Out of Exile: A rewriting of Knights of the Old Republic II

Chapter VII

2008-03-11T23:58:31Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse (near sephi) female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.

[]Chapter VII

"Oh, this is unbelievable!" Atton explodes. "There must be thousands, if not tens of thousands, of ships in this station and you're telling me that it's ours that's been stolen!"

      "We don't know it's been stolen," Grenn states calmly. "B-4A1, run a pattern and registry recognition scan for the Ebon Hawk on the monitor satellite grid, and pull up the surveillance feeds from AA-23."

      "One moment please. Scanning... A vehicle matching the class and registry details of the Ebon Hawk was logged leaving docking bay AA-23 seven point six standard hours ago. This however does not match the station's internal database - no records of transit authorisation or docking bay departure exist. Further, though the Ebon Hawk's trajectory began assuming characteristics of orbital entry, this cannot be confirmed due to deletion of the data from the satellite covering that sector. Further, the data for the time period pertaining to the apparent departure window of the Ebon Hawk has also been deleted. The lack of appropriate authorisation codes suggest that in both instances this was done illegally."

      "Is there any chance that it's left the system?" Kreia asks.

      "Negative. None of the satellites monitoring ingress or egress to Telos' territorial space have registered the departure of any vessel matching the class and registry of the Ebon Hawk."

      "So, wait," Atton interrupts. "What you're saying is that the ship is actually somewhere on the surface? Somewhere outside the Restoration Zones, where the atmosphere is corrosive and no one could possibly land safely?"

      "Though improbable, it is a logical inference to draw from the available data," B-4A1 replies. "However, I cannot confirm or deny the veracity of any such deduction."

      "Well, that's a real bang-up job you've been doing here, isn't it Major?" Atton turns on Grenn. "I really think 'gross incompetency' is inadequate to re--"

      Grenn cuts him off. "I've just about had enough of y--"

      "ENOUGH."

      Everyone suddenly looks to Rahne and the demeanour of cold authority she somehow gathers from the echoes of her shout.

      "Atton, shut up," she orders. "Major, provided that it too hasn't been stolen, you will return the property you took when we were arrested. You will also ensure that we are supplied with an expense account - to which I will hold sole access - before we leave this precinct house. It doesn't have to be much, but we need clothes, food and equipment."

      Both men, after a momentary pause, agree to her suggested course of action.

      Soka leads them through the process of reclaiming their meagre possessions, and though technically in authority over them, the pretty blonde's manner - towards her at least - is almost one of deference. To Rahne, the most important item remains the holocron; giving it a quick inspection, she slips it into her thigh pocket, all the time aware of Atton's curiosity. He in turn takes the few credits and other currency pledges they'd found aboard the Hawk. The tablet with the list of items they'd thought to barter with seems pointless now, but they take it back too.

      It takes understandably longer for Grenn to organise the expense account, so the three of them wait silently in his office watching the vid screen on the wall outside loop through the faces and biographies of some two score criminals and missing persons. Lives and interruptions to them, all terribly traumatic, reduced to a simple précis. Two that particularly capture Rahne's attention are a Rodian and a Deveronian: it's partly for the two criminals sharing a common name, but mostly for their most recent crime being escaping the lawful custody of the TSF - it sends her memories back her friends' own brief incarceration and the evidence of an explosion she'd seen.

      "Why do you get the expense account?" Atton asks after a while, interrupting her thoughts.

      "She is the most trustworthy of the three of us," Kreia answers with casual disdain for both the question and its composer. "The Major also clearly dislikes you and would likely not have agreed if he thought you would have any sort of access to it."

      "A succinct summary of the situation," Grenn agrees as he enters, an expression of vague amusement momentarily lightening his dour mien. He slots the cred-stick into a reader on his desk that he then spins around to face to Rahne. "Place your thumb here to code it to you." After she does so, he continues "There's a limit on it, but it should be enough for you to acquire what you need. And maybe a little extra to keep yourselves entertained… and out of trouble."

      "I presume that there's a block on purchasing tickets out of system?" Rahne asks, slipping the pen into her other thigh pocket once Grenn hands it over.

      "Naturally," he answers, reaching into a belt pouch. "And because of your... special... circumstances I also have these for you."

      "What are they?" she asks, peering dubiously at the three bulky bracelets he produces.

      "Life monitors," Atton answers. "They were issued to a lot of the civilian populations of the Core Worlds and the Colonies during the War to help track family members in the case they were separated during the conflict. Some even made their way out to the Mid Rim where they were actually useful."

      "It's been a long time since I was that far coreward," Rahne says bitterly.

      "These lights here show the status of the other monitors in the local network," Atton explains as he and Grenn initialise the devices for the women. "They monitor the wearer's pulmonary rate, body temperature, galvanic response, that sort of thing. "

      "These models also include an encrypted comms unit," Grenn adds, giving Kreia an evaluating look. "You'll be able to communicate between yourselves, as well as signal for TSF assistance. These buttons here. It's big enough you should be able to use your chin to toggle it."

      "I believe I shall manage," she responds coolly, dropping the hem of her sleeve over the bracelet after it's closed around the wrist of her remaining hand.

      "You've been most thorough," Rahne acknowledges, taking a look at her own monitor. The lights representing Kreia and Atton shine a steady green. "Thank you."

      "It's nothing more than I have to," the old man answers. "How long the effort will be worth a damn is anyone's guess."

      "You're talking about Peragus," she deduces.

      "We desperately relied on their fuel to keep Citadel Station running," he confirms. "There's enough reserves to keep us from falling out of orbit, but the restoration project will inevitably have to be scaled back, and beyond that there's nothing for anything else - including our defence and support systems."

      "Can't the Republic increase funding?" Atton asks.

      "They're still recovering from the war," Grenn shrugs. "They can't spare any more than they've already given. It's going to be hard to make up for a whole planet worth of fuel until someone reopens a facility in the Peragus system. If we could find some other source it'd be a godsend, but everyone is so insular these days it's a miracle there's a Republic left."

      "Entropy is the natural state of the universe," Kreia suggests darkly.

      "Hrm. Well, I've done what I can for you. Please stay out of trouble."

      "We'll do our best," Rahne agrees. With that she takes the other two and leaves him to the thankless task of protecting people from each other and a galaxy that generally doesn't like anyone. The pass Soka on the way out, returning her gesture of farewell and safe travels.

      "So?", Atton asks once they're clear of the precinct house. "What now?"

      "We go shopping. Clothes. Gear. Weapons."

      "And?"

      "And we look for a way to get to the surface to find the Hawk."

      "We should be looking for a way out of this system as soon as possible."

      "Ignoring everything else that is fundamentally wrong with that plan," Rahne objects cuttingly, "do you imagine that Major Grenn's little presents here don't contain tracking devices?"

      "I'd presumed that was covered under 'gear' on your shopping list," Atton smiles winningly before becoming serious again. "Going to the surface is a mistake. It's obviously a trap."

      "Of course it's a trap," Kreia agrees in a tone that suggests she's pained by his stating such an obvious fact.

      "Actually, I think it's more of an invitation," Rahne corrects the both of them. "If it was a trap, they'd be worried that we'd either just skip the system or latch on to the Republic investigators heading this way. Whoever took the Hawk knows we're not going to just leave it."

      "Why aren't we just leaving it?" Atton asks. "It's a barely spaceworthy hulk with nothing of value."

      "T3-M4 saved our lives back on Peragus, so we owe him as much," Rahne points out severely. "And the Hawk is our barely spaceworthy hulk, isn't it Kreia?"

      "I thought you Je--" he starts to snipe only to find his mouth covered by Rahne's hand and his back against the wall.

      "First," she hisses "as previously established, I'm not. Second, use your brain or I'll remove both it and your genitalia using the nearest available blunt object, and not in that order. Are we very clear on this?"

      The scoundrel nods, and she backs away.

      "You're cute when you're threatening people."

      "Oh, very smooth laser brain," she shakes her head. "Just remember why we're here before you say anything else."

      "Hey, don't worry. It's me."

      ::Do you still disagree with my assessment of him?::

      Rahne just shakes her head again. "I'm finding something comfortable to wear. Atton, you can either cool your heels with us while we do that, or do some window shopping of your own and meet up with us."

      "Oh, I'm sure I can put up with you."

      "You do surprise me," Kreia remarks drolly, with only a hint of the snide condescension Rahne knows the old woman feels.

      "It's that whole unpredictability of youth thing I have going on."

      The three of them take one of the public shuttle pods to the local commercial hub. Perhaps slightly surprisingly the three of them make it out without incident despite the nagging desire on Rahne's part to space both her companions without a backwards glance. Even more surprising is the comparative throng of people they observe flitting about the place, like the catastrophic loss of the station's main energy supplier is something they simply either don't know or don't care about.

      ::They are sheep, incapable of greater understanding or responding beyond base instinct.::

      ::That's not exactly a revelation.::

      ::Why then do I sense envy through this bond of ours?::

      ::Because I miss curling up with Reiko in front of the fire without having to care that the remnants of the Sith are trying to kill me. Or that I'm wearing the ill fitting clothes of a woman who was murdered because of me.::

      "According to the directory, the clothing boutiques are this way," Atton blithely interrupts them, before turning on the charm. "And since you've been out of the way for so very long, my dear Rahne, allow me to be your guide to the finer aspects of recent Galactic fashion."

      Despite herself, Rahne can't but help smile a little at his slightly comical semi-bow. "You are not watching me get changed."

      "Oh, the very idea!" he scoffs before leading the way.

      Rahne had thought the whole expedition would take only a couple of hours, but just buying clothes takes almost three. Some of that comes down to vetting some of Atton's deliberately wilder choices, and cajoling Kreia out of her disdainful (and frankly self-pityingly) funk to participate. But some of it is her too: as a Jedi, all her clothing in all its functional and uninspiring mundaneness had been provided by the Temple, so finding something exotic or unusual - something distinctive - to wear under the robes became a form of personal rebellion against the sublimation of the self the Order desired. She'd seen beneath enough robes to know that she wasn't the only one, padawan or knight, to feel that way. Even after her exile and finding Reiko, having something beautiful or unusual or just different to wear underneath everything else had remained important-- well, had become even more important, really.

      So every so often she finds herself trying on something decadent, taking the time to admire the look of it, the feel of it, to imagine it coming off again. And as she does, she recalls certain textures and certain colours, ones she'd worn and had been worn for her. Remembers the sound of those materials moving against bare skin and the work clothes that hid them, the cadences of fasteners closing and opening in the privacy of a bed chamber or the back of a flitter beneath a clear star-filled night sky. Then in one booth, she finds something that settles across her like... like the very last time, in the house on the beach as it rained a billion glittering lights amidst the monsoon... The memories of Reiko's last night, the sights and the sounds and the smells and the tastes and the touches and the kisses and the-- Oh!

      They all rise up and drown her, and before she knows it she's slumped in the far corner crying the tears her eyes had never been able to as she involuntarily recalls the greatest loss she can remember suffering. When the shop droid enquires about her she angrily tells it to drokk off and is left to her self for a while longer.

      "Rahne?" Atton's voice eventually slides through the door in concern. "Are you alright?"

      "Yes," she lies, wiping her eyes.

      "The old witch said I should check in on you."

      "Thoughtful of her."

      "I think she's just getting irritated with the shop assistant's having a crisis over what to do about you," he smirks. "It's probably lucky she's not armed or she might mishandle the situation."

      "Oh, that is so very wrong," she gasps, stripping off and hastily pulling her new clothes back on - sensible but rebelliously cheerfully bright yellow athletic skivvies hidden beneath fawn fatigue pants, a grey pull-over tunic and black combat boots. Nondescript and ordinary wear that no one will really take much notice of. A pity really, because the brocaded purple longcoat three stores back had been very pretty.

      "You have no idea how wrong I can get," he agrees affably, his shadow looming visibly through the vent slats as she puts the shimmery camisole back on its hanger. She's about to take it out to return it to the display, but that shadow instead prompts her to just leave it hanging on the back of the door for the droid to find and where he won't see it.

      "Anyway, I'm fine," she announces, flashing him a quick smile as she moves past quickly so he can't see the evidence of her grief already partially obscured by her hair. He's dressed slightly more stylishly than she is, with sleek tan leather trews and matching boots, something that might almost be described as a white dress shirt and a stylishly cut blue jacket. Given the things he'd genuinely been threatening to buy, it's a relatively restrained ensemble

      Kreia is waiting for them on the promenade. It's almost impossible to tell she's wearing anything different than when the expedition started - her purchases have all tended towards gowns and cloaks that continue the uncomfortably Jedi-like appearance the old woman apparently enjoys affecting despite likely being aghast were she ever to be described as such.

      ::You need to stop being self indulgent and learn to control your emotions.::

      Rahne just glares at her.

      ::Apart from the effect it has on me, that way lies the Dark Side, and thanks to what the Council did, you lack even a modicum of the skill required to handle the power of it. You would be consumed.::

      Her sullen glare fades and she sighs, shoulders slumping. The half-formed accusation she'd been about to voice dies stillborn.

      ::You're right. I apologise.::

      "So, we've all got clothes," Atton blithely breaks the tension. "What we need now are toys. There's a rather nice Aratech that I've had my eye on for a while now that should be within our budget, and I'm sure we'll find something charmingly lethal for you two lovely ladies."

      "I've never been too fond of blasters," Rahne remarks as they set off again, she and Atton carrying all the bags between them. "They have an irritating habit of going off."

      "It is the nature of tools to function as they are intended," Kreia counters philosophically.

      "Speaking of which," Atton groans, "we should take a detour."

      "What ar--?" Rahne begins but sees for herself. A little way ahead is a tapcaf in front of which a space is rapidly forming. Standing in that emptiness are three beings; a sullustan wearing the uniform of a dock worker of some kind being loomed over by two humans wearing low grade body armour emblazoned with some sort of insignia she is not immediately familiar with. There's a brown puddle around the boots of one of the humans and matching smear across the front of his armour.

      "Please - I don't want any trouble," the sullustan stammers. "It was an accident, I swear!"

      "That didn't look like an accident to me," the clean one argues. "Or my associate here. It looked like you wanted to make a fool of him.

      "No, no, that wasn't the way of it," the sullustan holds up his hands to ward off the very idea. "I did not mean to bump into you; allow me to leave and go on my way. I will trouble you no longer."

      "Not even an apology?" the human's partner asks, his voice rougher but as coldly calm as his friend's.

      "That won't do at all," the first agrees

      ::Do not interfere, Exile. Heroics only attract attention we do not want.::

      She allows herself to be steered around the scene by her companions as the dock worker offers to buy his accusers new drinks and to pay for the cleaning. Hearing that, she consoles herself that everything will be fine. Right up until the moment she hears the metallic shrack of batons being extended and she turns back to see the weapons resting on the sullustan's shoulders, forcing him to the ground where's he ordered to lick the mess clean.

      "The shop's just up here I think." Atton says loudly, trying not to hear.

      There's harsh laughter as she again allows herself to be shepherded away from the scene. Then it stops, replaced by a dangerous demand for clarification and she can't walk away anymore. She just drops the bags and cuts through the crowd that can't make up its mind if it wants to ignore the scene or gawk at it. Kreia is oddly silent. As she breaches the perimeter of indifference, there's the unmistakable of sound of a boot striking flesh.

      "What's going on here?" she demands. For a brief moment she's a General again, her voice full of authority and lordly might.

      "This fellow here had a few things to say about us that we didn't take to so well," the second human answers, half-hiding his baton behind his back. At his feet, the sullustan is grimacing - well, as best she can tell - and curling into a foetal position.

      "We're just trying to work out our differences... with a little physical reinforcement," his partner agrees, though his baton remains in open view.

      "He looks chastised enough judging by how wet his pants are," she gestures. "I think you should leave now."

      "Or what, you're going to teach me a lesson?" the second one asks, twirling his weapon.

      And like that the moment's gone.

      "There's no need for violence," she continues anyway. "You've made your point. Just walk on.

      "If you didn't want some of this you stupid slot," the first hisses, "then you should have kept your nose in your own business!"

      The guy is close to being a head and half taller than she is, with easily half as much again extra body mass than her own. His baton swings back and upwards before scything downwards in a power stroke aimed at her head. It's because of these things that she can take a quick step forward, moving completely within his guard. There's just enough time for him to register an expression of surprise before his forearm smacks against her shoulder, jarring it downwards. Ignoring the contact, she pistons her right arm straight upwards, the heel of her palm slamming into the bottom of his jaw, snapping his head backwards.

      Stumbling backwards, he howls in rage and pain. Blood streams from his mouth - or more accurately the severed end of his tongue. It gives her time to check for her opponent's partner, whom she glimpses bare metres away, an arm twisted behind his back and struggling to escape Atton's chokehold. It's not a sight that occupies her attention for long as a guttural snarl signals the return of her original attacker.

      He lunges at her again, forcing her to back peddle out of the way of a broad lateral backhand swing. Holding up her hands in an attempt to signal a cessation of hostilities has no effect except to trigger another savage slash in her direction so once again she steps inside his guard only this time she crouches low and plants a solid kick against the side of his knee. Although the armour stops the joint from breaking, combined with the momentum of his swing it's enough to topple him onto his back. Without giving her opponent a chance to recover, Rahne launches herself upwards and forwards. Her boot stamps down on his wrist, keeping it still as she yanks the baton from his hand. Flipping the activation stud, she smacks him with it in the side of the neck. He splutters and twitches for a moment before falling unconscious.

      Powering off the baton, she collapses it and tucks it into one of her boots. "You good?" she calls to Atton, spotting him sitting on top of his thug.

      "I'm good," he answers, mimicking her appropriation. "We should probably get going before the TSF show up."

      "The TSF can't do anything," the sullustan wheezes. He accepts Rahne's aid in regaining his footing. His uniform is sodden with caf. "Thank you! I was completely helpless. These mercenaries are too much! I wish something could be done about them.

      Rahne's brow furrows. "What are you talking about?"

      "The TSF doesn't have jurisdiction here. Czerka has stolen so much of the security contract for this station and flooded it with their... contractors," he spits in disgust. "The Republic must do something, but whether they will is anyone's guess."

      "Stang," Atton curses. "You sure do know how to pick them."

      Rahne just motions rudely at her companion. "Look, just get out of here in case their friends come looking for them."

      "You speak the truth," the sullustan nods sagaciously. "I will stay away from here until things settle down. What about you?"

      "Well be fine," she waves him away, then turns to Atton. "Thanks for the help."

      "My pleasure," he smiles rakishly.

      Around them, the promenade is returning to normal.

      "Let's just collect Kreia and head back to the apartment," she decides. "If there's a blow up, I'd rather we were on something that vaguely passes as friendly territory when it happens."

