorian Wars, and contemptuous of the Jedi who had stayed out of the war in particular—probably mostly because the Mandalorians had specifically hoped to fight the Jedi. Canderous wouldn't see falling to the Dark Side as a weakness. He pointed out disciplinary and organizational weaknesses in Malak's Sith, but he had admired Revan's Sith—for their lack of hypocrisy as compared to the Jedi, who called themselves peacekeepers but trained with lightsabers, whose masters took care to stay out of wars but never hesitated to send their young ones to battle. And Canderous's remarks shed some light on why the Jedi Council might fear Aithne falling to the Dark Side—so many other Jedi who had gone to war had done exactly that.
Too many.
Aithne took her shower and changed into her sleeping clothes still thinking about it. What was it about war and conflict that turned the Jedi? The philosophers claimed war was not the Jedi's place. Sith were aggressive; they attacked, the Jedi defended. Revan had posited the best defense was a good offense. Revan's tactics had certainly been more effective against the Mandalorians, but was it possible that the moment the Revanchists had taken up their lightsabers to attack instead of merely defend, they had done something to upset their spiritual balance? Or was it the feel of it—of sensing each life lost within yourself instead of just seeing, hearing, or smelling it—was that what hardened a Jedi who went to war, filled them with anger and hate and turned them to the Dark Side?
She dried her hair with her towel, wringing out the excess water. "Enough," she told herself. "You'll turn into one of those quibblers in the courtyards at this rate. You know better."
"You know, I didn't start talking to myself until a decade and a half down in the Shadowlands," Jolee remarked. He was sitting on the lounge in the central commons, reading one of the Archive records Dorak had approved for them to bring along. "I understand you're supposed to be a prodigy, but if you take my advice: that isn't an area of precocity you particularly want to emulate."
Aithne rolled her eyes at him but smiled and sat at the other end of the lounge, drawing her bare feet up under her body. She'd quickly grown fond of Jolee Bindo. She'd talked to both Zhar and Dorak about his history. Neither had known the exact details of his departure from the Jedi Order but had confirmed Jolee had never left as a Sith or fallen to the Dark Side. The Jedi, they said, would welcome his return, and Jolee's unconventional background might prove an asset to her mission. But Aithne envied Jolee's irascibility, and she admired his still-avid curiosity, the way he answered questions with stories that encouraged more questions. She kind of wanted to be Jolee when she grew up, to be honest, minus the hermit-in-the-woods angle, maybe. More, she felt at ease around him, for while she felt him watching her like Juhani, wondering what she would be as much as Bastila or the Jedi Council, Juhani's hero-worship and the judgmentalism of Bastila and the Council was completely absent in Jolee.
"Why talk to anyone else?" she joked. "Have to keep up a level of decent conversation somehow."
Jolee snorted. "That big head of yours will float you away someday, just you watch."
"My hair will hold it down," returned Aithne.
"Ooh, ouch," Jolee said, applauding sardonically. "Why are you still up? It's time youngsters like you were in bed. Korriban tomorrow and all that."
"Am I in the way?" Aithne asked, serious now. "I know it can get kind of crowded here when we're flying. Only so many rooms aboard, and no leaving to take a walk when it gets to be a bit much, either."
"Oh, don't do that," Jolee told her, annoyed. "I made my choice back on Kashyyyk, and I'll handle the consequences. You bunch are hardly worse than a thousand tachs and katarn shrieking and carrying on, after all, though I'll grant it that you try. I'll learn to tune you out just the same."
Aithne made a sympathetic face. "It's a little much for me sometimes too," she told him. "I'm used to a lot more work on my own than I've gotten lately. Sometimes, I could do with a nap or three. Or a scream."
"I'll bet. And you're captain, which means they all need you to settle disputes, let them off their least favorite chores—and not let so-and-so off theirs—and spend extra time with them making them feel valued." Jolee chuckled. "Anyone who ever wants to be in charge is a moron."
They lapsed into companionable silence, and Jolee went back to his datapad. Aithne studied him. "Bindo, why did you want to jump onto my ship?" she asked finally. "You never said. Last time you just gave me that rigmarole about Andor and his destiny and sidestepped the whole question."
"You know, you're very observant," Bindo replied. "With skills like that, I can tell you'll go far within the Jedi."
"I'm serious," Aithne protested. "You could've gotten on any old transport vessel any time you got bored, headed off to someplace with a bigger human population and non-Czerka jobs to spare, gotten an apartment, a life with more convenience, a lot more privacy, and a lot less hassle than you're going to have with us. Instead you stuck around talking to yourself in the Shadowlands until the day when I showed up. Then when I ask why, you give me a story about this guy with an interesting destiny and leave it at that."
"You could too," Jolee pointed out. "You needed immediate help and, it turns out, a medic. I was interested in the look of you and your friends. It works. Anyone ever tell you not to look a gift ronto in the mouth?"
"Usually the people who are trying to get me to ignore 'no such thing as a free lunch.' You know, you're pretty elusive. Look. Leave it. Maybe I don't want to know."
Jolee's face seemed to change at that. "That was my idea, lass," he admitted. "Destinies . . . they can be funny things. Usually best not to talk about them too much, I've found. From what I could tell back at the enclave, you've already got a whole council and Bastila besides telling you all that's on your shoulders, all they're risking if you fail. You don't need any more of that; you don't need me pushing you in any one direction. I'm here to watch, that's all, and to help you if I can. Anything more? Leave it alone, I say. What's meant to happen will happen without any of us talking it to death."
Aithne stared at Jolee for a long, long moment, then collapsed against his shoulder. She was taller than he was, but he was broad and strong, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. "There now," he said. "None of that." But he didn't push her away; just held her a moment.
"Jolee, what do you see when you look at me?" she asked him.
Jolee hesitated. "Mostly a lot of swirling Force stuff, which you'd know if you'd paid attention last time," he said, pushing her lightly. "But—when I first saw you on Kashyyyk, everything about you was odd. Slightly off, as if my eyes were trying to trick me. And I won't say I don't understand why Bastila and the Council are nervous. Something about you is very dark, Aithne Moran, like a shadow above, within, or behind."
Aithne shivered, and Jolee patted her arm then gently pushed her up to sit on her own. He met her eyes. "I wouldn't worry about it too much, if I were you. I also see great capacity for courage, compassion, and wisdom in you. You remind me a bit of Nomi, truly, and that can't be all bad."
Aithne stared again. "Nomi Sunrider, Grand Master of the Jedi Order, legendary hero of the Great Sith War Nomi Sunrider?"
"Talk about a woman with a destiny," Jolee confirmed. "Yes, that Nomi Sunrider. She came late to the Force, just as you have. Whether you'll follow her example remains to be seen—but I doubt it. You'll never get anywhere, for instance, if you spend all night chatting up old men." He waved his hand at her demonstrably and picked his book back up. He'd been nice about it, but he was tired, and he needed some quiet.
Aithne smiled and rose. "Thank you," she murmured. "For everything." For refusing to prescribe a path, she meant. For comforting her. For comparing her to a famous hero instead of a famous villain.
Jolee smiled back. "You're welcome. Now shoo."