The surviving shards of the Moff's artificial holocron hovered like pieces of red rain in front of Silri. Who, with tweezers in hand, used a magnifying to study the archaic etching. Runic symbols which were near invisible without proper lighting. The Emperor had gone to a lot of effort to make a fake appear authentic. What was gained from putting a mark on one of his loyal men?

So engrossed in her work was Silri. She did not notice Trilla enter the conference room until a holodisc slid across the table. "As promised. The dossier of the Mining Guild's investors on Umbara.

Silri did not look up. "I'd say good job, Ink. But considering Imperial chatter is going crazy, instead, I'm going to say you have no concept of subtlety."

"Says the same woman who assisted a frontal assault on a Moff's villa."

"Yeah… That was fun. I so do love making men of affluence scream." Silri motioned with the crook of her finger. "Do you recognize this script?"

Trilla approached, placing a hand on the back of Silri's chair. She leaned closer for a better look. The runic symbols and lines meant nothing to her. "No. Should I?"

"Tsk. Tsk. Thought so… Silri sniggered cruelly. There was much to enjoy about a dark side acolyte unaware of its history. "But I guess ignorant blades are less likely to decide they'll overthrow his majesty."

"Your point?"

"It is ancient Sith." Silri held up a fragment. "The language of the most powerful dark side wielders this galaxy has ever known." She licked her lips, aroused by just the mere mention of such abilities. "Back when power used to mean more than the ability to command machines. There are claims some of the old Sith Lords transcended the limitation of their physical bodies to become something greater…" Her eyes flitted over. "Sound familiar?"

Getting the impression Silri wanted to dissect her, Trilla placed a protective arm over her chest. "I'll take your word for it." She saw the fruit of power dangling before her, yet as always it was ever out of reach.

"I'm sure you will, Ink." Silri turned back to the task in front of her. "Was there something else?"

"I'm looking for passage to Onderon. Preferably, some way that would go unnoticed."

"Ohoho." Silri chortled. "Is that so? Plan to cause another intergalactic incident?"

"Ideally, no." Trilla did not believe it herself. Given what was pursuing her.

"You are aware, Onderon is locked up tighter than some Imperial prisons, right?" Silri asked, an amused glint in her cold eyes. "Besides, the Crimson Dawn has a presence there, and we have a professional agreement to respect each other's operations."

Trilla crossed her arms. "They are exactly who I am hoping to find."

"Why's that?"

"It's not important."

Silri shrugged. "Alright, if it is not important, there is no reason for us to help you."

Trilla was still not used to having her authority challenged so readily. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I am looking for Darth Maul."

Silri cracked a wide, toothy grin as she cupped one of her breasts. "Can't say I blame you. He's quite the impressive … specimen." She deftly slid a hand across her side. "It is such a shame about the…" Her thumb made a cutting motion across her abdomen.

"You know him?"

"I'd like to know him physically. A Sith like Maul is bound to let his passions flow unrestrained." Silri said, lost in her fantasy. "Unfortunately, he dropped off our network a few standard months ago. Even his men don't seem to know where he has gone."

Trilla smirked. "Inquisitor, remember? I'm used to finding shadows."

Silri returned to her work. "If you act as a diplomat on the behalf of our consortium. There are always a few groups in need of the kind of arms the Crimson Dawn cannot provide."

The shipping crate was like a tightly packed coffin. Under normal circumstances, Trilla would not have been bothered by the lack of leg room, but sandwiched between two plasteel containers of heavy ordnance, she found all sorts of new sensations to add to her symphony of misery. None more prevalent than the throbbing at the segment where her spine halves connected to each other. The pain itself was a tolerable presence; the throb, on the other hand, brought the tolls of madness cascading against the interior of her skull. Sometimes there was no inner peace to be found in mediation, as Trilla found her other sense dulled by the torturous quagmire.

"Collot doesn't think it should be too long now," said her companion as he tinkered with the droid head. His compact size, by contrast, made travel easy. Collot finished making an important refinement to the KX to stop its determination to apply an honorific to him. Allowing it to better process his unique vocal ranges and manner of speech.

Still unsure how she felt about the rat, being able to talk back, Trilla rubbed her forehead. "I hope you're ready to find out how boring being an inquisitor used to be. Scouring a planet for a single person is about as dull as it can get."