      "Sounds like a plan."

      "Did I not warn you about keeping your emotions in check?" Kreia asks in irritation when they rejoin her.

      "I couldn't stand back and do nothing!" Rahne snaps back. Collecting their gear, the trio hustle towards the closest shuttle pod.

      "That's exactly what you have to do," the older woman ignores her protest. "You compromise your own safety and deny the person you're attempting to aid the chance to find the strength to stand on their own."

      "That's an interesting world view," Atton comments.

      "If that's true, then why are you helping me?" Rahne challenges her.

      "The bond between us means I am also helping myself," she shrugs. "And I also know you are capable of carrying your own weight in our travels."

      ::You have worth.::

      ::The Sith and the Exchange certainly seem to think so.::

      If there's a telepathic equivalent of rolling the eyes, Kreia manages to convey it.

      Happily - if somewhat surprisingly - no one accosts them during their flight from the scene, nor is the passage of the pod impeded in any fashion. There is, though, a TSF reception party at the other end, with Major Grenn front and centre.

      "I just can't let you out of my sight, can I?" he asks semi-rhetorically, leading his little troop into the pod before Rahne and her friends can leave. "It's like it's your natural state to attract trouble."

      "You may be right," she agrees with a degree of resignation. "But those two were going to beat that little guy into a medical ward just for bumping into them, and no one else was going to do anything, except maybe get off on it."

      "Those Czerka contractors are the duly deputized enforcers of the law in that part of the station."

      "Then the law is a chobit. And it was self defence."

      They hold each other's look for a moment until Grenn waves his people forward. But rather than being clapped in restraints, she and Atton find themselves being clapped on the back instead.

      "It was foolish, but you have no idea what you've just done for the morale of my people," Grenn says, stony expression splitting into something passable as a grin. "Seeing those thugs knocked down a peg or two does a soul good."

      "It was the right thing to do," Atton beams, recovering quickly. "No problem at all."

      "I wouldn't necessarily say that," Grenn shrugs. "They'll probably be looking for pay back."

      "Indeed," Kreia agrees coldly. "We have made ourselves an even bigger target than we were before."

      "We've thought of that," Grenn admits. "That's why we're moving you to another apartment."

      "That's entrapment," Atton chuckles after a moment. "Do you really think they'd be stupid enough to send their people to where we were."

      "Most likely not, but it costs us nothing to act like you're still there and hope they get themselves caught on camera."

      The pod shudders as the droid pilot disengages from the docking clamps.

      "So where are we going?" Rahne asks, watching the vid screen on the side of the passenger area that displays the pilot's view of the station's surface.

      "Habmod Zero Ten sub Three. It's a little more upmarket than your last one and adjacent to another TSF precinct house. One of my people is there in mufti already to keep an eye of things."

      "The body guard you offered us previously," Kreia remarks.

      "More or less," Grenn nods. "You saved her from the bounty hunter sent by the Exchange. She's keen to return the favour if possible."

      "Officer Soka," Rahne deduces, taking a seat.

      "She's one of my best. I'd trust her with my life."

      "And ours it seems," Kreia remarks neutrally, sitting next to her.

      "And yours," the officer agrees.

      "I hope you're right about her," Atton mutters darkly.

      "So do I," Grenn agrees. "Otherwise the paperwork will be a nightmare."

Chapter VI

2007-06-04T02:55:27Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.

[]Chapter VI

"This man isn't Batu Rem!" Major Grenn exclaims.

      "I'm glad someone noticed that only after he tried to take us," Atton mutters under his breath.

      The comment earns a sour glance from the Major. "He's on leave - he shouldn't even have been on the station." Medics crowd behind him, examining their unconscious fellow officers. "How are they?" Grenn asks.

      "Our people are fine," he's answered. "The other one is dead. Broken neck."

      "How did that happen?" Grenn asks, turning back to the trio.

      "Self defence," Rahne answers. "He got too close when he was gloating about getting the drop on us."

      "And you have no idea who he is?" Grenn presses. "Or why he came after you?"

      "Of course," she answers, aware of Atton's slight reaction.

      ::I advise against this...::

      ::Our cover is drokked anyway.::

      "Well?" he challenges.

      "The Exchange have a bounty on me," Rahne says. "He was intending to collect."

      "I've heard of them. There are rumours the Exchange becoming active here, though no one’s willing to confirm it," Grenn admits. "What are you to them?"

      "I know something they think I shouldn't," she answers him sombrely. "People. Things. Deeds. It's not something they appear to appreciate. They have I don't know how many HK-series assassins salted through out the Republic fleet posing as protocol droids; one of them came after me to Peragus and slaughtered the entire crew in case they tried to prevent its back-up team from taking me. When that failed, the people chasing us blew the entire debris field to try and stop us making the jump to hyperspace."

      "Why didn't you say something about this before?" he demands. "We could have--"

      "Could have what?" Rahne cuts him off with carefully exaggerated exasperation. "Protected us? You've already been compromised once. For all you know that impostor could have been planning something else and encountered us by accident."

      "You need to testify to what you--" Grenn is again interrupted, this time by Atton.

      "That's where we're going," Atton steps in smoothly. "The only reason we stopped here was to resupply. Once that's done, we're gone. We have people on Alderaan we can trust who are going to take care of everything."

      "Be that as it may, we still need to verify your story and the events at the Peragus facility."

      "How exactly do you plan to perform this latter feat?" Kreia interjects, her tone reasonable yet cutting. "As you have already informed us, we are the only witnesses to the destruction of an astrological body and the facility hosted by it. Unless your investigators possess access to Jedi abilities, all you will find are random energy readings and irradiated rock. Our ship's astrogation system possesses only the jump data from Peragus to here. And we have told you what happened."

      Major Grenn grinds his teeth together in frustration. "None the less, you will remain in protective custody until our investigation is complete.

      The temptation to crush his windpipe and those of Grenn's officers is very strong, and Rahne can't honestly tell if it's Kreia feeling this way or herself.

      "Look, please just take us to our quarters," Rahne sighs wearily.

      "You'll be under TSF protection," he tries to reassure them. "I'll personally clear any visitors to your quarters, and we'll investigate this incident to the best of our ability."

      "The best of your ability?" Atton incredulously. "That's not very inspiring."

      Rahne has to grudgingly admire Grenn when he fails to punch Atton in the jaw despite a poorly hidden inclination to the contrary. "Then it's a good thing that inspiring you doesn't fall under my duty of care. Should your story be verified, rest assured I will do everything possible to ensure that your journey to Alderaan continues in the most expeditious manner possible."

      Turning away, Grenn gives orders for Rem's vessel to be towed to a customs bay. With that handled, he organises for the three of them to again be escorted to their new quarters. Unrestrained, they are ushered aboard the transport pod the TSF officers had arrived on - every step an interesting sensation for Rahne thanks to the heavily wadded crystal rubbing inconveniently against the sweet spot inside of her - and the Major himself acts as their pilot. It takes roughly a quarter of an hour before they are ushered into a single roomed apartment with a large display window overlooking the station. There are three beds, a fresher, and very little else.

      "I love what you've done with the place," Atton remarks sarcastically. "A real home away from home."

      "There will be two guards outside at all times," Grenn ignores him. "Again, I'll be clearing all visitors; there won't be another... incident."

      "But just to be on the safe side, why not leave a blaster or two?" Atton suggests hopefully.

      "Let's go," the Major signals the escort to leave. "Good day."

      "This isn't good," Atton sighs as soon as the doors close. "Interesting story, by the way."

      "I told him the truth," Rahne answers, her face flushed as she makes her way urgently towards the fresher, yanking open her uniform as she does so. "From a certain point of view, anyway. So what do we do - their ship won't reach Peragus for another day."

      "I suspect the truth of the matter will soon reveal itself to us," Kreia answers through the half-open door, pausing at the exact moment Rahne probes herself and not continuing until the crystal has been pulled free. "However, now is as good a time as any to begin your training."

      "Oh man, they've deactivated the Holonet feed!" Atton exclaims in disgust. "I'm never going to find out what happens to Calculon at this rate."

      Tossing the wadding down the toilet, Rahne rinses the crystal and places it in a thigh pocket before splashing her face and taking a moment to calm herself.

      "Who is Calculon?" Kreia asks him.

      For the first time in days she catches sight of herself in the mirror, sees Reiko's eyes looking back at her.

      I miss you, she sighs, reaching out to touch the reflection. I miss you so much.

      "You obviously don't watch All My Circuits," Atton surmises, sounding smug about knowing something the old woman doesn't.

      ::When you're finished, come and meditate with me.:: Kreia commands, her thoughts coloured with irritation.

      Sighing, Rahne dries her hands and marches back into the common area. Almost immediately she's aware of Atton's eyes upon her, but she just can't find the impulse to pull the top of her uniform back on and just leaves it dangling off her hips.

      "Sorry about your progs, Atton," she says. "Not much we can do about it I'm afraid."

      "At least we shall be afforded some moments of silence for our meditations," Kreia remarks coldly.

      "Yeah, you meditate," Atton agrees, placing an odd but barely perceptible emphasis on the word. "I'm going to get some sleep."

      As Atton sullenly kicks off his boots and takes the bed next to the window, Rahne and Kreia sit down in the middle of the room, facing one another.

      ::I've noticed that you never look at me.:: Rahne sends.

      ::Of course I look at you.::

      ::No, you don't. Your hood is always drawn. I've never seen your eyes.::

      ::...You are perceptive, Exile.:: Kreia admits at last. ::I do not see the universe as you and the Fool do.::

      ::Are you Miraluka?:: she asks.

      ::I learned the technique of seeing through the Force from their kind, a course of action I believe you did not avail yourself of as a padawan despite the opportunity. As time passed and I grew to understand the true nature of that which we serve, I found mere biological sight increasingly insufficient for my needs; one day my eyes simply stopped working and I did not notice. Though I have lost some of the details, it is more than compensated for by the clarity with which I perceive everything surrounding me.::

      ::I could never do that.::

      ::Apparently not. Yet, you have gained sight of a different kind.::

      ::Is my entire life open to you?::

      ::Anyone who was familiar with you would know.:: Kreia chides her for the outburst. ::However, an echo of her remains in the Force. It is almost invisible - even to me - amidst the greater silence that, though fading, still surrounds you.:: Kreia reaches out, brushing something visible only to her. ::Even as I watch you now, I can see the strands and eddies of fate and history trying to touch you. Trying to re-establish the bonds and connections that were so brutally severed and replaced by these new ones.::

      Rahne shivers.

      ::What do you remember of your training, Exile?::

      ::There is no emotion; there is peace. There is no ignorance; there is knowledge. There is no passion; there is serenity. There is no chaos; there is harmony. There is no death; there is the Force.::

      ::That is just the Code. What do you remember of the Force?::

      ::The Force is life. It is an energy field from which springs all living things: it surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the universe together. The dark and light sides of the Force exist inside of the life form which uses it, made from their emotions. To strike down a living creature with the Force out of anger, fear or another emotion is of the dark side; to refrain and clear one's self of these emotions is of the light side. It is a sword with no handle - it can only be used by gripping the blade and therefore any attempt to strike someone would result in similar harm to the hand of the striker - the sword itself has no sentience or morality, but nevertheless exacts a price on those who use it unwisely.::

      :: The essence of Tokare's metaphor is correct, but the reasoning behind it is flawed. The force doesn't flow through us, but from us.::

      ::I don't understand. I get the feeling you mean the Force is alive.::

      ::Isn't it?::

      ::Of course not. It's just a medium. It's like blood or air or heat. It's an ocean we sail upon.::

      ::And the Will of the Force is simply an ocean current?::

      ::Yes.::

      ::So why then do the Jedi subsume themselves to a random mechanism of the Universe? They might as well rely on the auguries of tea leaves and entrails.::

      ::Sapient life has spread out amongst the stars, shaping the galaxy to suit itself. By following the will of the Force, a Jedi seeks the harmonious path and guides those with whom they interact onto it. That's why we went to war.::

      ::I seem to remember many opinions to the contrary.::

      ::They were wrong! Jedi do not defend peace, they defend civilisation which is the well spring of peace.::

      ::All those deaths were necessary to prevent a greater slaughter.::

      ::If we'd done nothing, this galaxy would now be nothing except a Mandalorian charnel house filled with the bones of the Republic.::

      ::And the Mandalorians would have been left to face whatever the Council and their lackeys thought they sensed.::

      ::And now both the Mandalorians and the Jedi are gone.::

      ::Which brings us back to you. The Force itself is breaking through the shell of silence that surrounds you because it needs you. It needs you to be strong where those that threw you down were weak.::

      ::The Jedi were bound together by the Force for millennia. How can I stand where they couldn't?::

      ::Does a shepherd bind together her flock, or does she merely direct it? Remember the moment on Peragus when you used the Force to disrupt the assassin droid. Its ongoing function was independent of the presence or absence of the Force in that instant as in all others: it was only your will that changed the flow of energy from what it should have been to something else. Never forget that to call upon the Force is to call upon your own will to power. And your will, though touched by the Force, exists independently of its presence or its absence. That is why you were able to survive having the Force torn from you after the War, and why you are able to touch the Force again: because you have the will to change the Universe, and the Force knows it. But just as your will is independent of the Force, so is it independent of yours.::

      ::I can use the Force, but it can also use me.:: Rahne nods in understanding. ::A balance. So why do you rely on the Force to see? Aren't you giving it too much opportunity to use you?::

      ::You continue to display the insight that fool Vrook never believed you capable of..:: Kreia's praise makes Rahne sit up a little straighter, but just a little. ::I am vigilant and aware of the dangers. I know what it wants me to see, and how to notice what it tries to occlude. As I have, you must learn not to blindly accept what you perceive through the Force. You must question it, examine it, test it. Using the Force is a science, not a religion or an art or a sport. Now clear your mind.::

      ::I...::

      ::Clear your mind. There is nothing. There is silence. The silence surrounds you, cocoons you, shelters you. But it is not complete. It is amorphous, shifting, fading. Picture a silver thread, a fragment of the cosmic harmonic, running from your soul, passing through the silence. Picture yourself following that thread, following it until you find me on the other end. Can you do this? Can you see it?::

      It takes a minute or so before Rahne can answer in the affirmative. The silver thread is gossamer but quite unlike the pattern of a droid. Peering at it, she sees how the thread's end appears spun from what she can only describe as the gossamer nimbus slicking her skin. She reaches out, following the thread with her fingers until there's a sudden lack of awareness. A lack of... anything.

      The Silence, Rahne realises, pulling her hand back, reaching out again. In her mind's eye, the nimbus surrounding her just... ends... where she touches the Silence. No. Not ends. Pushed back, like she might push her sleeve back before reaching into water. Moving her hand, concentrating as hard as she can, she... listens. Again it takes a little while, but she becomes aware of minute changes in the absences of the Force. She sees the way the nimbus, her presence within the Force, ebbs and flows, finding cracks and gaps to ebb through.

      ::You can't see me.:: Rahne exclaims. ::I'm cut off from the Force so you can't possibly see me because your eyes don't work.::

      ::You are correct.:: Kreia's pleasure at Rahne's acuity flowing throw their bond. ::You bear no physical existence to my sight. You are a ghost of the past and the future yet to be. I recognise you by where you are not.::

      ::So that was you I sensed last night when I was asleep.:: she deduces. ::You used the Force bond to walk through my memories while I was asleep. That's how you knew about Reiko.::

      ::Your insight serves you well, Exile. I saw her in your thoughts while you were in the shower and needed to know more.::

      ::You could have asked.:: she accuses.

      ::You could have lied.:: Kreia points out reasonably.

      ::Have you walked through Atton's head yet?:: Rahne snaps, bothered by the uninvited intrusion but suddenly distracted by something before she can give full vent to her concerns.

      ::It is not him that I share a Force bond with.::

      ::Apparently you aren't the only person with that distinction.::

      ::What do you mean?:: Kreia's tone becomes sharp.

      ::I can see another thread like the one you showed me between us.::

      ::It is probably the beginnings of a link with the Fool.::

      ::I don't know. It seems fragile... older... somehow.::

      ::You may be right...:: Kreia gives the impression of peering closer. ::Something from your past, something so tenuous I did not see it until now. This is troubling.::

      ::Perhaps that's why we're here?::

      ::I do not think so. Whatever lies at the end of that bond is a great distance away, and shrouded by the Force. I have not been vigilant enough it seems. Go rest; the lesson has concluded for the time being.::

      Rahne's eyes open to a darkened room, Kreia still sitting motionless in front of her. Looking around she can make out Atton's form curled up beneath the sheets of his bed, his clothes tossed haphazardly over a chair. The clock on the wall shows that a good five or six standard hours have elapsed though it had felt like only minutes since she sat down. The numbness in her backside however confirms the passage of time, and makes getting to her feet somewhat awkward as she waits for the blood to start flowing again and bring with it the pickling of nerve endings switching themselves back on.

      Once she's confident of her stability, Rahne moves over to the window and looks out over the massive expanse of Citadel Station. Ships of all sorts still stream through the spaces between modules, distances of over a hundred metres which probably more by chance than design has the effect of preventing casual voyeurism. As she watches, something flashes through the periphery of her awareness but is gone by the time she attempts to focus on it.

      Reiko would have been astounded by this. As much as I am by this connection to someone or something I know nothing about, she considers the revelation from her lesson. Something strong enough to survive what the Council did to me.

      Unable for the life of her to figure out who or what it could be, Rahne wanders over to the autochef. Searching its sparse menu for something worth eating, she settles for a nerf burger and a mug of sweet tea and dials in her order. What it produces is distinctly uninspiring, but she dials a second serving of tea which she places next to Kreia before collapsing inelegantly onto one of the remaining beds.

      She's halfway through her meal when she becomes aware of a brief surge of irritation from Kreia. Looking up, she just catches sight of a movement that says to her Kreia had tried to pick up the mug with her missing hand without realising it.

      Memories of the War surface unbidden, of the soldiers she commanded having to learn how to deal with being amputees and cripples until it was their turn to be fitted with cybernetic replacements.; at the height of the conflict, the waiting list had sometimes taken weeks to clear. Even after being fitted it some took just as long to learn how to be comfortable with them.

      "Do not pity me," the old woman snaps. "I will not tolerate it."

      "Empathy and pity aren't the same," Rahne answers, not entirely sure which emotion she actually feels at the momentbut at least certain that whichever it turns out to be, it's mixed with irritation. "I understand what you're going through. And why you're choosing to go through it."

      "And why is that?"