"Collot assumes the tall, scary one is going to be here." He reattached the KX's head to his bandoleer. It appeared like a war trophy, dangling next to his a pouch of ammunition.

"Bet on it. Bastard was rooting around in my head." Trilla chewed on the inside of her cheek. She despised the notion was enough to make her voice quiver. Fear was something the Second Sister never had to deal with. The container's roof slid back, a gray light filling inside. Trilla hissed, retreating behind her veil as the patter of rain filled her ears. A Twi-lek with cerulean skin appeared above them. She had a tattoo of a serpent traveled from her left eye all the way to the tip of her lekku.

Recognizing the Jawa, she lit up. "Collot!"

Climbing out, Trilla gagged as the Twi-lek threw both arms around Collot, giving him a deep affectionate hug.

"It's nice to see Zaz again! Collot is sorry for not getting in touch." He wriggled in her hold like a feral animal. Slipping free, he asked, "Still paying off old man Zann?"

"Nah, we're square. I've been helping Gerrera's crew," she said, her attention drifting to Trilla. "Already got a new girl, I see." She offered a hand. "Hi, I'm Zaz."

Trilla ignored her, taking in the rest of the camp. There was little to look at; the guerrillas were tearing up their tents in preparation to move deeper into the jungle. To be a stranger among comrades was an odd feeling. Viewing the world, she once took for granted, upside down was making Trilla dizzy.

"I'm not his girl," she replied, knocking away the outstretched hand. "If anything, he's my pet."

"Brrr." Zaz shivered playfully. She knelt next to the Jawa. "What brings you to this pit, Collot?"

"Collot is helping the spooky lady."

"Oh? With what?" Zaz asked, amazed by his ability to find a new person to tolerate his unorthodox approach to challenges. "Don't tell me you're still heartbroken over us not working out."

The last thing Trilla wanted to discover was how their anatomy lined up. Clearing her throat, she said, "We're looking for the Crimson Dawn."

"Little late. The bucketheads torched their headquarters a couple of days ago." Zaz slid off the crate, motioning to a waiting squad of soldiers to get it onto a waiting ship. "They've been a lot more organized since a Pau'an took over their efforts."

Joining her on the ground, Trilla did not care to dwell on specifics. "This would be someone in the peripheral of their operations. Perhaps not even directly affiliated, but always close and they would maintain a cover occupation."

It was a logical guess. Trilla was no stranger to finding a needle in the haystack. If Maul had an established relationship with the refinery on Umbara, then whoever served as the go between had to be steady enough to maintain the supply line.

"You'd want to talk to Jwo, then. He runs a little stand in Iziz and knows just about everyone who comes and goes."

"Collot knows Jwo! He sales all kinds of makeup!"

"Makeup?" Trilla's face betrayed her interest. She touched her torn cheek. "Maybe he'd have my shade." Realizing her lapse, she pushed the idea away. "Iziz is a good enough place to start."

"Well, enjoy hoofing it. All our transports are tied up with the evacuation." Zaz picked up Collot. He squealed, startled, before bursting into a fit of high-pitched laughter. She gave him one last squeeze. "Take care of this one for me, will you? He's a total sweetheart."

Trilla considered lighting herself on fire, but then remember doing so would only leave her charred and even more uncomfortable.

A city wracked by conflicts spanning ten thousand years, Iziz was a testament to the unconquered spirit of Onderon. The Republic, the Confederacy, and the Empire had all learned the human cost of maintaining order on a planet whose population did not want them there. Iziz was under siege and acted as little more than an open air prison. Enemies within were everywhere, exacerbating tensions with the most recent occupying forces.

Harsh reprisals brought with them a curtain of silence. Soldiers on every street corner served as a constant reminder of the new order. Probe droids circled overhead like vultures, their optics scanning the faces of those on the street below, comparing the biometrics to the vast Imperial database. A knock on the door often ended with a body in a morgue months later. When the Grand Inquisitor landed, he brought with him an alternative philosophy of repression. Rejecting outright a policy of secret executions, he ordered all killings to be conducted in public. Including the decimation of Imperial personnel colluding with the enemy. For the Pau'an, terror was justice. And justice was only realized through the swift application of terror.

Positioned on a slight incline between two massive palm trees, Trilla had a clear view of Iziz's front gate. Six Stormtroopers, two ISB officers, and a TX-130 repulsortank all acted to dissuade any destructive inclinations of travelers.

Crouched down, she snickered. "A tank, no less. Things must be going poorly."

"Collot wants it. Big boom!" He raised both arms excitedly. "Tall one no more!"

"I like the enthusiasm." Trilla said, "Think they'd notice if we walked through the front gate?"

"Corpse woman, yes. Collot no."

Thanks for the vote of confidence." She counted four automated turrets positioned on the sandstone walls, making scaling it a difficult task on the best days. "I'm open to suggestions."

"When Collot needs to get somewhere under guard. Collot likes to start fires."

"No good, the Grand Inquisitor will swarm like a locust. He's waiting for the slightest deviation from the norm."

They remained hidden, watching, waiting for a chance to avail itself. Thanks to her state of being the large mosquitoes of the jungle, avoided Trilla preferring to attack Collot, who accepted his fate flat on the ground. Every few hours a recon transport arrived, and was allowed to pass unbothered.

She pointed, following the vehicle. "That's our way in."

The plan was simple enough. A fallen tree in the middle of the road. Rounding the corner, another recon transport announced its arrival with a roar of its engine. Lurking in the shade, Trilla saw its boxy chassis was laden heavy with grain, she guessed, repurposed to provide aid to a displaced populace. Before the obstacle was blasted into ash with a cannonade of laser fire, she darted over, wrapping her knuckles against the rear side door. "Excuse me! My father has been hurt! He needs medical attention!"

A trooper emerged, blaster ready, and she had her lightsaber against his throat in seconds. Before his comrades could react appropriately, Collot rushed into the cabin brandishing a string of thermal detonators. He menaced the four troopers with several frightful squeaks.

Blaster rifles clicked over, trained on this invader. Trilla, however, was ready to diffuse the situation. "Listen up! That Jawa there has enough explosives to give us all a nice warm send off!"

"M'aloo!" Collot waved at the troopers surrounding him.

"Now I know the Empire isn't paying any of you enough to die in this sweltering jungle. So how about, instead of becoming another name on a ledger, we all take a short drive together?!" She tightened her grip, hoping to avoid a massacre, if only because it would call undue attention down on her.

The argument was a persuasive one. Mutually assured destruction had a way of binding disparate groups to each other. Not one trooper voiced his objection as she climbed on board. They all kept their eyes straight ahead.

Hunched over as they reached the checkpoint, Trilla kept the hilt of her lightsaber pressed against the back of the driver's seat. Collot, meanwhile, made friends with the Incinerator trooper who went over the specification of his flamethrower with the enraptured Jawa. He was a good student, listening intently, expressing much interest in the weapon's components. The ISB officer outside went through a list of standard questions, which the driver answered with a bored cadence. Trilla let feelers flow outward, as she searched for any attempts to signal for help non-verbally. Her concerns were unfounded as the transport was waved through a only few minutes later. Once parked, she and Collot made a hasty exit.

Standing in the doorway, Trilla offered one last piece of wisdom. "Want my advice? Don't report this minor incident. Explaining why you chose your life over the Empire is a sure way to lose it." She tossed a handful of credits on the floor. "Drinks are on me."

A nearby alleyway offered a reprieve from any onlookers. Despite the state of siege, Iziz's merchant quarter was packed to the gills with all sorts of people eager to waste their hard earned credits on knicknacks. The noise alone was a sharp change from the eerie silence felt outside the city walls. But those with credits to spend were those citizens not under Imperial scrutiny. The economic life of Iziz was of the utmost importance to the Empire.

"Collot thinks Jwo's stand is this way." He waddled on ahead of her.

Trilla kept one eye on the cloudy sky above them. "Stay mindful of probe droids when in the open. My sister loves her machines."

"Can Collot keep one?" His mind remained ever fixated on what mattered most in life. Droid parts and their inherent value.

"If you can stop it from self-destructing."

The pair stopped where the alleyway opened to the main bazaar. A low rumble of feet on stone, announced a squad of Stormtroopers as they pushed through the crowd, making an ever important show of force. Not keen on making her public debut yet, Trilla jerked her thumb. "Collot. Go find Jwo. See if he can meet somewhere quieter."