      "You can't stand the idea of being forced to rely on something other than your own body in order to function. You can excuse using the Force to see, because it's something bigger than you are, because it's not obvious, and because since you're fighting it you’re proving yourself better than it is. But a prosthetic? It just emphasizes that you're incomplete, that you've lost a part of yourself you can't replace with your own force of will and instead have to rely on a thing to be whole."

      "And why did you willingly surrender your eyes, Exile?" Kreia challenges. "Why did you weaken yourself, risking blindness or reliance on a thing?"

      "I made a promise to see the galaxy for her."

      "Don't you think you took it a little literally?" Atton asks groggily.

      "No," Rahne shakes her head. "Not in the slightest."

      "An emotional connection like that is a mistake," Kreia says, her tone grim. "It makes you vulnerable, and will only result in pain."

      "Perhaps I need pain," Rahne counters with glib irritability. "You said yourself that it's in my nature to make connections with people. If you say it, Atton, you'll regret it."

      The scoundrel closes his mouth, his attempted innuendo still born. It prompts something that may be a glimmer of amusement from Kreia.

      "This conversation is over," she continues, dropping the burger disinterestedly onto her plate and draining the tea. "Do what you want, but I'm getting some sleep." No one argues with her edict.

      Placing the remnants of her meal by the foot of her bed, she undresses down to her underwear,. Stowing the clothing neatly by the head of the bed before burrowing beneath the covers, she's aware of the scrutiny of the others but pays it no heed. Instead she closes her eyes and sinks into a trance, focusing her senses on what little of the Force she can perceive.

      The first time she'd been trained, it had been the non-living that she'd had trouble perceiving; awareness of her fellow sapients, of animals, even large amounts of vegetation, had been easy. Of course, if Kreia's doctrine were true, and the Force came from the living instead of the other way round, then something that made her blind to the Force would have to be strongest where the source of the Force was strongest. As a consequence, the telepathic aspects of the Force would theoretically be the last to return to her.

      Following that train of thought starts Rahne considering the Force-bonds weaving out of her aura. Sinking into a deeper level of contemplation - a feat that takes far longer than she recalls it ever used to - she studies them with a largely successful attempt at detachment. Prodding around the base of the one joining her to Kreia leaves her metaphorically reminded of walking around a decades old impact crater - its formation had been sudden and traumatic, punching through the layers of herself and leaving them exposed.

      The other one is like a tether, anchored deep in the bedrock of her soul, worn away to almost nothing by what it has weathered. Whatever had caused this bond to form had been something special, something enduring. Reaching out, she grabs hold of the frayed edges, teasing additional length for them out of her aura, building up the tenuous breadth of the bond. As she works, she lets her fingers drift along its length, into the Silence where she loses the sense of it; instead of retreating, she waits, using those tiny variances in what she can't sense to reacquire it again and again until at long last she becomes aware of her fingertip plucking at something--

      --and she wakes, covered in cold sweat, and starts to cry. Great wracking sobs of grief and emptiness just like when she lost Reiko. But worse. So much worse. It's like there's a void inside of her that can never be filled and the only way she can endure it is to curl into the tightest ball she can. She's aware of voices, of hands on her, of attempts at comfort. None of it helps assuage or dam the tide.

      Sometime after the first hour of it, oblivion finally takes her.

* * *

The first thing Rahne is aware of is the warmth of the sunlight streaming in through the window, even with the photochromatic shielding dimming the luminescence of the system's star to something resembling early morning on Dantooine. The next is that someone is sitting on the end of her bed.

      "Hey, you're awake," Atton says somewhat redundantly, patting her hand. He's gotten dressed since their brief conversation the night before.

      "It looks that way," she answers hoarsely, scrubbing the crust from her eyes. "I feel like stomm."

      "What happened?" Kreia asks from across the room, sternly but not unkindly, and Rahne wonders what her eyes look like beneath the ever present hood. "There was a disturbance in the Force that came from you."

      "Through me, I think," Rahne corrects after a moment. "I was looking at the bonds, and I managed to follow the other one out into the clear. We touched, only for an instant, but there was such... loss. Whomever it is I'm connected to... I don't think they've been able to let it go."

      "That may have been unwise," Kreia evaluates. "But perhaps unavoidable. Do you have any further idea who or what you are connected to?"

      "Uh, excuse me?" Atton raises his hand. "Would one of you care to hit the retros and explain what you're talking about?"

      "Not really," Kreia says casually, removing a cup of kaf from the autochef.

      "My past is catching up with me," Rahne takes pity on him. "Some time ago, I formed a connection with someone through the Force, only I don't know who. Last night, I tried to find out, and well, the rest is self evident."

      "I see."

      "Someone is coming," Kreia interrupts. "I believe it is the Major."

      On cue, the intercom chimes. Atton gets up to answer it. "Yes?"

      "This is Major Grenn. I have an update on the investigation."

      "Let him in," Rahne orders, sitting up.

      "We're good," Atton shrugs.

      The doors of the apartment cycle open, allowing Grenn to enter. He's accompanied by a female officer - Rahne recognises her as one of their escorts from the attempted abduction of the day before. She also notices that the officer is regarding her with something that could be almost described as genuine interest rather than bored suspicion or professional hostility.

      Grenn casts his eyes over the three of them, looking less than entirely happy. "I've come to inform you that the preliminary investigation into the Peragus incident has been concluded. The mining facility itself was damaged, but intact enough for the forensic examiners to retrieve enough evidence to verify your version of events. As such, you are hereby released from house arrest… "

      The relief Rahne feels is palpable, and she's pretty certain from the look on his face that Atton feels the same. The lack of expression from Kreia she takes in similar vein.

      "…but I'm afraid you will have to remain restricted to Citadel Station until the Republic's own investigation team arrives."

      "What?" Atton demands, good cheer evaporated.

      "What do you mean 'Republic's own investigation team'?" Rahne joins in. "I thought you were the Republic."

      "Our investigation was specifically to determine your culpability in the destruction of Peragus and its inhabitants," Grenn sighs slightly just as though he's played this scenario out before. "With that resolved, the Republic military is mounting a new investigation to determine who was actually responsible for the destruction, as well as the matter of the Harbinger's theft. The TSF are just spread too thin for anything other than a first response to a situation like this."

      "How long will we be required to continue enjoying the hospitality of this station?" Kreia asks icily.

      "The Sojourn is already en route and should be here in a few standard days. These quarters will continue to remain available to you until the entire matter is resolved."

      "What about the Ebon Hawk and our property?" Rahne asks.

      "The I&D on your vessel and its contents has been completed, you'll just need to fill in some paperwork" Grenn supplies, that weary look still on his face. "But while you're free to access your vessel, it will be unable to leave until the Sojourn's investigation is complete."

      "Major, you know we can't afford to stay here!" she protests. "There's that small matter of the Exchange wanting us all dead."

      Grenn looks at her oddly for a moment. "I'm sorry, but I have my orders."

      ::He knows the truth.:: Kreia whispers into the back of her mind.

      "That's going to make a charming epitaph on our gravestones," Atton observes sarcastically.

      ::About?::

      "I can assign you a bodyguard for as long as you remain on the station," Grenn offers.

      ::The real reason the Exchange have a bounty on you.::

      " But there's nothing else I can do."

      ::Fantastic.::

      "Did you tell them about the HK droids?" Rahne challenges. "If the Sojourn has any onboard, they need to slag them."

      "It was all in my report. However, I will contact them to ensure they've taken notice of the recommendation."

      "Well," Rahne shrugs, "let's get this over with."

      Grenn and his escort wait outside for the five minutes it takes Rahne to clean up and dress. The journey to the TSF precinct house - a different one to that in which they had been processed, and thus only within walking distance through a couple of modular walkways - is brief, uneventful and largely silent apart from the noises of everyday life aboard the station. When they arrive, the group are greeted by a protocol droid standing behind a console.

      "Welcome to Telos Security Force Precinct House 080. How may I be of assistance?" Then, a beat later, "Greetings, Officers Grenn and Soka."

      "I'm releasing the Ebon Hawk, its contents and associated sundries from impound," Grenn tells it.

      "One moment please. Searching... Located: Ebon Hawk, docking bay 093-23. One moment please. Visual confirmation pending... Error. "

      "Error?" Atton asks.

      "One moment please. Confirming... I regret to inform you that the Ebon Hawk is not in docking bay 093-23. Further, a search of the station does not register its presence in any docking bay."

      "Are you saying it's been stolen?" Rahne asks, her voice dangerously calm.

      "Check again!" Grenn snaps.

      "One moment please," the droid responds blithely. "Searching... Confirmed. Though there is no record of its departure, the Ebon Hawk is not on Citadel Station."

Chapter V

2007-05-13T13:32:21Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.
T3-M4: A faithful helper. Utility droid.

[]Chapter V

After the better part of a day spent helping T3 repair systems barely made space-worthy by HK-50's ill-suited minions, they transition back into realspace on the dark side of Telos and bank starboard towards the terminator. As the light of the system's primary comes closer to the horizon, it becomes increasingly possible to see the scarred surface of the planet where almost everything covering the orangey iron-rich soil was vaporised by the Sith orbital bombardment five years ago. There is some contrast provided by the stark whiteness of the polar caps and the dark almost brown-green of water bodies choked by ash and fallout.

      "Such destruction..." Rahne gasps in shocked awe, standing up from the co-pilot's chair to press her face against the front viewport. "The Mandalorians scorched some colony worlds, but nothing compared to this..."

      "Malak was always a direct and unsubtle personality," Kreia pronounces from the seat behind her. "He provided a counter-point - and a useful distraction - to Revan's cooler and more subtle ways. As a Sith, he was an unthinking brute only interested in destruction and fear for their own sake."

      "If Revan hadn't cleaned up her mess, he could have done this to hundreds more worlds," Atton adds, earning a thinning of the lips from Kreia. "Thousands, even."

      "When I knew him, he had a rare sense of humour," Rahne remarks sadly, sitting back down. "He was earnest, a believer in things. He lacked Revan's wit and insight into the way the universe works, but on those rare occasions he made a joke, I always laughed. His humour was never guarded or sly or hurtful."

      "You sound like you had a soft spot for him," Atton remarks, overtaking the sleek tubular shape of a Republic courier.

      "It was... It was just a comment on how people change."

      "Or how difficult it is to truly know someone," Kreia ends the conversation somewhat cynically, just as the sunlight strikes the first long fingers of Citadel Station.

      The name just isn't adequate for what they see. An expanse of metal and composites stretch out in all directions until lost in the planet's curve. That expanse is a framework that reaches from the northern subarctic to the equator, covering roughly a sixth of the Telosian surface from geosynchronous orbit. Each strut of the grid is festooned with habitation modules, power generation and distribution nodes, defensive emplacements, shield projectors and the massive repulsor drives that keep the stunningly massive structure in position.

      "How long do they think it'll take?" Rahne asks. "To revive Telos?"

      "I've heard figures ranging from decades to centuries," Atton shrugs. "I'm not even sure why they're trying."

      Traffic control systems handshake with the Ebon Hawk's navicomp and guide them into a docking lane. Now inside the station's perimeter, they can make out transport pods moving between modules, while larger aerodynamic shuttles make trips to and from the surface. Just before being shunted to a landing bay, Rahne makes out a large patch of colour that she's sure can't be anything else except a water source surrounded by vegetation.

      Once the Hawk has settled, the three of them make their way to the boarding ramp where T3-M4 greets them.

      "T3, can you wait here and watch the ship?" Rahne asks him. "We may have to leave in a hurry, and I want to be sure we have an escape route we can rely on."

      If it was at all possible, the little droid's ventral plating would have expanded. Giving an affirmative whistle, he trundles off to the communications and security suite behind the cockpit.

      "Laying it on a little aren't we?" Atton asks, slapping the control. "It's only a droid."

      "You're always free to leave," she chides him, more than a little serious. Surprisingly the topic of parting company with Atton here had never come up during the jump from Peragus, despite ample opportunity for it to have done so. She doesn't exactly want him around - there's something troubling about him beyond his self serving cowardice - yet fate or the Force had seen fit to bring them all together and bind them in a ka-tet.

      "Maybe I will," he answers, leading the way. "I'm sure you can find another pilot willing to outrun the Sith and the Exchange and whoever else is after you."

      "Which raises the question about why you're willing to do these things," Kreia remarks pointedly.

      "Maybe I'm bored."

      "We can talk about this after we've cleared immigration and found something comfortable to wear," Rahne ends the nascent squabble. "We're going to have enough trouble there without ID."

      "They're not that strict these days, especially this far out," Atton waves her concerns aside. "The wars destroyed a lot of personal data so a lot of people have started new lives. We're just some of them. It'll be fine."

      The blast door leading from the docking bay slides open to reveal a half dozen people in the uniform of the Republic Armed Services, weapons drawn but held in the sort of casual 'at ease' manner meaning they're likely to shoot at the drop of a hat.

      "It'll be fine?" Rahne asks mockingly under her breath.

      "My name is Major Dol Grenn of the Telos Security Force," the man at the front of the group declares, stepping forward. Apparently base-line human, he appears to be in his early 60s with a grizzled aspect that says he's seen more than his fair share of fighting - and killing.. "I'm here to place you in protective custody pending an investigation into the destruction of the Peragus II planetary debris field and mining facility, and the associated deaths of the one hundred thirteen other assorted personnel registered as being in system at the time of the incident."

      "This is outrageous!" Atton challenges. "You don't have any evidence we were even there!"

      "We received word of the... incident... a standard day ago. As a result your entrance into this system was monitored, from which a trajectory was derived," Grenn responds neutrally. "Additionally, one of you is wearing a Peragus Facility uniform."

      "Are we under arrest?" Rahne asks, laying a restraining hand on Atton's shoulder.

      "House arrest, yes," Grenn nods. "You will be temporarily held at the local TSF station until quarters are arranged for you in one of the habitation modules, where you will stay until the investigation is concluded."

      "How long will this take?" Kreia asks emotionlessly.

      "As long as it has to," he answers her. "Until that time, you will have to surrender your personal items into our custody, and your ship and droids will be impounded. So far you are the only known witnesses - refusal to co-operate is not a viable option."

      "Just as well we're co-operating then," Rahne smiles wanly. "However, we need medical attention."

      "For what?" Grenn asks suspiciously.

      "My... mother," she indicates Kreia, the differences between their species lost beneath hood and hair, "lost her hand a couple of days ago - accident with a plasma torch. We've managed some first aid, but she needs a professional."

      "I'll have the Field Medical Examiner meet us at the Sector House," he gestures towards one of his subordinates to make the call.

      Atton and Rahne are cuffed and the three of them escorted from the docking bay. One of the peace officers takes point, two more flanking them on either side and the Major bringing up the rear after he clamps a seal on the docking bay doors. The group proceeds down a long but mostly empty thoroughfare linking the five docking bays that compose the module - their movements tracked by a prominent sensor cluster at either end - and through an airlock into one of the transport pods which is then piloted manually for a good ten minutes or so once the three of them are secured to their seats.

      So what now? Rahne ponders.

      ::You were wise not to fight. The high ground was not ours.::

      I also noticed they also had someone in docking control who could have vented us into space, Rahne thinks back while staring passively at one of their guards. And even if we'd escaped, they could quite possibly have shot just us down.

      ::Our immediate destiny remains here on Telos, as must we until it reveals itself. Though it is unwise for us to remain in one place for too long I do not believe we need to worry about the Sith for the moment.::

      It wasn't them I was thinking about so much as the Exchange...

      ::The droid indicated that you are wanted alive. That may be of some use to us.::

      Maybe. At least we're getting someone to look at your injury. How much do we tell them about our situation?

      ::As little as possible. If they are competent they will discover the existence of your bounty on their own. If we mention the Sith, the situation could grow... complicated.::

      The shuttle pod docks gently, and then the peace officers have them up and moving again through the airlock, along more monitored corridors and into a precinct house. The three of them are marched past the front desk, through a blast door and into the booking and holding area.

      "Force cages," Atton sighs upon seeing what awaits them. There's six in all arrayed along the back of the chamber, one of which looks like it's burnt out.

      "Are they really necessary?" Rahne asks, sharing Atton's irritation: these things make it impossible to relax because you're constantly on guard about brushing against the energy field. "We've co-operated with you fully."

      "We're repairing the ordinary cells," Grenn explains as they're ushered not quite at gun point towards a number of restraining posts designed to lock hold of their cuffs while they're searched. "These are all we have available. You won't be here long - your quarters are being prepared as we speak."

      "This place has seen better days," Rahne remarks, nodding her head towards the scorch marks visible on the decking beneath the door leading to the cells. She tries not to show a reaction when the officer searching her takes the tiny holocron. "Been having trouble?"

      "I have other matters to attend to," Grenn ignores the question. "I'm afraid any further questions will have to wait."

      "When does the interrogation begin?" Atton demands as, following the search, they're positioned beneath the field emitters.

      "When the fact finding mission returns from the Peragus system. The FME will be here momentarily. Good day."

      The fields materialise around them with a low hum and the peace officers leave the room, sealing the blast door.

      "Well," Atton sighs dramatically. "Looks like we're going to be here for a while."

      "Have a little faith, Atton," Rahne offers a wan smile.

      "In what? The Force?" He shakes his head. "I'm not one for hokey religions that just seem to get you killed."

      "We're still alive aren't we?"

      "Someone is coming," Kreia interrupts them.

      "Sith?"

      "No," Kreia answers her. "I do not sense any intention to cause us harm."

      Well, that's something at least. Closing her eyes, Rahne attempts to reach out through the Force only to discover her nascent perceptions clouded by the gossamer web of the energy field surrounding her and the surrounding white noise of the station's electromagnetic pulse. She'd known how to filter her perceptions once, but such control is just a distant memory.

      The blast door rumbles open admitting a tall gaunt man in TSF colours with short brown hair, what looks to be perennial stubble, and ever so slightly bulging eyes; a medical drone hovers a pace behind him, its repulsor warbling. Bringing up the rear is a second officer, a shortish blonde with cold grey eyes and slightly broad features that remind Rahne a little of Grenn. The door closes and the man sets his medical kit down on the ground next to the control console.

      "Which of you need to see me?" he asks with an irritatingly nasal and almost obsequious voice, opening his case and retrieving a data pad.

      "My mother," Rahne directs him with a nod, continuing the lie. "Plasma torch accident."

      Keeping Kreia covered with her blaster, the second officer deactivates the force field at which point the FME waves his drone forward. "Please allow your injury to be scanned.

      For just an instant Rahne has the image of Kreia just crushing the officers' throats, or hurling them aside like rag dolls. But it doesn't happen, and the old woman just pulls back the sleeve of her robe to expose her wrist and the dressing covering it. Lights flicker across the drone's surface in a needlessly showy display of activity and the FME examines his data tablet.