Collot saluted, leaving her. Alone, Trilla sat on the stoop of a bar behind her and was soon tormented by another.

Stepping into view from the periphery, the Second Sister voiced her displeasure. "You've blundered right into the spider's web."

Trilla played with the edge of her veil. "I know, but thanks for the reminder."

If there was something the Second Sister could not abide, it was a lack of preparation before an operation. "Without so much as an exit strategy."

Used to being a disappointment, Trilla rolled her eyes. "There hasn't been a strategy since Nur, sister." She clasped her hands together. "We're so used to being terrified of stepping out of line, we have forgotten how to be unpredictable."

Knowing Trilla's mind intimately, for obvious reasons, the Second Sister asked, "What makes you so certain we need a teacher? Are we not already skilled enough?"

"Because the Grand Inquisitor's method was found lacking by none other than Cal fucking Kestis. " Trilla scowled, bile rising in her throat as the name formed on her tongue. "If a lousy padawan was enough to do you in, then I want to be so much more."

The Second Sister stepped in front of her other half. "Why would Maul want a pupil in the first place?"

"I'm not looking that far ahead." Trilla found self-doubt voicing its ugly dissent. She had failed so many times, her confidence was hanging by a thread.

The Second Sister's shoulders slumped. "Right." She turned, facing the crowd passing the alley. "If you truly covet power. Then we need to finish our Seventh and Ninth Sisters this time. For good."

"Priority one remains the liaison. Seeking a fight is a good way to dash any chance of making contact."

"That's not my point." The Second Sister crouched down. She placed both hands on Trilla's shoulders. "You hesitated on Umbara.

"Yeah, I made a mistake," Trilla said, exhaling sharply. Her eyes fixated on a point above the helmet's red visor. "It won't happen again."

"Your letting the Grand Inquisitor get into your head." The Second Sister's tone was softer, bordering on sympathetic. Rare for one such as her, but she intended to help. "Whatever loyalty you are holding onto is a death sentence. This is a war and there can be no quarter for the enemy. "

"Killing our sisters is exactly what he wants." Trilla looked to the ground between them; "He intended it back then, too. Do I need to remind you who spared them originally?"

"A shortsighted mistake. We are both smart enough to know empathy is for dead Jedi." The Second Sister cocked her head. "Remember what Cere said, it is a choice to be a slave. Want to free our sisters from bondage? Kill them both like Sixth Brother."

Adrift in a sea of moving bodies, Collot was buffeted around by the overeager crowd. Unable to catch himself, he was knocked left, then right, and finally dumped out in front of Jwo's stand.

A nondescript little booth, positioned between two fashion boutiques specialized in jewelry and gaudy hats, respectively. An Ithorian, Jwo carried himself with a lightness that was enticing in the dreary gray. He wore a juniper toned robe, tied at his waist with a white sash. Stands of facial hair hung from his chin, complimenting the sagely creases along his hammerhead.

Through the translator wrapped around his neck, he hocked his wears with a flair for showmanship. His staff served as a baton, with which he pointed to the numerous vials of makeup on the table. Excited, Collot popped up, his eyes scarcely above the rim of the stand. "M'aloo!"

Jwo paused. "Collot?" His guttural manner of speech conveyed surprise. "What brings you back to Iziz?"

"Collot wants this one here." The Jawa raised a darker vial of eyeshadow. "For Collot's friend."

"Plum is always a good choice." Jwo took it, prodding Collot with his staff. "You will pay this time, right?"

Collot placed a stick of credits on the table. "Friend wants to meet with Jwo. Somewhere less noisy."

Jwo gurgled, his mouths flexing. He waited for a plain clothes ISB officer to pass by, then whispered. "I'm still boarding at Hizoh's flophouse."

Collot nodded and left with a wave. Returning to Trilla, he found her, as he often did, engaged in a spirited discussion with a ghost. Agitated and delirious, she jumped out of her skin when he gave her sleeve a gentle tug.

Hand on her lightsaber, Trilla relaxed upon seeing him. "Don't. Do. That."

"Collot found Jwo and got corpse woman a present!" He held up the vial in both hands.

Confused, Trilla hesitated. Realizing it was eyeshadow, she snatched it from him. Unable to hide her amazement that he had found her preferred color, Trilla gasped. "How'd you know?"

"Collot has eyes! Corpse woman is always so worried about her pretty face!"

A sincere compliment was enough to reduce her stance to jelly, if only for a minute. The word pretty cracked the hard exterior shell she maintained out of necessity. Resentment flooded to fill the break, but Trilla did not voice it. Fidgeting, she pressed her thumb into the vial's cap. "I can pay you for the trouble."

"No pay, say thanks! Collot knows corpse woman was upset about her cheek!"

Trilla closed her hand. "Hmph. Aren't you a charmer?" She let herself smile, sliding the vial into the folds of her cloak. "I…" she trailed off. "I accept this gift." It was closest to another thanks she was willing to pay the Jawa. Ready to move on, she said, "Stop calling me 'corpse woman" it's demeaning."

"Okay, Ink!" He had heard Silri's nickname for her and was prepared to run it into the ground.

Accepting the compromise, Trilla acted on impulse, offering him her arm. "How would you like to feel tall for once?" Collot squeaked excitedly, scampering up her back until he rested atop her shoulders.

Once night fell, Collot directed her to the dilapidated flophouse. On the outskirts of polite society, it was a two-story tenement, with a roof that bowed inward due to the incessant deluge of rain that continued to pound the capital. A cheap place to rest for a diverse clientele of species who acted as the Empire's permanently mobilized labor force. The lively atmosphere offered warmth to Trilla as she entered. Three long, parallel cafeteria style tables lined with various cultural dishes were packed with all sorts of aliens. Collot pointed to Jwo who was seated at the far corner, his wooden staff leaned against his arm.

"You Jwo?" Trilla asked upon reaching him.

"Indeed." Jwo signaled the Bith host for three drinks. "What can I do for you?"

Trilla reiterated what she told Zaz. Emphasizing the liaison of the Crimson Dawn would be hidden in plain sight. Collot downed the first mug of alcohol with no consideration for his size.

Jwo listened, his rings clicking off each other as he tried to assess this strange woman. "A few individuals meet such a description. It will take time to narrow the list down.

"I don't have that luxury. The longer I stay on this planet, the more danger everyone is going to be in," Trilla said, bringing the beer to her lips. However, the odor was so foul she had second thoughts about drinking it.

Jwo felt her words were true. Recognizing the dark cloud following her was a beacon for the black hunters lurking on the rooftops of Iziz. "There is a Duros that might be who you speak. He's made a name for himself in the King's court as a libertine.

She tried again to drink the beer, successfully getting it down without gagging, only to turn green as she pushed the glass away. "Tell me about this, Duros."

"Never met him myself, but his wife frequents my stand." Jwo scanned the faces around them, cautious of eavesdroppers. "He makes regular trips out of Iziz. No one knows the nature of his business, often leaving the poor woman alone for weeks at a time."

A weak lead, but a lead nonetheless. Trilla nodded. "Then that's who I am starting with. If you hear anything else, let me know."

"You are welcome to rent a room. Hizoh is always eager to serve new faces." Jwo indicated to the Bith.

Trilla took the suggestion as the tantalizing prospect of a bed, even one laden with gnats and bugs, was enough for her to forgo rationality. She fell face first into a cloud of dust, grateful to be off her feet. Collot himself had other plans. He had spotted a droid outside the flophouse worth quite a nice boon of credits.

Self-preservation was nothing contrasted to a Jawa's readiness to strip any machine for parts, so Collot wandered back onto the street. Unfortunately, the droid was already gone, but before he could go back inside, a massive hand swooped out from the darkness, hoisting him up by his robe.

Collot shrieked hearing the Ninth Sister in his ear. "Gotcha, you little rat."

"Please don't eat Collot! Collot is too stringy!"

Why bother getting Trilla her lightsaber? The question was a fair one, and one Cal had a hard time justifying to himself in the Mantis's bathroom. Saying because he wanted to, should have been enough of a reason, but he remained unsatisfied with it. Combat fatigue. That was the term used for padawans who mentally cracked under a barrage of separatist guns. Jedi training theoretically accommodated the reality of war, but theories rarely held up in practice. For those shaped by the Clone Wars and the scars it left behind, they found no solace in the archaic dogmas of an Order that undid itself. Restlessness plagued Cal. He could not leave the fight behind. Be it the Confederacy or the Empire. To be idle was to die. Which was a feeling Cere, Merrin, and Greez could never understand. However, in Trilla, Cal found unexpected kinship.