      "You received competent attention," he decides - almost grudgingly it seems. "A doctor can take a cell sample and clone a proper dermal layer to graft over the injury. Preferably they can instead mount a prosthetic. There are a number of models available, though I'd recommend the Ara--"

      "No," Kreia states flatly. "The graft will suffice."

      "Where are they being held?"

      "Somewhere in the Zero Eight," his escort answers.

      "The medical officer for that sector is competent. If I take a sample now, he should be ready to complete the procedure in a couple of days." Reaching into his kit again, he produces a wand-like device with which he scrapes some skin cells from beneath the injury; after sealing the sampling device in a plastic sleeve, he replaces the medicated dressing. "You can put her back in now."

      The escort touches the ear piece of her helmet. "No point - they're coming to collect them now."

      "I'll wait then."

      Not long after that the blast door opens once again, and three more TSF officers step in. The first, a twi'lek with tan skin and strange squiggly glyphs tattooed on his lekku, cuffs himself to Kreia. The others, both human, flank Atton's cage and after it's deactivated by the FME's escort lock the rogue in cuffs; the trick is repeated for Rahne. The three prisoners are then led back the way they had originally taken until they arrive at the airlock leading to another transport pod.

      "Where to?" the pilot asks with an irritatingly nasal voice that verges on the obsequious. He resembles Atton, though there is something an almost rodent-like quality about his features that her companion lacks.

      "Habmod Zero Eight sub Two," the blonde that had escorted the medical examiner answers, sealing the hatch while the prisoners are strapped in.

      "Hey Rem, I thought you went on leave?" the twi'lek asks over his shoulder, making sure the old woman in his care is seated comfortably before he secures her.

      "I'm just about to," Rem answers as he turns around and shoots. The concentric rings of a stun blast cut through the air, striking the blonde in the chest. Before her comrades can react, Rem produces a second pistol and fires off two double bursts that take out the other two human officers as they start to bring their rifles to bear. A final shot leaves the twi'lek sprawled on the ground, his weight pulling down on Kreia's arm.

      "What the frak are you doing?" Atton demands, struggling to free himself.

      "Relieving the over-extended Telos Security Force of the burden of your presence," Rem chuckles, turning back around and initiating take off. "And collecting the bounty on your head. I must say that you don't look worth the reward they're offering."

      "You'd betray your fellow officers and your oath for money?" Atton growls. "The Republic must really have been scraping the barrel when they hired you."

      "They're not my fellow officers," Rem shrugs, punching a destination into the autopilot. "I was here for other reasons, but I can't ignore an opportunity like this."

      "You're with the Exchange," Rahne guesses. Kreia, can you take him?

      "A two-bit pistol jockey like him?" Atton shakes his head. "Yeah, right."

      ::Yes. However, I would advise waiting until we have gained access to his vessel. It may prove useful.::

      "The Exchange?" Rem disparages the idea as he collects the weapons from the unconscious officers. "Don't insult me. Please bear in mind that habit - and my personal preference - would be to kill you out of hand, so if you cause me any trouble between here and the cells awaiting you on my ship, I'll forgo their value on the slave block and space both of your lady friends along with those mitzhers on the deck. And then stun you like I plan on doing anyway."

      "This is about Atton?" Rahne boggles, turning to face her companion with a look of surprise. "Anything you'd like to explain?"

      "Guess I must have burned someone off?" he shrugs in confusion.

      "No kidding?" Rahne shakes her head ruefully. "Who's offering the bounty?"

      "The Genoharadan," Rem answers, displaying a look of amusement. "I see your friend recognises the name."

      "They're just common assassins," Atton sneers. "With delusions of grandeur."

      "I assure you we're nothing so crude," Rem preens, picking up the blonde and securing her in one of the pod's spare chairs. "Someone else would probably have just tried to short out your force cages while no one was looking.

      "You'll never get away with this," Atton presses, straining to free himself.

      "I already have," Rem smirks as something occludes the light of the system primary coming through the cockpit. Rahne glances towards the sudden shadow and catches sight of the ventral surface of a darkly coloured spaceship splitting open to reveal an unlit cargo hold, gross details picked out by light reflected from the surface of the station. At a guess the ship would have to be at least three times the size of the Ebon Hawk, probably a heavily modified medium freighter of some kind and mostly cargo space and engine given Rem's apparent intention to just run with the entire transport pod.

      Returning to the pilot's seat, he completes the last stage of the flight manually. Stretching her senses as far as she can, Rahne focuses on the flow of energy, on how the web shimmers and changes in response to Rem's interactions with the pod's controls. Though she can't physically see everything he does, she still gains a reasonable idea of the access codes he uses to communicate remotely with his ship's computer to close and repressurise the cargo hold, and initiate the ship's pre-flight cycle.

      And then she's aware of something more.

      ::Kreia!::

      It's not a thought but a shout - the telepathic equivalent to a vocalisation.

      Rem suddenly pitches forward, his face striking the cockpit window, the stun pistol he'd been about to use dropping from his hand. One heart beat, then a second, and he's yanked violently backwards, striking the rear of the pod and dropping to the deck like a rag doll.

      "Nice," Atton drawls in a rather familiar manner, trying to crane his head back far enough to see. "Now get us out of here."

      "Is he dead?" Rahne asks.

      "Yes," Kreia answers, removing the restraint that her escort had never had the time to fasten and using the Force to disable the lock on her cuff. "I did not intend to kill him: his skull must have been weak."

      "Drokk it!"

      "He wouldn't have told us anything anyway," Atton shakes his head, watching Kreia release Rahne. "They're very resilient to questioning."

      "Is that experience talking?" Rahne asks, tossing her cuffs aside.

      "I ran into one during the Civil War," he answers after it becomes clear the women are making no immediate effort to free him. "Apart from the name, I found out that they see themselves as the galaxy's groundskeepers, lubricating the gears of civilisation with the blood of the disruptive - for a substantial sum of course."

      "Fascinating," Kreia remarks, and there's a distinct quality to her tone that says she isn't entirely mocking him.

      "And now they want to silence you."

      "They wish to interrogate him I think," Kreia corrects. "Maybe to find out how much he knows, or maybe to extract a measure of revenge."

      "According to him, finding Atton wasn't his mission here," Rahne muses. "Which means these Genoharadan are planning a hit against someone or something on Telos that they consider disruptive. But blowing his cover the way he has means the target obviously isn't of immediate importance nor going anywhere in a hurry."

      "Which leads to the conclusion that the assassin's role here was either anticipatory," Kreia concludes. "Or conducted in concert with at least one partner that remains in place."

      "Another TSF officer?"

      "Unlikely: discovery of one would mean a greater likelihood of the other being compromised."

      "Do you think this is the reason we were meant to come to Telos? To stop this?"

      "Possibly," Kreia guardedly allows.

      "Ahem," Atton interrupts pointedly.

      Rahne feels Kreia raise the mental equivalent of an eyebrow, but doesn't resist when Rahne takes the key from her and frees Atton.

      "What now?" he asks, rubbing his wrists.

      "We explore - quickly," Rahne decides, scooping up one of the fallen weapons. "Presumably he had some sort of decoy to mask his escape, but I imagine that it's almost played out."

      "Why don't we just run?" Atton asks, doing likewise.

      "They still have the Ebon Hawk and T3 under impound," Rahne shakes her head, triggering the hatch. "And I imagine you'd be thrilled if Kreia suggested we skipped out on several tens of thousands of credits of your property. But in any case, we don't know anything about this ship or want to run around the galaxy with a Republic all points bulletin out on us in addition to our mutual bounties AND any remaining Sith looking for us. We check the navicomp and then call Major Grenn."

      ::You place a great deal of faith in the Major's investigation, Exile.::

      ::No more than you do the Force guiding us to something. What are they going to find back there anyway besides tiny bits of debris? We turn over HK-50's memory core and put everything down to the explosion it caused in the first place.::

      "What's in the navicomp?" Atton asks, taking point before Rahne can.

      "Hopefully Rem preloaded jump and autopilot coordinates for his outward journey that just require minimal recalculations for stellar drift," Rahne grins, leaving Kreia to watch the stunned peace officers. "We got lucky during the War when we captured a Mandalorian transport where the pilot had set up something similar in case she needed to make a quick escape."

      There's not enough room to swing a scrat, forcing them to hug the wall in order to make their way around the transport pod. Even then edging past the engine exhaust ports is an uncomfortably warm experience. The internal doors are thankfully all unsecured - obviously Rem hadn't expected boarders - and they find their way to the cockpit.

      "Alright Atton, work your magic," Rahne orders, looking out the viewport at the system's star just vanishing behind the horizon. Casting about, she can make out other vessels in holding patterns and high orbits.

      "It's locked off."

      "Try ZZ9 Plural-Z Alpha," she suggests, coming to look over his shoulder.

      "Jedi thing, huh? Hey, what do you know! I'm in."

      "What are you doing?"

      "Resetting the ship's clock to a standard day ago so the forensic examiners that will doubtlessly be crawling over this ship in the next hour won't realise we've been sneaking around in the system," he explains with a smug grin.

      "Clever boy," Rahne grins back, ruffling his hair. "See anything?"

      "Not what you were looking for," he shakes his head. "The ship's log is interesting though. Lots of stops at Nar Shaddaa - not unusual in itself for a criminal."

      "So you're familiar with the place then?" she teases.

      "Home away from home," Atton agrees blandly. "Except in a few cases he generally seems to use the same dock in the Corellian Sector. One of those exceptions being just before he arrives here."

      "Where's the other one?"

      "In what's become known as the refugee sector." Catching her look, he continues. "The Mandalorian Wars and then the Jedi Civil War destroyed a lot of peoples' homes. The Hutts were more than happy to take them in."

      "Slave labour?" Rahne asks, though she already knows the answer.

      "As good as," he nods grimly. "Millions of people willing to grasp whatever fragile hope is dangled in front of them. They'll become thieves, murderers, whores... victims. They'll do anything to support their families, or even just alleviate the crushing depression of their lives. Even those who have something to go back to when the fighting's over most often can't because their lives are owned by someone else."

      "How long did you spend there?" she asks, voice softening.

      "Only ever passed through," he blithely shakes his head. "Mandalorians and Jedi were never a problem for me."

      "I see," it's her turn to blandly agree, not at all sure she believes him. "Anything else of interest?"

      "Not really," he shrugs. "I imagine cross-matching the log to deaths would probably solve a few murders though."

      "Pull up the contacts screen."

      "Hmm. There's a fair few names there." He taps a few commands, sorting by location. "Looks like a list of local businesses types here. Jana Lorso of Czerka Corporation, Loppak Slusk of the Bumani Exchange Corporation, and so on and so forth. They could all be either assets, customers or targets."

      "Is there anything we can copy this to around here?"

      "Don't think so," he looks around half-heartedly before favouring her with a worried look. "You're not thinking about going after the Genoharadan are you?"

      "I'm keeping my options open," she answers while searching. "They're an enemy. We need information on them."

      "They're not your enemy."

      "They were going to - at best - sell Kreia and me as slaves," she points out. "And they're trying to kill the only pilot I know willing to outrun the Sith and the Exchange and whoever else is after us. And maybe I'm bored."

      "Funny."

      "And yet you're not laughing. Aha!" Rahne stands, clutching a data crystal which she hands over. "Download as much as you can onto that."

      "I have a bad feeling about this," Atton shakes his head. None the less he complies with her request and returns the crystal after a few moments.

      "Alright, let's get back to the transport pod and place the call."

      "Where are you going to hide that?" he asks, resetting the clock to the correct time and logging out.

      "Where do you imagine I'm going to hide it?" she teases.

      "I can imagine quite a bit," he leers.

      "You wish!" she mocks with a friendly laugh, dashing on ahead.

      When they return to the transport pod, they find Kreia seated in the pilot's chair. "I have informed Major Grenn of our location and the events leading to it," she comments authoritively. "Did you find what you were seeking?"

      "Not exactly," Rahne answers, holding up the crystal. "This may at least hold information about one of our enemies. Where they're located perhaps, or people they reach out to."

      "Think carefully on this, Exile," Kreia's tone darkens, sensing what Rahne does not voice and holding up her missing hand. "You are too eager for a confrontation. You have been to war before: you know the consequences and the costs of any such action. I sense that our true goal on Telos is near to revealing itself, but caution remains our strongest guarantee of survival."

      "We were lucky to get out of there," Atton agrees. "Listen to her, Rahne. The old witch is talking sense for a change. Just leave this to the security forces, and let's just worry about getting out of here."

      "Would the pair of you just shut the drokk up!" Rahne snaps. "Yes, I've been to war. And yes, I know what's at stake here, and how ill prepared we are at the moment. But I also know there comes a point where we won't be able to run any longer. We will have to fight back or we will be lost. And if we can find an edge they don't expect us to have, so much the better."

      She turns on her heel and stomps out into the cargo hold, undoing the fastening on the mining uniform and shrugging it off down to the waist. The plan had been to have Kreia hide the crystal in one of her long braids, but the idea seems moot now. Instead, Rahne pulls off her ersatz bra and feels along the raggedly burnt edge of it until she finds a fault in the material that allows her to tear a strip free. After carefully wrapping the crystal in the cloth she shoves it down the front of her makeshift underpants, squirming a little as she pushes it past the sparse hair of her mons and works it into her sex.

      "Well Atton, it looks like you got your wish," she says without looking around. Pulling her bra back on and refastening her uniform, she contracts a few times to draw her smuggled prize deeper.

      "Not exactly," he admits honestly, "but the view was slightly better this time. Interesting tattoos."

      "What do you want?" she demands.

      "I don't think either of us meant to burn you off back there," he says in an attempt to mollify her. "It's just th--"

      The ship shudders and reverberates with the sounds of another vessel docking.

      "Sounds like Grenn is here," Rahne announces ominously. "Let's get back inside."

Chapter IV

2007-04-23T02:16:28Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.
T3-M4: A faithful helper. Utility droid.

[]Chapter IV

Rahne holds her vibroblade at mid-guard as Atton pries loose the front of the packing crate with a crowbar; the moment the panel comes free he leaps back out of the way. What she sees matches her predictions almost precisely: the insect-skeletal shape of a HK droid curled into a foetal position amidst insulating foam. The only real surprise is the corroded rust-red paint job - it really does look like the older model T3 had claimed it to be.

      "Is there nothing new on this heap?" Atton exclaims disgustedly after peering in. "Someone shot it up pretty bad."

      Setting her weapon aside, she hunkers down to inspect the find. "The power cell is empty; it's not going anywhere. Help me get it out into the workshop."

      "Do you really think that's a good idea?"

      "T3 knew about it, and he's come through for us so far," she shrugs. "Good enough for me."

      They haul the crate out of the hold just between them, thankful for lightweight alloys because there isn't even a manual trolley available to them. Even so, by the time they set it down and heave the droid onto the decking, Atton is visibly flagging.

      "How long has it been since you had something to eat?"

      "I think maybe a day and a half."

      "Well, in case there's nothing else on board, you might like a couple of these," Rahne nods, handing him some of the some of the survival rations from the mine.

      "Rahne, you are a gift from the Maker!" he chortles. "What else have you got?"

      "They're all the same. I don't think their quartermaster was particularly inspired when they bought these."

      "Are they ever?" he mocks.

      "Sometimes," she feels compelled to admit. "I'll be fine here if you want to clean up."

      "Is that a subtle hint?"

      "Oh hells no," she share his smile. "You stink."

      "And you don't?"

      "Trust me, if I wasn't doing this I'd be in there already."

      "You don't... have... to do that," he drawls suggestively.

      "Atton, just get the drokk out of here," she counters his advance, trying to make her utter indifference plain.

      "Alright." He shrugs phlegmatically and leaves.

      Unfolding the droid, the first thing she notices is the jagged crater above where its control cluster should be. The second is the folded piece of paper inside. Brow furrowed, she opens and reads its contents:

      'This is HK-47. Though I lacked the time and equipment to do so, if you can repair him, you will find him most useful to you now you are the new captain of the Ebon Hawk. You will at least require a new control cluster, a vocabulator, a droid processor and new dorsal chassis. I suspect the memory core may also have been damaged, but I cannot confirm this. Good luck.'

      The furrow becomes a fully fledged scowl as she turns the note over in her hands. Hand written and unsigned, the penmanship is strong and confident but otherwise there's nothing to denote its author.

      "And you're sure you don't know why there's a broken assassin droid in our cargo hold, or who put it there?"

      "Dwo-oo," the little droid answers mournfully. "Reet... dwoo."

      "Memory core troubles too, huh? Can't be helped I suppose." Patting him on the head, she swings out the stool attached to the workbench and retrieves HK-50's head. "OK, run me through this." Following T3's detailed instructions, she soon has it linked in to a power supply without blowing a fuse.

      "Come on you wretched thing, talk to me," she orders as the yellow photoreceptors flare into life.

      "Curious Interrogation: Why am I undergoing an off-of-body experience?" the smug yet now puzzled voice fills the room. "Ah, Master, it is you. What is happening - have I been damaged?"

      "I know what you are, HK-50. You're an assassination droid."

      "Clarification: Assassin droid is a crude term, reserved for drones with only the most archaic kill-programs. The function I perform is referred to as 'wanton slaughter'. " The pride in that statement sends a sick chill down Rahne' spine.

      "So you used the Maintenance Officer's own security measures to control the droids," she says after a moment.

      "Satisfied Claim: An elegant solution to the situation that failed to indicate the culpability of this unit while saving valuable time by avoiding the necessity of individual pursuit/terminations within the mines. My detailed files on organic psychology indicated that any survivors would congregate in the location they deemed most defensible - in this case the dormitories - and as such I was able to counter that eventuality."

      "You think of everything, don't you."

      "Proud Answer: But of course, Master. I was even able to salvage components from the vessel Coorta's faction had acquired to transport you from the Peragus facility in order to repair this one."

      "Why take the Ebon Hawk? It's already been identified as a vessel linked to me."

      "Regretful Response: The droids assigned the task of terminating anyone on board the other vessel irreparably damaged its hyper-drive, and the components from the Ebon Hawk's systems were incompatible. Thus I was forced to repair this vessel's space-frame should emergency egress have proved necessary."

      "Well, as it happens I'd be dead if it wasn't for that."

      "Gratification: Then this unit has performed its assigned function."

      "Which is, exactly?"

      "Answer: Your capture and safe delivery to my client. The corollary of that function is your protection from any counter interests to that goal."

      "I don't call giving me a lethal dose of sedatives protection," she points out indignantly. "I barely survived."

      "Clarification: Ah, but you survived. Given the considerably worse condition of the others undergoing treatment with you, I calculated a dosage that while fatal to them would simply place you in a protective state of unconsciousness. Regrettably your constitution appears more robust than I had anticipated, leading to your early revival."

      "But why kill them at all?"

      "Indignant Answer: Master, as I have already told you, they intended to place you in jeopardy and claim my bounty. I could not allow that to take place and was forced to negotiate a termination of hostilities."

      "Not all of them!"

      "Condescending Explanation: Those that did not wish to salvage you for themselves would have turned you over to the Republic. Either scenario violated my previously stated mission parameters."

      "Why capture me in the first place? I wasn't doing anything to anyone. I'm not even a Jedi, what ever those core-ward databases say."

      "Answer: I have previously remarked upon the poor veracity of those databases," it tut-tuts. "It is beyond the scope of my programming to probe the motivations of my clients, Master. Suffice to say that I am being well compensated for my services. Grudging Respect: You have been a most challenging target to acquire. You left little record of your passage through the known galaxy since the end of the Mandalorian Wars, and your physical appearance has altered since the end of the Mandalorian Wars. It is as though you wished to avoid being found, by hunters such as myself... or more likely given the schism that organisation underwent, the Jedi Order."

      "Since you found me, I obviously didn't do that good a job," she sighs sourly.

      "Admission: It was a matter of chance, Master, that I happened to be serving as a protocol droid on the Harbinger when you booked passage. After that, it was a simple matter to sabotage our vessel and call for an extraction. Irritated Statement: However, when the Ebon Hawk appeared and salvaged us from the wreckage, I was forced into a series of rapid recalculations, culminating in our current situation."

      "Who is your client? The Exchange? Or the Sith?"

      "Chiding Answer: My programming renders me incapable of revealing the identity of my client, Master. However, I am free to say that my client is extremely wealthy and very interested in possessing the last living known Jedi."

      "Are there any more of you?"

      "Menacing Boast: Oh yes, Master. We are legion. I sincerely suggest that you avoid further unwarranted stress and anxiety by reassembling me and surrendering yourself. Unlike any other interloper interested in your bounty, we are highly unlikely to attempt any precipitous termination of your biological function."

      "That's going to be a little difficult considering your body has just been atomised along with the rest of Peragus."

      "Admiration: Master, even I could never hope to negotiate such a wide-ranging cessation of potential hostilities."

      "What do you mean?" she demands, a sick feeling growing in her belly.

      "Surprised Explanation: Peragus II was a major energy manufacture point for this sector. By destroying the facility - and in all likelihood the asteroid field in which it was located if not the planet itself - you have deprived the Republic of a critical resource that could mean the failure of several vital rebuilding efforts, financial ruin and untold de--"

      Giving vent to a cry of inarticulate frustration and rage, Rahne tears the power leads free. She scoops up the head and storms to the airlock, ready to flush it into hyperspace, then stops. "T3," she calls over her shoulder, "can you remove this thing's vocabulator?"

      "Awoot."

      "Well, waste not want not. We'll use it on that HK-47."

      "Reet."

      "Good boy. Glad to have you with us."

      Handing the head and responsibility for its disassembly to the utility droid, she turns and ambles to port, aiming for the dormitory in order to check on Kreia. A strictly utilitarian set up, there are three bunks along the left hand wall while built flush into the wall on the right is an auto valet and a fresher. Peering through the unsealed entrance she can see Kreia, still in her robe with its cowl pulled low, laying on the furthest bunk with arms crossed over her chest meditatively.

      "Have you come for more answers?," the husky voice insinuates itself into Rahne's awareness. "I am afraid at this moment I have little more to tell you."

      "Just seeing if you're alright," she answers. "And leaving you something in case you get hungry and Atton tries to eat them all."

      "Watch that one, Exile. His thoughts are slippery and I do not trust him. Nor should you. Such a man serves himself first... and his 'allies' next."

      "I..."

      "You would not have made a point of securing the food supply with me if you did not distrust him to at least some extent," Kreia points out. "That you voiced such concerns suggests their weight upon you is not inconsiderable."

      Laying the remaining ration packs at the foot of Kreia's bed, she leaves only to halt at the door. "If I could, I would have protected you back there."

      "Of course you would have, and you would have died," the other woman answers, her voice a mixture of sternness, weariness, and... something she can't quite put her finger on. "I knew what was necessary - and that I was the only one capable of standing between you and him. I am tired: we will talk more about this in the morning."

      Acquiescing to the dismissal, Rahne heads towards the starboard dormitory, a mirror image of the one she's just left, with the vision of a cascade of hot water running over her, washing away the stink and the tiredness and everything else. However, judging by the unfortunate noises emanating from the fresher, it contains both a sonic shower and Atton - which, despite the smell of low-grade fuel and sweat clinging to her, immediately render it far less appealing than it should be.

      "How much longer are you going to be?" she yells, banging on the door.

      "Wha--? Oh, hey. It's only my second time through," he calls back.

      "Only your second time?" she half-teases.

      "Unlike some people, I have a strict policy about these things."

      "You seem to have a lot of those," she observes as the shower falls silent.

      "No, I have just enough to keep me alive," he answers, opening the door.

      "Apparently, casual nudity isn't one of them. Or do you see the utter lack of modesty as a survival tactic?"

      "Actually I was just about to note how this flying trash heap is criminally understocked with even the bare essentials of civilised living. But now you mention it..."

      Rahne raises an eyebrow. "The first thing we do when we get to Telos is beg, buy, borrow or steel clothes. Food comes after that. Oh, a distant, distant second."

      "I don't notice you averting your gaze."

      "I grew up in a culture without a nudity taboo; a naked body isn't inherently off-putting."

      "Really..."

      "I didn't say I was oblivious to your desire to see me naked," she chides before offering a small smile. "Walking around like that isn't go to bother or entice me, so go right ahead. But I should point out that Jedi, like Kreia, tend to be really good with grasping objects from a distance. Given her disposition, I don't think she's likely to give much consideration to there being anything attached if she got irritated by something."

      "Ah."

      "Indeed."

      Holding up his hands in defeat - a situation no doubt merely temporary in his own mind - Atton steps aside. "The facilities are all yours."

      She moves past him into the fresher, pointedly closing the door in his face.

      "So how's our passenger?" Atton calls through the door. "She still aging?"

      "She seems fine, just needs some rest."

      "Well, she sure could use it. How old do you think she is? She may have been good looking once, but her face looks like it's been ploughed by crazed Ord Mantell farmers. Don't tell me you were too distracted by her personality to notice?"

      "Look, just lay off the drokking insults okay?"

      "Whoa! Don't get mad at me."

      "She got injured helping us to escape, remember?" she remarks irritably, remembering his display of self-serving cowardice before she went down into the mines.

      "I appreciate what she did and all, but it's not like I asked her to stay behind and get her hand cut off."

      "Would you have done it?"

      "Hell no."

      "Then, yes: you did ask her. We'd never have made it without her doing what she did. Now can I clean up in peace?"

      Silence greets her in response.

      Maybe Kreia's right. Maybe his potential lies downwards not up.

      The treacherous voice whispers, Isn't that what Master Vrook used to think about you before the War? A mediocre Jedi who only got as far as she did by op--

      Shut. Up.

      Sighing deeply, Rahne rests her forehead against the cool metal of the fresher wall for a moment. Thinking of... nothing. Feeling... nothing. Then she strips, feeding her stolen clothes into the auto-valet after resetting it to disgorge her clothes back into the fresher instead of the dormitory proper. Finally she dials up the shower - something tolerable this time, something languid and pleasurable. Or at least a close to it as a sonic shower can get.

      It's been close to five years since she was last forced to endure one of these things, and now she's using it for the second time in a standard day. What am I doing here? she sighs, letting the vibrations flow through her, dig through tired muscles and feelings of uncleanliness. Judging from the astrogation tank's displays, she's been in one state of unconsciousness or another for almost two standard weeks. HK-50 must have sabotaged the autodoc, as processing a prescription for analgesics is pretty much her last memory before waking in the kolto tank. Prior to that, with the Harbinger's holonet transceiver down it had been four days of tedium in hyperspace with only the cruiser's less than complete entertainment library for diversion.

      How had Kreia and the Sith known where to find them? Was it some unusually powerful precognition, or something as mundane as intercepting a request for extraction? The miner at Peragus that had allegedly claimed to recognise her from Malachor - had they sided with Revan during the Civil War, summoning the Sith to the station before the droid murdered them? How had information about her been seeded to the core-ward public-access databases? Why not the information that she'd been stripped of her connection to the Force?

      Still too many questions and far, far from enough drokking answers!

      She stretches, stepping closer to one of the field emitters; the tremors it sets in motion make her bite her lip, make her claw uselessly at the resilient smoothness of the wall she suddenly has to brace herself against. This is one of the reasons she hates sonics: they build her up and get her off too damn easily. They turn something sensual into a purely mechanical response. As an adolescent that had been a good thing, but once she'd started drokking... Once she'd started sharing her body and its responses with lovers, and being gifted with theirs in return, achieving climax any other way feels like cheating. Seems like she gains something without meaning or effort deserving of reward.

      Right now, however, Rahne doesn't care about deeper meanings. She feels so wired and tense and just plain mad right now that she desperately needs the release, and this way is easy and all about her need. Contorting herself, she arches herself a little awkwardly to maintain support and presses her sex hard against the emitter. Chokes back a loud exclamation that would otherwise doubtlessly betray her to Atton.

      Her knees want to buckle but she wills them still. The biomechanics of her stance take over after that, such focused thought becoming increasingly difficult.

      Breaths come faster and shallower.

      Her insides twist and churn in wild response; it's been minutes but it feels like she's been fucked for hours. Hard and ruthlessly and well.

      Something wants to explode, wants to expand inside her, wants to consume all conscious thought.

      Animal instinct takes over and she shifts her hips just enough to let her grind her clitoris against the tiny cone's sharp and unyielding tip. The metal digs ruthlessly into her, screaming through every molecule of her nervous system. It hurts.

      She presses against it even harder. Hungry for what it gives her.

      Then harder still, letting it inside her flesh.

      Some tiny, ruthlessly logical, part of her mind notes that in a sonic shower, her legs shouldn't be wet.

      She tries to tell it to shut up. She orgasms instead, swept up in a flood of light and heat. Monstrous spasms wrack her frame, jerking it away from the emitter and to her knees.

      There's a salt taste in her mouth. It takes a while to realise she's bitten down on her lip hard enough to draw blood just so Atton won't hear her cry out.

      One of her hands drops down, fingers crawling inside her body to give it something to clamp down against. Something to hold that she can pretend is Reiko's hand staying with her until the orgasm passes.

      It takes a while for that. It takes a little longer for the shower to get her clean again, and even longer before she's confident of walking. By the time she leaves the fresher, though, she feels much more at ease and almost ready to take on the galaxy. The first thing she does is collapse face-down on the bunk furthest from the entrance, tuck the shiv under her pillow, and wait for the tingling still coruscating through her sensorium to...

      coil back into her...

      core and...

      evaporate...

      The next thing Rahne's fully aware of is a loud noise that resolves itself into T3 burbling next to her head. There is something else though, an occlusion on the very periphery of her mind that vanishes even as she realises its existence.

      "What's going on?" she asks, the hand that isn't reflexively clutching the shiv beneath the pillow wiping a line of drool from her lips.

      "Woo eet doo," the droid answers cheerfully.

      "Breakfast?" she asks. "How long was I out?"

      "Dwoo."

      She's about to answer when she realises that at some point Atton has taken her boots off and covered her with a blanket from the middle bunk. Something like this would never have happened without me realising it a decade ago... she realises with a shock.

      She reaches out and pats the droid on its disc-shaped head. "Is Kreia up yet?"

      T3 answers in the negative and urges her to rise until she gives in. The decking is cold, but bearable enough that she doesn't feel the need to pull her boots back on. Testing to make sure it'll slide out if she needs it, Rahne tucks the shiv up her sleeve and follows T3 out to the main hold. In passing she notices that the bed nearest the door has also been slept in.

      "You found breakfast in this tub?"

      "Uhuh," Atton replies, emerging from the galley. "There's not a lot, and it's a bit on the old side. But it's not survival rations, which in my book makes up for a lot of that."

      "There's a lot of truth in that," she agrees, looking at the contents of the tray. "I had to live off those things for close to a month once, back in the w... back in the day."

      "So, what happened to you?"

      "What do--?"

      "Don't give me that. You're a Jedi - you people are meant to be married to your lightsabers. What happened to yours? We could have used it back there."

      "I'm not a Jedi. Why would I have one?"

      "Because they're cool?"

      "A lightsaber is just a tool, Atton. A means of focusing oneself in the Force. It's use as a weapon or status symbol, though effective, is somewhat secondary. Has Kreia had anything?"

      "She's got the door locked," he shrugs. "I suspect you're the only one she'll open it to."

      "Well guess I'd better go test that," she answers, picking up one of the ready-heat plates. "Keep mine warm," she calls back before disappearing around the corner. As expected, when she hits the control the door opens without hesitation.

      "Kreia? I've bought you something to eat."

      "Ah, Exile," she acknowledges, already in a sitting position in her bed and eyeing Rahne through her cowl. "I see you are all the better for last night." The meaning behind her words is clear. "It was an... intriguing... experience," she waves aside Rahne's rueful expression. "And admittedly a welcome distraction."

      "How are you feeling?" Rahne asks after a moment's pause.

      "Some things may only be learned by sacrifice, and this wound... is only a physical thing, and will fade in time."

      "When you lost your hand... I felt it too."

      "Given we are capable of sharing thoughts - and judging by last night, other intense sensations - when apart, that does not surprise me. The pain however was unexpected: if I could, I would have shielded you from it."

      "Whatever there is between us, it runs deep."

      "Indeed. I believe that we communicate our... physical reactions... only when it catches us unprepared. If you have forgotten them, there are certain mantras and techniques I can teach you that will better shield us both from such... extremes."

      "And what if you had died?"

      "I do not know. I fear the consequences would have been more... extreme."

      "Would it have been fatal?"

      "Possibly, yes. And it may well be that it works both ways. I would not wish to test... nor should you."

      "No, you're right. It's because of you that I can feel the Force again, isn't it? Because of this... this thing between us."

      "Perhaps. Do you hear it as before?

      "No. It's like a whisper... far away, on the edge of hearing."

      "What deafened you to it in the first place? It is not an easy thing, to cut one off from the Force; it has been described as a fate worse than death."

      "I don't know. Not for sure."

      "But you suspect? You surely can't think that you lost your connection to the Force without reason?"

      "Maybe. You know who I am; your calling me Exile says as much." It isn't a question.

      "You are the only Jedi," she stresses the word, "to return from the Mandalorian Wars. The only one who did not follow Revan to the Dark Side. And for those 'crimes' the Jedi stripped you of all you had left and exiled you from the Order. Ironic is it not that in punishing you for their lack of foresight, they ensured your survival where they would fall."

      "They said that the exile was my punishment for betraying them," Rahne sneers. "Being severed from the Force... that was my punishment for Malachor."

      "So the Jedi sought to truly isolate you from everything. Such a thing has been done before. of course. When the Order sought to make a particularly telling example of one of their own... as they did with you."

      "Maybe," she grudgingly allows, not wanting to admit just how much sense Kreia's words make. "So much time has passed and I've tried so hard to forget what I was that honestly, I'm no longer sure what happened. Can you tell me what happened after the Mandalorian Wars? I've heard some stories, but I think you might have a more informed view."

      The old woman smiles quietly at that. "Much has happened in your absence, yet it all stems from the Mandalorian conflict. Though she was always a brilliant tactician, Revan was said to have grown increasingly harsh in her attitudes as the war progressed."

      "She and Malak came to despise weakness." Rahne agrees. "They virtually executed whole units that had buckled in one offensive by using them in feints where they wouldn't survive on the next. Some people complained, but they ended up in similar places and after a while no one cared because the soldiers fought harder and she kept winning."

      "The Mandalorians had taught them through conflict. In their defeat they had ironically shaped the Jedi and turned them into a weapon - against the Republic and against the Order they had once believed in."

      "And that was the Jedi Civil War."

      "Yes. The resources of the Sith seemed limitless. Fleets of warships, soldiers and people were lost. Whole planets were scoured, their inhabitants slaughtered or made refugees; the Mandalorians would have been proud. Yet as all Sith do, without a strong enemy to unite them they turned on each other. For all her skill, Revan was ambushed and captured by the Jedi. With her gone Malak continued to wage war in his master's place with the ferocity of a rabid animal, inflicting terrible wounds on the Republic the likes of which had rarely been seen... wounds that bleed still. Revan however managed to escape her captors, returning to the heart of her forces to slay Malak whose friendship she had once treasured above all else."

      "And?"

      "And that was when the war ended."

      "I don't get it. What happened to her?"

      "No one knows... certainly not I. Korriban lies in ruins, and the blade of war Revan promised to stab into the faltering heart of the galaxy has withdrawn. Whether she died, or wanders in obscurity as you once did, I do not know."

      "So, she wound up saving the very thing she was seeking to destroy?"

      "Perhaps, from a certain point of view. A culture's teachings, and most importantly, the nature of its people, achieve definition in conflict. They... find themselves. Or they find themselves lacking. Too long did the Republic remain unchallenged before it faced its recent adversities. It is a stagnant beast that has laboured for breath for centuries. The Jedi Order sustained it in its sickness; now they are gone we shall see how long the Republic can survive."

      "You sound like a Sith saying that."

      "Does it bother you that I might be?"

      "... No. They might be trying to kill me, but they've never turned their back on me. Not even Revan; she wanted me to come with her, but I turned her down."

      Kreia absorbs the statement silently as she eats..

      "Can you tell me anything about these Sith who are chasing me?"

      "This new threat... it is a quiet thing, so unlike the War. By aiming at you, it drives at something deeper than the mere strength of the Republic. Such a thing has never been important - ever. The Republic was simply a shell around the Jedi, as their teachings were around the heart of those who learnt them. The true war isn't about ships or droids or soldiers; these things are mere obstacles against which we test ourselves. The true war is waged in the hearts of all living things, against our own natures light or dark. It is this that truly binds and shapes the universe. And now you are the final battleground: if you fail, the death of the Republic will be such a quiet thing, a whisper that shall herald the darkness to come."

      "But why me?"

      "You are a shatterpoint, one of those rare fulcrums upon which fate pivots that a seer can spend their entire life searching for and never find; a single strike can cause events to transpire completely differently than they might otherwise. The Force chose you for this, forging you in the fires of Mal--"

      "I wish the Force would leave me the drokk alone," Rahne sighs, collecting the empty plate.

      "Hmm. A galaxy not bound by the will of the Living Force... an intriguing concept, is it not? However, it appears this link between us may permit the undoing of what was done to you in the past, and to better protect you in the future. Allow me to be your guide to a galaxy that has been denied you for too long."