Which was why he could not judge her for her fall. The urge to surrender plagued him as well. Inescapable it dug its nails into his spinal column, chewing away at his sanity. As was always the Grand Inquisitor's design for his personal hunt, which stretched across the galaxy.

After splashing some cold water on his face, Cal left the bathroom. He found Cere seated cross-legged on the sofa, pouring over a datapad in her hand. He sat next to her. "Got a minute?"

"Of course." Cere set the datapad aside. She had been more withdrawn than usual, as she pondered the ever murky future of her and the rest of the crew. "Is this about Trilla?"

"Yeah. I spoke to her again."

"I know. The door was open." Cere had tried to avoid intruding upon the conversation, but curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Cal nodded, then fell silent. There was not much he had talked to Trilla about, he wanted to impart. If only out of respect for her. She had spoken to him in confidence, and Cal was going to make sure her secrets stayed secret as long as Trilla wanted them to.

Choosing a direct approach, he asked, "Do you still have Trilla's lightsaber?" "I do." "I'd like to return it to her." Cere's expression hardened as her lips twisted into a frown. "Why?" After cutting herself off from the Force, anger had become a foreign emotion, however it always lurked beneath the surface. As the dark side is roused from its slumber by anger, not the other way around.

He had anticipated resistance, but did not expect a sudden chill to overtake the cabin. Luckily, his poncho was ready for a harsh reception. "Because Trilla asked for it."

Asked was a generous choice of words. Cere shifted, placing her arm on the back of the sofa as she leaned closer. "Need I remind you that Trilla still walks a dark path? Inquisitor or no, Empire or no, who I saw on Umbara was not someone who can be trusted."

Cal found it difficult to formulate an appropriate response. He pushed his fingers through his hair, trying to keep his cool. "I get it, but this is your former padawan we're talking about. Not some monster." When she did not respond, he pressed. "We have to give Trilla a reason to trust us first. The lightsaber is hers, and she is not the Second Sister anymore."

Cere remained hard to read. Her dark eyes were pensive as ever. "How can you be so sure she's not trying to manipulate you again?"

"To what end?" Cal objected, incensed by the question. As if Cere believed, he would be swayed so easily. "Trilla can't hide her feelings from me anymore, and you know what I feel from her now? Sadness, loneliness and fear. Yes, anger is there too, but I sense it as a protective presence. She is so used to being on her own, the idea of seeking help is alien to her."

"Is this about Trilla? Or you, Cal?" Cere cut right to the root of her concern. She had been surprised by his willingness to go out on a limb for her former student. Nur had impacted him in many unexpected ways.

"I could ask you the same question." He retorted. "When we first met, you pretended your padawan was dead. But she wasn't. Now Trilla is alive. Yet you still act like she's dead. Why?"

"Because she was killed right in front of us," Cere hissed. "Whatever pulled itself back together is not my padawan." There were no words to give voice to the grief she was grappling with. Trilla had died. Then, as per Cal's realization, Trilla had abused the Force to revive. An action that would have untold consequences, which remained unseen. Cere faced a challenge to her worldview, she was unwilling to address. Her understanding of the dark side was rooted in the incomplete assessment of a fearful outsider.

"So. That's how it is going to be," Cal sighed, regretting the entire conversation. "Trilla was afraid you saw her as tainted." A hurt burrowed into his breast. The same grief Trilla no doubt lived with every day. To be written off as a lost meant being condemned to die alone, struggling against the tide of life.

"That's not tr—"

"Then what is it, Cere? Because dark side or not, it is Trilla. She is alive and in dire need of our help."

Cere did not respond at first. She stood. "The answer is no. Trilla needs to prove she's mature enough to handle the responsibility of her lightsaber. Otherwise she remains dangerous, and unpredictable." The cutting words of a mother, not a master. Laced with the poisonous arrogance of their Order, which rejected an individual's ability to come back to the light.

As she left, Cal bristled, finding the simmering rage he often tried to suppress bubbling over the surface. "You told Trilla on Nur that you failed her. Did you really mean it? Or do you blame her for enduring the darkness you were too much of a coward to face?"