      "Yes," Rahne responds emphatically. "I don't know if I'm ready or worthy of it, but if I'm going to be it's pawn, and these Sith bastards are going to come after me because of it, then I want to know the Force again. I want to hear it sing in my soul. I want to see and know the things it thinks my life is worth destroying for." She pauses. "And I want the company."

      "Good," Kreia says, turning over in her bunk. "We'll start when we reach Telos."

Chapter III

2007-04-02T04:22:40Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.
T3-M4: A faithful helper. Utility droid.

[]Chapter III

She's forgotten what it felt like to spacewalk, about how the vastness of the void makes her feel special, a speck of life amongst so much... nothing.

      ::...you are indeed special...::

      Rahne glances at Kreia, but the polarised faceplate makes it hard to make out the other woman's expression.

      The three of them progress silently from the airlock out onto the gangway attached to the face of the asteroid, prevented from floating off by the magnetic charge running through the soles of their boots. It leads to the right, away from the fuel depot and the hangars beyond, heading instead back towards the Harbinger.

      "Looks like they're refuelling," Atton remarks, pointing to the gantry arm to their left.

      "Must be an automatic thing: the false leak HK-50 set up in order to raise those containment fields would prevent the system from transferring... any... fuel..." she trails off. "Atton, you're a genius. We get onto the Harbinger like we originally planed, then we take a short cut through that fuel pipe to the hangar decks."

      "We had a plan?"

      "Be silent, fool!" Kreia snaps. "Your constant twittering avails us not."

      "Far be it for me to cast another shadow on this, but even if your latest suicide attempt works, it wouldn't matter. We still need a copy of the orbital drift charts in order to clear the debris field."

      "Let us worry about that when we're aboard the ship," Kreia sighs.

      "Seconded," Rahne nods. "Alright, do you both see the secondary airlock amid-ships? It's the closest to us and leads to the passenger section. We head aft, void their fuel so they can't follow us, then open the inspection hatch on the pipe and from there make it into the fuel depot. Let's go."

      Without waiting to see whether there's any disagreement, Rahne powers down her magboots, crouches down and launches herself towards the Republic ship. Carefully turning around, she notices that the others have indeed followed her example. She also has the opportunity to glance back into the administration centre - the only thing she can make out in the gloom is what appears to be the smouldering wreckage of a couple of the mining droids. Hopefully that means their pursuers are spread out on the station.

      It takes five or six minutes to cover the distance from the station to the airlock, aided by the integral manoeuvring jets built into the space suits. Grabbing hold of the handrail next to the access panel, Rahne keys in what she hopes is still a valid override code, grinning when it proves to be the case. Wherever you are now, Bao, thank you. The three of them crowd inside and cycle the lock closed. Once more she hits the emergency override, the sudden inrush of atmosphere knocking her a step backwards.

      "A most... intriguing... experience," Kreia observes, removing her helmet.

      "Speak for yourself," Atton moans, head hanging between his knees for a moment. "I hate microgravity."

      "We're alive, and for the moment off that rock," Rahne points out, dropping her helmet into the door way to prevent the airlock door from being sealed if someone noticed their arrival.

      "Something is wrong," Kreia announces. "I sense no one on board."

      "Of course not," Atton mocks. "They're all on the station looking for us."

      "Atton, these ships have a crew compliment of a hundred and fifty, not counting droids and mission specialists," Rahne shakes her head as she yanks on her boots. "Even if that droid's sabotage managed to kill most of them, it's standard Republic procedure to never leave a docked vessel unmanned, precisely so people like us can't steal them."

      "I noticed no indication of ship-to-ship combat on the exterior of this vessel," Kreia comments. "This vessel has been attacked by the same assassins that attacked the Ebon Hawk looking for you."

      " If there's no one on board, then we head forward and seal the airlock to stop them taking us from behind."

      "Isn't that tempting fate?" Atton asks. "Who are these assassins you're talking about, anyway?"

      "Sith," Kreia answers simply.

      "What else is new," Rahne snarls wearily, passing both lasers to Atton. She offers the disruptor to Kreia, but the old woman shakes her head. "Fine." Slinging the bag over her shoulder, Rahne takes a vibroblade in each hand, taking a moment to move through kata she hasn't attempted in almost a decade. It feels good, disturbingly wonderfully good, to find herself doing so. To find herself remembering the patterns and graces of her chosen fighting style.

      "Right, let's go."

      They move rapidly down the deserted corridors, past the occasional body showing the trauma of encountering bladed weapons mostly from behind. The Sith had obviously hit them hard and fast. Reaching the airlock Rahne cycles it open, primes one of the charges and tosses it down the gangway while Atton uses one of the plasma torches to destroy the external controls. Slipping back through the closing hatch, they vandalise the internal controls in a similar manner.

      "How soon until those mining charges blow?"

      "We'll be clear," she answers. "It's Rahne, by the why."

      "Rain? What's rain got to with anything?" he looks confused.

      "Rahne. It's my name."

      As they do this, Kreia makes her way onto the bridge, picking her way through the score of corpses littering the deck, their life taken by particularly telling wounds. She emerges just as the other two finish carrying a data-stick bearing the Harbinger's copy of the drift charts. They move aft again; just as they reach the bulkhead leading to the crew quarters, the ship is rocked by the detonation of the mining charge.

      "They will know where we are now," Kreia notes darkly.

      "Unless they can spacewalk without a suit and burn through the outer hull of a battle cruiser before they suffocate or freeze, it's not going to do them much good," Rahne shrugs, then pauses. "This was my room."

      "When?" Atton asks.

      "Before I was knocked unconscious and ended up on the mining colony," she answers, triggering the door. Her heart pounds faster, a mix of hope and dread.

      "I would advise against tarrying here," Kreia counsels.

      "I know. I'll be quick." She ducks inside and makes for the personal safe, a feeling of tremendous relief flowing through her when the access code works. Grabbing the small palm-sized pyramid sitting within, she drops it into one of her belt pouches and rejoins the others. "Let's get going."

      "What's that?" Atton asks.

      "Nothing of any importance to anyone but me," she evades, striding ahead. The rest of the journey to the turbolift down to the engineering deck is completed in silence until Atton speaks up.

      "You know, I have a bad feeling about this?"

      "Coward's intuition?" Kreia asks snidely.

      "What's wrong?"

      "Don't you Jedi feel it?" he answers her, ignoring Kreia with a scowl. "Something's gonna get real wrong, real quick.

      "How--?"

      "You don't survive on the Rim as long as I have without knowing when trouble's coming."

      "We'll be careful then. But we have to keep moving."

      "Don't say I didn't warn you. Trust me, when it comes to staying alive, I'm rarely wrong about these things."

      They get about twenty metres down the corridor before he's proven right. They would never have spotted them in time if the survey gear hadn't registered a thermal anomaly, drawing Rahne's attention to the oddly... distorted... curve of the wall. A rather humanoid distortion.

      "Sith!" she yells, even as she powers-up and hurls one of her blades forward with all her strength. The whispering weapon cuts through the molecules of the air, the assassin's skull, and the metal of the wall. Sacrificing it, she draws the third and takes a step forward as the Sith's dead weight pulls downward, letting the blade cut upwards until the body slumps to the ground, blood gushing from its bisected head.

      Behind her, Atton opens up with both lasers, sweeping pulses back and forth across the corridor at head and waist height. There's a guttural snarl of pain and a grunt of triumph.

      A second distortion grabs her attention, swinging a shockstaff at her head. She brings up one of her blades to block it and stabs the second one forwards, forcing her attacker to side step at which point she just jerks the weapon horizontally in the same direction, carving open the assassin's belly before spinning around to decapitate him.

      Atton lets out a pained squeal and the sound of his weapons falls silent, having taken a shockstaff to the arm. The assassin responsible reverses her weapon, revealing the whispering of a vibroblade. Even before she starts moving to intercept the blow Rahne knows it will be too late.

      The snap-hiss of an igniting lightsaber surprises all of them. A crimson streak arcs effortlessly through the gloom, bisecting Atton's attacker and her weapon before reversing direction and burning through the final assassin's heart.

      "Th-Thanks," the rogue stutters, wincing as he clutches his paralysed arm.

      "Get up!" Kreia orders, scanning the corridor, lightsaber held at high guard. "Rahne, help him if you wish him to continue with us."

      Back the way they've just come, the turbolift doors open. What they disgorge is a nightmare of scar tissue and hate that doesn't look like it should be in one piece let alone capable of movement. Part of the creature's face is missing, leaving its left eye a glazed white orb above a permanent scowl. And creature is the only way to describe the thing they see, for though seemingly human, there is nothing humane left.

      "Oh we are so frakked," Atton exclaims under his breath.

      "This battle is mine alone," Kreia says quietly.

      "I'm not goin--"

      "I am not defenceless," she cuts off Rahne's protest. "He cannot kill what he cannot see, and power has long ago blinded him. Now run, and I shall be along shortly."

      "Bu--!"

      With a wave of her hand, the Force shoves Rahne and Atton further down the corridor beyond a bulkhead which slams closed.

      ::Run!::

      "What do we do?" Atton asks, looking panicked.

      "Exactly what she says," passing one of her blades to him and pulling him to his feet. Draping his injured arm over her shoulder, they turn and make for the maintenance door leading to the fuel subassembly. Once more they find themselves forced to cut through the lock, forcing their way into a echoing red-illuminated space between the bulbous reaction cores of the Harbinger's ion engines.

      "How do we get into the fuel line?"

      "We cut our way in, up ahead. It'll take too long to start up the maintenance cycle."

      "Isn't this dangerous?"

      "Stupidly," she agrees, ducking away and driving her blade into the inspection hatch controls. It opens in a flurry of sparks and poisonous fumes.

      "We'll never make it!"

      "Grab one of those masks and come-- Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"

      A pain like being dipped in molten carbonite grips her left hand, runs screaming up her nervous system into her brain and blinds her. She isn't sure what happens next, only that Atton is holding her.

      "What's wrong? What's happening?"

      "It's Kreia..." she gasps. "She's been hurt!"

      "How--?"

      :...go...::

      "We're connected," she grunts, feeling the pain ebb. "But we need to go." Jamming her blade into the bag, she snags a rebreather mask and squirms into the fuel line. The sound of their footfalls are loud and obvious, but it can't be helped. Then there's a new sound as a blue photoreceptor blinks on.

      "Dee... reet. Dee... eet?"

      "Is that?"

      "Yes," she nods, bending down. "He says HK-50 got him with an ion blast on the way back to the Hawk and must have dumped him here. Can you travel, T3?"

      "Dee - dreet."

      "Come on then, we have to hurry."

      They continue a little further until they discover the access hatch T3 has presumably been deposited through. It takes short work with the vibroblade to open.

      "Wooot!"

      "T3 is picking up footfalls behind us."

      "Kreia?"

      "I don't think so," Rahne shakes her head, pulling out the second of the sonic charges. Priming it for ten seconds, she hurls it back down the fuel line once the others are clear.

      T3-M4 charges up a gangway as fast as his motive units can carry him, the humans hot on his rear.

      "Cover your ears!"

      The resonance of the explosion is exceptionally painful, magnified and distorted by the countless conduits it passes through. New sirens begin sounding.

      They emerge on the other side of the containment fields Rahne had seen upon leaving the maintenance bay. A short distance beyond is a turbolift the markings of which indicate it links to the hangar decks. They pile in and punch in Hangar 25. Once there, they use the final charge to blow open the door from the control booth to the hangar floor itself, the linkage mechanisms having been destroyed by HK-50.

      "What a hunk--

      "What a piece--

      "Of junk!" they finish together, sharing a worried smile.

      "Doo-bleet. Woooo."

      "He says that it's been repaired since he last saw it. Probably more of HK-50's handiwork in case it needed an escape route."

      They slink cautiously aboard, nerves taut waiting for an ambush that doesn't come. Once they're sure they can't find any obvious surprises, they raise the entry ramp and head to the cockpit.

      "Can you fly this thing?" she asks.

      "Sure thing. It'll take a few minutes to boot up, then we're home free."

      "Not yet we aren't - we have to dock with the Harbinger and rescue Kreia."

      "Are you frakking insane, Rahne?"

      Am I?

      ::...::

      "More than likely. Apart from which, she's the one with the drift charts."

      "You know, I'm beginning to think I was better off in my cell."

      "Just do it, Atton. I'd do the same if it was you there, and Kreia was here telling me to leave you behind. T3, give him a hand getting this bucket ready. I'm going to see if there's anything useful."

      "Reet... dwo-eeet."

      "Thanks, I'll check it out."

      Leaving the cockpit, Rahne heads through the main passenger lounge, dominated by a large tactical table projecting an astrogation sphere of local space, past the small medical bay and finds her way to the cargo hold, largely empty apart from some plasteel crates held to the wall with webbing. Going to the far end, she feels her way down a stanchion until she comes across the panel T3 had described. A push inwards and it retracts, revealing a smuggling space.

      Nestled in there is the hilt of a lightsaber.

      She carefully withdraws it. A little under a foot long, the metal is cool to the touch, a design like a tridactyl claw enclosing the emitter assembly, the pommel weighted by a spiked ball from which the belt hook emerges. Holding the weapon at arm's length, she ignites it and stares at the violet blade.

      Hers had both been cyan, she remembers a little sadly.

      She makes a few practice strokes, getting used to the weight of such a weapon again after almost a decade. Though an ordinary person probably couldn't tell the difference, her movements are hesitant and stilted. So much so that she feels a wave of embarrassment. Shutting it off, she starts to replace it but ends up hanging it from her belt. Just in case.

      "Rahne, time to strap in!" Atton's voice echoes through the ship over the intercom.

      Sighing quietly, she jogs into the passenger lounge and grabs a place on an acceleration couch. "I'm good to go!" she yells. Her fingers dig into the arm rests as the artificial gravity kicks in and the Ebon Hawk rises off its landing skids. She watches the astrogation tank rotate 180 degrees along with the freighter as it leaves the dock, then move again as Atton follows the curve of the asteroid's surface. The Harbinger blinks into view as she gets to her feet, the display twisting to match his manoeuvring to mate their docking collar with the cruiser's airlock.

      Something flickers on the edge of the debris field then vanishes. A few moments later it reappears.

      Drawing the lightsaber, she ignites it before cycling open the airlock and once the Harbinger's inner and outer airlock doors open she destroys the mechanisms that will enable them to close again.

      ::...you were foolish... to return for me...:: Kreia's mind touches hers. What comes with the contact forces her to pause momentarily in sympathy.

      Reaching out, she searches for the pain she can feel seeping through the link and finds it inside a storage compartment. Beneath her feet, the deck starts to tremble as the engines power-up.

      If anyone's going to kill you, it's going to be me, she thinks with a mix of fond sarcasm and genuine irritation. Besides, I owe you.

      She cuts out the lock and slams the door open to find Kreia waiting for her, clutching the end of her left arm tightly where there used to be a hand. Rahne tries to say something, but Kreia pushes past her. "There will be time later," she precludes any inquiry or statement of regret.

      They hustle back the Ebon Hawk where they spot T3 standing guard by the airlock until they hear a shout behind them; turning she spots one of the black-clad Sith assassins running towards them, drawing a kukri from a belt sheath. Judging the distance, Rahne hurls the lightsaber into the wall metres away from the pursuer. The woman laughs - and the power conduit Rahne had aimed for explodes . Following Kreia through the airlock, she cycles it closed and slaps the intercom. "Atton, punch it! We've got an incoming Sith cruiser."

      "Why is it never good news with you?" he snarks, firing the docking thrusters on full reverse to break clear. The freighter bucks slightly as the Harbinger's atmosphere blasts out of the compromised airlock, followed by a thunk that sounds something like a body, and then the main engines kick in.

      The three of them make their way to the cockpit in time to see the Ebon Hawk plunge into the heart of the debris field.

      "How long til we can make the jump to hyperspace?" Rahne asks, dropping into the co-pilot seat.

      "Not until we get clear of this," Atton shakes his head, spiralling them around a large chunk of space rock. People trying to jump in the middle of asteroid fields tend no to be heard from again. Of course the moment we clear the field they get a nice clear shot up our exhaust ports."

      "At least they haven't opened fire on us yet."

      "They probably don--" The ship bucks savagely, the view ports momentarily darkening in response to the turbolaser blast from the Sith cruiser that rakes their port side.

      "Don't want to be blown to bits..." he finishes lamely. "Frakking idiots! If one of the big asteroids go up, it'll take out this entire field, the colony, us, them, probably the whole frakking planet!"

      "Sith aren't generally known for their rational behaviour."

      "Now isn't the time for a religious debate," Atton grunts, reefing the ship sideways to avoid the rapidly expanding cloud of vapour and energy that had moments before been a deliberately targeted asteroid. "What the hell did you two do to make them so mad? Either they hit us and we're dead or they miss us and we're dead. Great frakking odds."

      "They are not the only ones who can destroy these asteroids," Kreia points out from the navigator's chair. "Firing on one may well provide us with the cover we need to escape."

      "Weren't you listening to me you crazy old wit--?"

      "Don't worry," Rahne steps in before anything else is said. "I have no intention of killing another planet."

      "Ano--?"

      "You're meant to be the hot shot pilot. Just do your best."

      "Dwoot!

      "I see it! Atton, 125 point 30, now!"

      The rapid course correction shifts them out of the path of a salvo from the now mobile but limping Harbinger's main battery. But in saving themselves, they allow the green fingers of destructive energy to strike one of the larger asteroids more or less dead centre.

      "Oh my..." Atton's jaw drops. "Everybody, hold on: this is going to get a little... rocky."

      The rapidly expanding cascade engulfs the Sith cruiser, smashing it into another asteroid, the resultant explosion ripping it apart. The Harbinger vanishes behind a wall of flame that the sensors show reaching out in the Ebon Hawk's wake to embrace the silent cemetery that had once been the Peragus mining colony. The overlapping shockwaves begin to buffet the freighter with growing force, repeatedly fouling the etheric rudders

      Finally the debris field starts thinning out.

      "That little trash compactor had better have gotten those jump co-ordinates right..." Atton mutters, activating the hyperdrive. The star field stretches to infinity and beyond, and is then replaced by the swirling blue miasma of hyperspace. "Right! Now, anyone care to tell me exactly what's going on here?

      "The Republic was the Harbinger," Kreia answers after an evaluative pause. "It was captured by the Sith on the way to Telos; they sought you, Exile."

      "Why are they after me," Rahne asks as she gets out of her seat and moves to Kreia's side.

      "Because you... are the last of the Jedi. Once you are dead, then they have won."

       "I'm not a Jedi. Not any more."

      "Exile or not, the Sith believe you to be a Jedi Knight, and that is all that matters."

      "Looks like we're having that debate now," she shakes her head wearily, offering her hand. "Atton told me that the Order had gone, but I still can't believe it."

      "I don't need to tell you how many fell in battle during the Mandalorian Wars," Kreia answers. For a moment it looks like she's going to ignore Rahne's outstretched arm, her face all but unreadable beneath her cowl, but ultimately she accepts the offer; her grip is painfully hard, fingers digging like talons into Rahne's forearm. "Many more were seduced by Revan's teachings. The... Civil War... destroyed the Jedi; by its end barely a hundred Jedi remained. The Academy on Dantooine is nothing more than a crater now, echoing with the ghosts of dead Jedi, and the Temple on Coruscant lies empty. The waters in the Room of a Thousand Fountains have fallen still, in reverence to the slain... and those now lost."

      "And what of those hundred?"

      "Most blamed the Jedi Masters for what had happened," Kreia says dispassionately as they leave the cockpit. "They saw their teachings as being responsible for Revan's fall... and the war against the Sith that followed. After that, they scattered upon the stellar winds into obscurity. If the Sith have not already slain them, then they will not help you. Nor can you help them."

      "Naturally."

      "What were you doing on the Harbinger anyway? Atton asks.

      "I was meant to be meeting a... friend... on Telos. I'd been invited to see their attempts to rebuild an entire world."

      "Many roads lead to Telos," Kreia remarks. "Including ours."

      "How did you know where to find me?"

      "You were difficult to find, but... coincidence... was on our side. When I learned of your presence, I knew that the Sith would not be far behind. When we intercepted the Harbinger, it was already crippled and adrift in space. It was simple to board the vessel and rescue you, but leaving was harder. The Sith arrived and fired on us just as the Ebon Hawk was making the jump to hyperspace."

      Rahne and Kreia enter the freighter's small medical bay while Atton and T3 loiter outside. Thankfully whoever had outfitted the ship had seen fit to label everything. Gently she takes Kreia's arm and eases back the hem of her sleeve to reveal a stump, the all too familiar work of a lightsaber, cleanly cauterised a little before the wrist joint. Applying the analgesic has an immediate effect as Kreia's entire frame visibly relaxes and makes Rahne feel a little better about the contact required to sterilise the wound then fit the dermplast capping and bond it in place.

      "That's the best I can do for now," she announces as she finishes up by applying an impregnated dressing. "We can get you some proper medical attention once we hit Telos, and if we're lucky maybe even a prosthesis."

      "I will not bind myself to a device," Kreia shakes her head. "I will learn to cope without it."

      "How'd you manage to survive anyway?" Atton asks. "Sith Lords generally aren't known for their compassion."

      "He was more interested in her," she answers him after a long pause, the corners of her mouth pulling back in a grimace. "I underestimated him. It will not happen again."

      "Of course it won't," he dismisses the comment. "There's no way he survived that inferno we left behind us."

      ::Fool!::

      The emotion slices sharply into Rahne's awareness, bringing with it a stab of pain that isn't her own.

      "...o was he anyway?" Atton's voice penetrates her thoughts. "He looked like he was in the habit of sleeping with vibroblades just for the fun of it."

      "He is known as Darth Sion. Who or what he was before immersing himself in the power of the Dark Side I cannot say. Even if he did perish, that will not prevent the remaining Sith from coming after us."

      "About this 'us' thing--" Atton begins, but both women ignore him.

      "How do we stop them?"

      "That... is not an easy question to answer. The threat is greater than you know... and I do not believe it is a battle that can be fought."

      "So what do you suggest we do?"

      "We cannot hope to triumph against them alone," Kreia states emphatically. "To begin with you will need weapons, allies, and a... teacher. Even then it may not be enough - you fought in the Mandalorian Wars, you know the sacrifices it took to win. Are you willing to sacrifice once again everything you've managed to claw back for yourself?"

      "Then is there somewhere we can go to ground?"

      "Finally! One of you says something sens--"

      "Telos may be such a place," Kreia cuts him off this time. "Perhaps there, if you are willing, I can train you. I fear you have much to learn and likely too little time to do so. But we have spoken long enough, and my wound pains me. I shall retire to the crew quarters; we can talk there later once I have rested."

      ::...and in private we shall be mercifully free of the opinions of idiots...::

      She shoulders past Atton and disappears towards the port dormitory.

      "I think she was barely holding it together," Atton remarks once the coast is clear. I'd be screaming like a stuck mynock. Well, a very strong, manly mynock, I mean..."

      "She's very proud," Rahne nods.

      "I think she's trying to impress you."

      "Me?"

      "I think it's fairly clear she can't abide me--"

      "I can't think why."

      "--but she'll talk your ear off. What you think and do obviously matters to her a great deal."

      "When did you get so sensitive?"

      "Oh, don't give me that. I've just been around people long enough to read them, even a cagey old krayt dragon like her."

      "Hmmm. How long until we reach Telos?"

      "A couple of days, maybe less. This bucket's pretty fast all things considered. We're on autopilot until then."

      "Good. I noticed a workshop when we came aboard; now we have some spare time I want to interrogate that HK droid."

      "Dweet. Roo... deet."

      "Are you serious?"

      "Doo-eeet."

      "Oh this just keeps getting better!" she exclaims sarcastically.

      "What?"

      "He says there's another assassin droid crated up in the cargo hold."

Chapter II

2007-03-25T05:37:48Z

Dramatis Personae

Rahne (Gina Gershon): The Jedi Exile. Nisse female.
Kreia (Kate Mulgrew): Her mysterious benefactor. Human female.
Atton Rand (John Barrowman): A rogue of uncertain loyalty. Human male.

[]Chapter II

The bulkhead at the bottom of the escape shaft has to be opened manually using a hand-crank. Discovering this after having spent several minutes climbing down with only her newly enhanced vision for guidance while fuming about Atton's attitude leaves Rahne in a less than ideal mood. When the panels eventually slide apart, a faint mix of noxious fumes creep into the turbolift car. Beyond, the corridor's lumistrips flicker ominously.

      "Can you read me?" Atton's voice crackles over the link.

      "Barely. There's a lot of static."

      "What did you say? The link's crammed with static."

      Fantastic.

      "Look, there should be a locker of emergency supplies in the next room before you hit the mines."

      "Yeah," Rahne grunts, squeezing through. "I see it. Anything else?"

      "The blast knocked out a bunch of sensors, but I'm picking up a lot of droid transponders in that area."

      "Then I'll be careful."

      "Anything useful?"

      "Looks like some mining gear. And some spare uniforms. I think it'll fit, too."

      "Dammit!"

      "I didn't quite catch that," she responds deadpan.

      "I said good. You shouldn't be running around a mine in you underwear any way. It's very distracting. For the droids."

      She doesn't bother answering, instead focusing on pulling on the uniform - a padded brown and blue affair with a utility belt and plenty of pockets into which she offloads the grenades. Looking further, she finds a survey headset offering thermal and ultraviolet scanning capability through a swing down monocle, a couple of cryoban charges, and something that causes a broad grin: survival rations. Stuffing them into other spare pockets, she pauses to eat one; though plain fare they still manage to fill the void created by days spent in a medical coma sustained by IV drips. Once that small but vital necessity is dealt with, she cranks open the door at the other end of the vestibule, switches on the stealth-field generator and creeps forward into the mine.

      After a brief walk she comes to a four way junction, in the middle of which is an atmosphere processor obviously designed to provide the workers with a breathable air supply. The indicator panels show it to be working at its minimal rated output, accounting for the smoke loitering along the top of the tunnels. With two of the passageways impassable in short order due to debris from the explosion, she finds herself with only one way to proceed.

      "Atton, what are those droids doing?"

      "It looks like they're massed up ahead. You should be almost on top of them."

      "Yeah, I see them," she confirms, resisting the urge to whistle. "That's a lot of droids."

      "You'll never get past them."

      "Don't worry, the security officer left me a little going away present. I'll get back once I'm through."

      The corridor she'd followed opens out into a large cavern, swarming with mining droids. The pollutants from the explosion drift around waist level here. Judging by the air currents, the processor at the mouth of the cavern seems to be malfunctioning due to damage sustained from a cave-in, endlessly cycling the atmosphere and doing nothing to scrub it. She can already feel it clawing at the back of her throat. In the centre of the room is a shielded repulsor shaft designed to move the ore directly to the processing facility. In the background, she can here more alarms.

      Pulling back into the access corridor and the reach of the first processor, she struggles out of the uniform, and more importantly, the ill-fitting exercise gear beneath it. Dialling down the blade on one of the torches, she cuts out the entire mid-drift of the latter in order to construct a make-shift air-filter. Chuckling to herself over the idea that Atton would probably be kicking himself if he knew what he'd just missed out on, she gets dressed - rather more comfortably this time. Dousing the singed material with water from one of the emergency ration packs, she ties it in place over her nose and mouth before returning to the cave. Skirting around the edge of it until she comes out the other side, she passes at least three more bodies she can see but suspects there are plenty more.

      "Alright," she hisses. "I'm through. What's next?"

      "There's what looks to be the main ventilation shaft a couple of hundred metres further in. According to the schematics, you should find the local droid control station there as well."

      "I can a here a 'but' coming."

      "I'm showing a massive thermal spike between it and you. Without any sort of thermal shielding you'll be cooked alive."

      "Would a cryoban charge do the trick?"

      "Maybe. You'd have to find one though, and I'm fresh out."

      "Good thing the miners thought ahead. Talk to you on the other side."

      It's easy to tell where the hot spot is - even in the gloom the wavering heat haze is clearly visible without the benefit of the survey gear. Peering closer, she sees the rock itself is smouldering a pale cherry red - more than likely the explosion initiated the sort of reaction in the volatile ore that blew the asteroid field out of the face of Peragus II in the first place. Fantastic. Priming the cryobans, she lobs them down the tunnel one ahead of the other. When they detonate, there's a massive cloud of steam and noise, but the survey gear shows the temperature dropping rapidly. Waiting for it to clear, she closes her eyes and reaches out to touch the Force, trying to find the gossamer from before that indicated the presence of droids and finds it at the very limit of her senses, along with a new pattern. Searching her memory, she eventually recognises it as a force field. A big one. Perhaps.

      Something draws her back to the mundane. The survey gear: the temperature is rising again.

      "Drokk!" she swears and bolts. It's like running through a tropical forest as she dashes those twenty metres, condensation pouring down onto her as the chemical reaction continues unabated, already obvious past the point of now return.

      "What?"

      "We have a problem. That thermal zone is an exposed vein of ore, and it's about to detonate. How far am I away from the nearest turbolift?"

      "There should be one about fifty metres past the ventilation shaft. But it's not working, the system is still locked down!"

      "Let me worry about that!" she snaps. "You need to close the emergency hatch on the administration."

      "On it!"

      She erupts at full speed out of the mine tunnel into a large chamber that's been covered with decking. The most immediate feature of the place is the cavernous shaft disappearing into the depths of the asteroid, a control station suspended over the centre of it. Directly above the shaft is a mass of atmospheric processing equipment responsible for the dull almost sub-audible rumbling she only now realises she's been hearing since venturing into the mine workings. At cardinal points around the shaft are more shielded repulsor shafts, only this time it appears they're transporting the now finished fuel upwards to the storage areas. Ten more mining droids occupy the circumference of the chamber.

      Throwing caution to the wind, Rahne keeps running. Dashing across the bridge to the control module, she hammers at the interface trying to find the command routine to override the droids. Her opponent though has been too thorough; here too the linkages have been rerouted and severed. Giving up, she starts running again, vaulting one of the droids that veers suddenly into her path. Confused by conflicting sensory data, it fires a laser pule at her but succeeds only in striking another droid; interpreting this as an attack, the second machine switches over to a defensive protocol and fires back. The resulting explosion bowls Rahne off her feet but she tumbles with it and comes up still running.

      The fusion torches make short work of the turbolift door; though gaining access to the roof hatch is more of a challenge. Stashing the torches in her belt she hauls herself through it and starts climbing the inspection ladder embedded in the side of the shaft as fast as she can, imagining herself burning alive in the imminent conflagration.

      ::...stay calm... The fool has succeeded in the task you set him, and the explosion will be small.::

      "Easy for you to say old woman," she grunts.

      It takes a good ten minutes for her to reach the top and find the manual crank for the door. She's barely gotten it open when the sound of the explosion reaches her, followed a millisecond later by a violent shaking that almost succeeds in tearing free her grip on the ladder. A second, more violent explosion follows, the movement slamming the side of her head against the shaft. As the pain of the blow recedes it dawns on her that the breeze she'd felt on first opening the doors is starting to increase.

      The emergency systems were venting the mine! Almost in response, a light a little way above her starts flashing, indicating the door servos are powering up to seal it. Desperately she lunges through, yelping as she feels the door slam shut on the heel of her boot, ripping a chunk of the sole free.

      "Drokk!" she snaps, kicking the door angrily and once more for good measure. Tearing off the cloth mask, she turns around and takes a survey of her surroundings. More of the same architecture as the administration level, even down to the remains of a young redheaded man spread across the floor. It is however clear that she must have ended up in the droid maintenance section judging from the tools - and broken droids - scattered about.

      "Greeting: It is a pleasure to see you alive, Master, provided my receptors are not off-focus. How may I be of assistance?"

      The cheerful voice comes from her left, beyond the body. Looking up she spots a tall gun-metal grey droid, its design evoking a combination of the skeletal and the insectoid. Unarmed, its slitted yellow photoreceptors study her quizzically.

      "Who are you?" she demands, hand dropping to her belt - and the still active stealth field generator.

      "Answer: I am HK-50, a survivor of the Harbinger, just as you were Master. With the unexpected termination of my previous master, you are the only organic which I may now serve."

      Ah. So you're the Sith-spawned thing responsible for all this death, she thinks, eyes narrowing as she judges distances and tries to recall just how fast a droid can move.

      ::Destroy it.::

      It seems like perfectly reasonable advice, but something stays Rahne's hand. The droid makes no hostile or threatening gestures, adopting a perfectly servile - and doubtlessly pre-programmed - pose. The administration officer had described it as being overly verbose...

      "What are you? How can you even see me?"

      "Boastful Response: My sensory matrix is far more complex than the simple mining droids your stealth unit is presumably calibrated against, Master. As to your other query, I am a HK series protocol droid, skilled in trans-organic relations and communications. I am fluent in over six thousand forms of communication and am also capable of nuances of expression ranging from irony to veiled threats; this model has been responsible for the facilitation of communications and termination of hostilities across the galaxy."

      "Veiled threats?" she queries, rising slowly to her feet but keeping her hand on her belt.

      "Clarification: Oh yes, Master. Sometimes the facilitation of communications and termination of hostilities requires the use of every weapon in one's... verbal arsenal. The unspoken threat of violence against the listener's loved ones or even possibly their entire planet, can effectively break the deadlock in the most stubborn of negotiations."

      "I don't suppose you know a woman named Revan by any chance?"

      "Regretful Response: Negative, Master, though I am aware of her reputation. She is most surely an inspiration for all of us who seek to facilitate communications and end hostilities. I was in transit with my previous master to Telos in order to do so... However, we did not arrive at our intended destination."

      "What happened?"

      "Irritated Answer: Oh Master, it is such a long, dull story. And not terribly relevant to our current situation."

      "Humour me," she orders irritably while looking around the room.

      "Hesitant Explanation: That has been a subject of considerable discussion since our arrival here, Master. Many have attempted to claim you and this unit as salvage. I was crudely interrogated concerning our brief history together onboard the Harbinger... before the communications, weapons and engines suffered the cascade failure that disabled the ship."

      "And where was I while all this was taking place?"

      "Speculation: It is possible you were incapacitated and locked in the well-shielded cargo compartment as the Harbinger was being systematically crippled, Master. No doubt the flurry of destruction somehow drugged you into a stupor from which you could not awaken. Most curious."

      "Locked?" she asks, moving around. "Care to explain that?"

      "Clarification: By locked, I meant sealed, Master. My vocabulator seems to be malfunctioning."

      I bet it is. "So how did I get from that safely... sealed... cargo compartment to this rock?"

      "Recitation: Following the unusual set of coincidences that led to the cascade failure, we were boarded by a small freighter with unknown ID codes. It appeared this freighter had been attacked, and my former master wished to examine it as the freighter appeared to still be space-worthy. Shortly before the Harbinger's systems began to go critical, your cargo compartment was breached and you were taken on board the freighter. I too managed to board the freighter shortly before the Harbinger's destruction. We were most fortunate to have survived, Master - as the freighter departed, it was fired upon and all organics aboard apart from yourself on board were speedily terminated."

      "So why take me? And how did it manage to end up here if the crew were all dead?"

      "Apology: My memory core was damaged during the incident and cannot provide a clear answer on that point. Suffice to say that once we arrived at this floating rock, our situation became much clearer. Despite my market value, the miners were far more interested in you. It did not take long for me to ascertain the reason for this. Painful Admission: While a HK protocol droid is a valuable piece of property, Jedi are worth much more in certain... exclusive markets across the galaxy. I was forced to remind myself this is in no way due to any failings of my model or function."

      "And just how did they reach the conclusion that I was a Jedi?" By now she's reached a workbench, the contents of a storage unit torn open by a laser pulse spilled across it. One item in particular attracts her attention and she pockets it.

      "Surprised Answer: One of the miners claimed to have served under you at Malachor V. This identified you as the Jedi exile who served with General Revan in the Mandalorian Wars. When asked, I confirmed the identification, as is my function. I hope all that has happened has not been the result of miscommunication. If so, then the problem lies in the coreward databases. Condescending Evaluation: They are notoriously spotty."

      The only place that information should be found are the Jedi Archives, she muses. Still, if there's no more Jedi Order, who knows what's happened to them. "And once they found out?"

      "Answer: They debated your fate while you lay unconscious and naked before them in the medical bay. One group seemed intent on selling you as property. The other group opposed this. Three standard hours after this division became apparent, accidents that would seem to have been the result of improper maintenance began to occur throughout the facility. These coincided with the degradation of the mining droid behavioural cores. The mortality rate of organics in the facility rose quickly."

      "That's a shame," she sighs, watching the murderous automaton out of the corner of her eye. "I need to get to the hanger decks. The freighter we arrived on is still here, and if we can get to it we can leave."

      "Pitying Answer: Oh, that is unfortunate, Master. The hangers are sealed behind a containment field. It would be impossible for you to open it.."

      "There must surely be access code over-rides?"

      "Lamentation: Such codes would be possessed only by the Administration officer. If he hasn't already been murdered in an unfortunate accident, then he is trapped in the dormitory section, which has been effectively cut off from the facility with explosives and lamentably had its environmental functions voided. Though it might be possible to walk across the surface of this facility, such an endeavour would be extremely hazardous, and I do not wish to see you damaged. I encourage you to return to the medical bay and wait for retrieval by a vessel that is no doubt on the way even as we continue this pointless conversation. In any event there is little other option as the airlock code-locked."

      "This just gets better and better. I don't suppose you have this code by any chance?"

      "Affirmation: Yes, I already possess the code. However as with the rest of this annex's functions, the code is keyed to the voice print of the unfortunate individual sharing this room's surface area with us. A prudent measure given the events of recent days but, as you can see, ultimately futile. Thus even if I told you the code was 'Maintenance Control: Voiceprint ID R1-B5', without the Maintenance Officer to speak those words you would find it useless. Conclusion: You are trapped here, just as I am. There is nothing to do except patiently wait for whatever the future has in store for us."

      "That's sound advice," Rahne agrees., her peregrinations returning her to the corpse. "I wonder what he was thinking when he died."

      "Suggestion: I heard his dying screams as the droids he tended so diligently betrayed and mined him like a piece of asteroid rock. I could play them back to you if you wish, Master, to help pass the time as you organics are fond of saying."

      "No tha--," she begins, then stops as an idea makes itself known. "Actually, yes. Please do."

      "Recitation: Oh yes, Master. These are the records of his last moments." The insufferably smug tenor of HK-50s voice is suddenly replaced by the slightly deeper and very terrified voice of a young man. "...five droids... burning through the outer door... they're forcing their way into the bay... please, someone, they... oh no, they're through...! Aighhhh! My leg! Please stop! St--" The droid's voice returns. "Addendum: His remaining attempts at communication are variations in decibels, Master, and pitifully inarticulate."

      "That was very... detailed." She keeps her expression carefully neutral.

      "Pleased Boast: Thank you, Master. I pride myself on my fidelity."

      "Of course, it's a pity you can only play back audio data, and not interpolate it," she responds slyly. "It's a pity your limited functionality prevents you from doing something as trivial as saying something like 'Maintenance Control: Voiceprint ID R1-B5' using the vocal data of this unfortunate... corpse."

      "Indignant Objection: Master, there is nothing wrong with my communications functionality. I will prove it to you." Once again the droid's voice changes. "Recitation: Maintenance Control: Voiceprint ID R1-B5. There. Was that sufficient proof to satisfy you?"

      "Yes, that will do nicely. I'm just going to look around for somewhere to lie down. Oh, one other thing."

      "Query: Yes, Master?"

      Rahne closes her eyes, seeing the gossamer of HK-50's being, tracing the patterns of it until she finds a particular spot and she tugs.

      "1000: 1011001100010001100010!"

      As the murderous droid flails in agony, Rahne turns, draws and ignites the plasma torches. Feeling herself slip into that familiar dance, long forgotten and buried away, she ducks beneath one of HK-50's arms as she cleaves it in two before decapitating the droid from behind. A sweep of her foot pitches the droid onto the decking, where she removes the remaining extremities. Then, for good measure, she carves out the power cell and tosses it away.

      "Atton, are you still there?" Her query is met with stony silence. "Atton?" Not even any static... Damn. She yanks off the comlink and notices immediately that the status light is dead. Probably damaged when I hit my head getting up here. Fantastic.

      Angrily discarding the ruined device, she casts about looking for a replacement. Her search fails to find any, but it does turn up an impromptu weapon's locker containing five long vibroblades of which three still show a charge, an ion disruptor, a wicked looking shiv, three sonic mining charges and a pair of hand-held mining lasers modified into something roughly resembling a blaster. Casting about, she finds an equipment bag into which she tosses the lasers, the disruptor, the charges and two of the powered-up vibroblades, along with HK-50's head. The third blade she fashions a crude scabbard for and hangs it on her belt opposite the two fusion torches, though the weapon itself remains firmly clasped in her right hand. The shiv disappears into a pocket. Thus equipped, she makes her way to the other side of the maintenance bay and triggers the door marked as leading through to the fuel depot.

      Huge glassteel windows looking out over a cavernous space full of pipes and conduits leading to and from the station's reservoirs wall off one side of an access way. To the left, she can see the cyan glow of multiple containment fields blocking off what is presumably the route to the hangers. To the right the access way has a couple of doors at the far end, blocked off by a number of mining droids. Though they react to the opening of the bulkhead, they continue to show no awareness of her presence. She carefully makes her way past them, an exercise as tense as her experiences in the mine tunnels.

      As she cycles open the rear most door, marked as leading to this level's airlock, Rahne is momentarily aware of... something. Something very, very distant to her, like a dream forgotten upon waking. But even as she tries to analyse the sensation it vanishes from her awareness.

      Kreia?

      ::I have felt a disturbance... our enemy is here. We must leave at once.::

      Enemy?

      ::The one that fired upon the Ebon Hawk as we attempted to rescue you... and he will not let you go without blood being shed.::

      Who is he?

      ::The story is a long one, and time is short. We must go, and quickly.::

      I still need to find a way past the containment field.

      ::Then hurry. We do not have long before his vessel navigates the debris field.::

      The airlock annex contains a couple of equipment store areas, a turbolift marked as leading to the administration level, and systems access console. Pulling out the sonic imprinture device she'd stolen from the workbench, she plays back HK-50's recitation of the voice code. Burbling happily, the interface unlocks.

      "Come on, containment field override," she mutters to herself, then, "Drokk! Drokk! Drokk!" as the assassin droid's assessment of the situation proves correct - even with access to the system, the containment fields can't be dropped without the codes belonging to the administration officer. Calling up the security camera menu, she surveys the rest of the asteroid - apart from Atton and Kreia, everyone else looks to be dead. Next she checks the hangar decks; the only one occupied is 25, where the battered half-circle shape of what is presumably the Ebon Hawk resides, protected from the vacuum by the usual atmospheric shield. More searching of schematics reveals that there's no airlock inside the area sealed off by the emergency containment shields, though it does reveal the small fact that the fuel leak they initially come in place to isolate doesn't exist but was instead another of HK-50's tricks. Pounding the console in frustration, she unlocks the turbolift system and returns to the administration level, sending a thought for Kreia to meet her there.

      Stepping out into the control chamber, she is amused to see Atton stand up from where he'd ducked behind one of the deactivated droids.

      "You're alive!" he exclaims. "When I couldn't contact you, I thought..."

      "I almost did," she answers, striding across to him, deciding the relief on his face is genuine enough. "I met a rather talkative protocol droid on the way out, though."

      "It didn't try to kill you?"

      "Not at that particular moment. I didn't return the favour though - provided we get out of here, we can interrogate it."

      "You want to bring that thing with us?"

      "I took its head before I left," she opens the bag. "See? I also have presents."

      "Now these are my kind of gifts," he grins, taking one of the lasers and spinning it around his finger.

      "We're still cut off from the Ebon Hawk though," she sighs.

      "That may not be a problem," the rogue grins. "The computer's just sent out a copy of the drift charts to an incoming ship. It's a Republic cruiser called the Harbinger."

      "Um, about that--"

      "That ship is but the harbinger of death," Kreia announces ominously as she sweeps into the chamber,

      "What in space is going on?" Atton exclaims, bringing his new weapon up to cover the old woman. "Who's this? Another Jedi? What, did you guys suddenly start breeding when I wasn't looking?"

      "We have to leave," Kreia ignores him. "Now."

      "Uh, alright... I'm guessing that Republic ship isn't carrying friends of yours."

      "I hope your talent for understatement is offset by your skill with a blaster. If not, I fear our time together will be short indeed." It's not something she sounds at all regretful about.

      "Yeah, and I'm also good at running and drinking, your majesty," he snaps back irritably. "But even if you two aren't big friends of the Republic, that warship is the only way off the station. And it's going to be here, docking on that airlock, in a few minutes according to the telemetry."

      "Atton, kill the lights!" Rahne orders. "Then everybody into the turbolift!"

      The chamber plunges into darkness, illuminated by the faintest of red glows reflecting off some of the asteroids floating towards the periphery of the observation windows. Then there's a new light, the burn of navigational thrusters as the orange and cream crescent-headed shape of a Republic light cruiser hoves into view. Then the doors to the lift close, making the sight no unseen feel even more ominous.

      "I hope you know what you're doing," Atton presses as they emerge into the airlock annex and Rahne leaps to the console.

      "Not a bit of it," she answers, bringing up the droid control routines. Cancelling out the directive to mine organics, she issues a relocation directive. The door leading to the fuel depot opens and the half-dozen mining droids on the other side rush through; Kreia's hand on his shoulder manages to stay Atton from taking a panicked shot.

      "Using the tools of one enemy against another. Most enterprising," she nods approvingly.

      "Any port in an ion storm," Rahne nods, waiting until they've crammed themselves into the turbolift then sending it back up. Locking it off, she reinitiates the organic mining protocol. "Well, that should buy us a little time."

      The station shudders slightly.

      "Someone needs their pilot's licence revoked," Atton remarks. "They must have docked pretty hard for us to feel that. So what do we do?"

      "We take a walk."

      "Wha--? Oh, you can't be serious!"

      "There's nowhere else to go," Rahne snaps, pulling out the other laser and firing on the console, slagging it. "Airlock. Now!"

      Fortunately there are more than enough spacesuits for them - the standard EVA team size seems to have either been four, or each person had a spare. As they pull the bulky things on and check one another's seals, they can make out explosions coming from above. Tethering the equipment bag - now carrying not only all their weapons but also their footwear - to the hook meant to hold her safety line, Rahne herds them into the airlock and seals the inner hatch.

      "Everyone hold on to something: we don't have time to depressurise."

      "You two are the worst Jedi I've ever met," Atton complains bitterly, powering up his magnetic boots and doing as he's ordered.

      "We're not Jedi," Kreia answers quietly, locking her gloves around a handrail.

      "Sure. What ever."

      Rahne hits the emergency override and voids them to space.

Chapter I

2007-03-18T13:28:08Z

* *

She is barely aware of being held by something. No... of being in something. A heavy repetitive rhythm insinuates itself into that awareness, counter-pointed by something faster and more chaotic moving around her and against her.

      Her eyes open only to immediately slam shut as something warm and heavy slides across them. She opens them again, slitted pupils widening in response to the dim light.

      There is the perception of shapes defined by distortions and shades of light, of strange silent forms looming around her with indifferent menace. Something holds her by the head, covering her nose and mouth. Something else grasps her between the legs, insinuating itself inside her body.

      And there is someone watching her.

      She starts to struggle, fighting the all encompassing presence to bring her arms up and tear these things free.

      All of a sudden, her world collapses. She struggles harder, tries to tear the thing from her face only to realise it's gripping her around the head. Something else impinges on her consciousness as she pitches forward. Weight. Her own weight. Gravity.

      "-rgency void initiated. Emergency void initiated. Emergency void initiated."

      The emotionless female voice vanishes, replaced by the equally unfeeling touch of glassteel against her shins and palms. She opens her eyes in time to hazily see a liquid surface disappear down past the tip of her nose, or at least the transparency of the mask covering it. Soon the liquid vanishes entirely, leaving her cold and shivering as the walls of the kolto tank recede into the mechanisms above, taking what she now realises was her reflection with it.

      With fumbling hands she reaches behind her head and unclasps the mask, hurling it away only to have it swing back on its hose and hit her in the side of the head. Ignoring it, she crawls forward a few paces before remembering the other thing. She looks down, grimaces, and gingerly disengages the catheters before crawling further and collapsing.

      "Drokk me." Her voice rasps over the simple curse, sounding like it hasn't been used in days. Weeks even. "I should not be feeling like this." It hurts, but even just hearing her own voice is better than the silence punctuated only by the discreet shrill of medical alarms and other mechanical distresses.

      Alarms!

      She twists around to look at the place of her confinement for the first time: the third of five kolto tanks in a semi-circle around the back of a circular chamber. The other four each hold an injured man, naked and sustained as she had been. Behind each tank a status monitor blinks red. Peering closer, she sees that though the men move, it was only because of the oxygen percolating through the liquid; their chests are still.

      "This isn't the Harbinger," she mutters, climbing to her feet and swaying slightly, raking damp magenta hair out of her amber eyes and behind pointed ears. "Where the hells am I?"

      The dead men don't answer.

      She stumbles forward, breath fogging slightly, arms clasped around her chest attempting to rub some warmth and sensation into it, her extremities tingling as the movement kicks her circulation up a notch. Gravity feels slightly less than Republic standard, so maybe she's on a lunar colony. The corridor she enters is clean and spartan, but possesses a bulk to its construction suggestive of planetary industrial installations. The air is thin and slightly stale, a definite sign of life-support operating sub-optimally.

      At the far end of the corridor a bulkhead door shudders and groans, its locking mechanisms giving off the whiff of burning lubricant and obviously damaged. She purses her lips in irritation; apart from the office to the left and the morgue bulkhead to the right, the door looks to be the only way out of the med lab. Choosing the path of least resistance, she investigates the office. Lacking either the proper pass-code - or the 'master-key' provided by a life she's tried too hard to forget - she opts for ripping the faceplate open and crossing wires until she manages to trip the lock release.

      Within she finds a desk, a chair and a work station still logged on. Like the signage outside the interface is mercifully in standard Basic. Even more helpfully, its design prominently answers one of her questions, even though the answer means little: she's somewhere called Peragus, a facility under emergency lock-down. She's not sure she likes that scenario any better than the idea the people here are just shoddy mechanics. A few moment's poking around finds the medical officer's daily reports; their contents only serve to worsen her mood.

      "Ebon Hawk?" she mutters, glancing at the report of her initial injuries and wincing at the images. "How the hells did I get on a freighter? Was I being kidnapped or rescued?" As she continues reading, the corollary to that question whispers itself darkly in the back of her mind: all these people are dead because of you, Jedi. She could deny it of course, but the timing and sheer magnitude of the disasters befalling these unfortunate miners who had simply tried to help her is undeniable. Whoever had done this had most likely put her aboard the Hawk-- No, she corrects herself. She hopes it was the same entity, because otherwise it means she's up against something far larger and insidious than a mere slicer and saboteur.

      Unable to move outside the local network node due to her opponent's physical sabotage, she settles for triggering the locks on the med bay's storage room and the morgue and investigating each in turn. There turns out to be nothing of any immediate use in storage, its contents sorely depleted by the recent tide of injuries. The sole exception is a plasma torch that forms part of an emergency response kit; holding it stirs feelings she'd thought long behind her. The office's little en-suite fresher calls temptingly to her on the way out, but she decides to leave that distinct pleasure until after she's inspected the dead and doubtlessly decomposing bodies across the way.

      The morgue is on the compact side with only seven benches, each broad enough to hold a full-grown yuzzem; two bodies, most of them human, occupy each one. Like the unfortunates euthanized in the kolto tanks, seven of the corpses are victims of hideous plasma burns that in some cases reach the bone. Another six, all of them wearing identical black body suits, show signs all to familiar to her of having been struck by directed energy fire, shrapnel and explosive trauma. None of them are intact; some of the dismemberment however is uncomfortably clean and cauterised. Apart from boots the smallest of which are a size too large there's nothing of any practical use to be recovered.

      A final body - one the logs had said was recovered from the freighter along with her and the ones in black - couldn't be more different. Unlike the rough and practical physicality of the others, it is that of an old woman with long white hair in twin braids that spill over her shoulders and clad in an elegant yet uncomplicated brown robe, the cowl of which is pulled low over a face that had once been very beautiful but now even in death tells of adversity and pain. Like her own, the woman's hands are slender yet strong and sure; without quite knowing why, she reaches down and strokes them tenderly. An electric shiver runs through her and she jerks away.

      "Static," she mutters, explaining the odd sensation away. She turns back to claim the smallest pair of boots - though she'll take the robe, she wants to preserve the old woman's dignity for as long as possible. Humming to herself, Rahne unlaces one and pulls it off, wrinkling her nose at the smell before starting on the second. Just as it comes free, she realises something's wrong.

      "Find what you are looking for amongst the dead?"

      It's pure reflex that sees her spin and hurl the boot with all her strength. Though only scant metres separate them and despite perching on the edge of her bench, the old woman ducks the projectile easily. Who are you? she wants to demand. I thought you were dead! she wants to exclaim. Instead, something else forces its way out of her mouth.

      "Your voice - I heard it when I was in the kolto tank."

      " I had hoped as much," the old woman smiles, the husky timbre of her voice remaining unchanged. "I had slept too long and was lost. It may be I reached out unconsciously and fortunately found in you a receptive mind. Or perhaps it was you who called to me?"

      She takes a half step backwards, something unpleasant gnawing at her gut as she evaluates her new companion. "You can touch minds and feign death. Who are you?"

      The woman pauses for a moment. "I am Kreia, and I am your rescuer - as you are mine. May I ask your name?"

      "Rahne."

      "Rahne," Kreia repeats the name, almost like she's tasting the way it sounds and feels. "Tell me, do you recall what happened?"

      She starts to answer, then stops, eyes narrowing. "I'm the one asking questions here. How did I get here?"

      "I confess I know little more than you do," Kreia shrugs, conceding the high ground for now. "I do not even know where here is. I do however recall rescuing you: the Republic ship you were on was attacked, and you were the only survivor." An evaluative pause. "A result of your Jedi training, no doubt."

      The gnawing feeling in her gut just won't go away. "If you think I'm a Jedi, you're very much mistaken." Although she tries, she can't quite hide the bitterness in her voice.

      "Your stance tells me you are a Jedi," the woman counters with a serene conviction in her position, though her tone becomes softer, ever so slightly intimate. "You carry something that weighs you down."

      Rahne turns back to removing the boot. "That's no business of yours," she answers, perhaps more harshly than she intends.

      "So it would seem. Let us focus on the now: a survey of our surroundings may provide the answers we seek. We were attacked once and I fear our attackers will not give up the hunt so easily. Without transport, weapons and information, they will find us easy prey indeed."

      "Information I can do," she answers, walking past Kreia to recover the first boot. "We're on some sort of orbital or lunar mining colony called Peragus, which is on lockdown following a number of fatalities that started shortly after we arrived. Someone's already tried to kill me, or drug me, and we're trapped behind a malfunctioning bulkhead."

      Kreia's voice takes on an ominous note. "Even as I slept, I felt much unrest here. I saw minds coloured with fear, but now everything feels terribly silent. The ship we arrived in must still be in this place; we should recover it and leave as soon as possible."

      "Speaking of that, who are these people. They were aboard with us."

      "Mercenaries," is the dispassionate reply. "Assassins. They would have taken you and killed me if they had been allowed. They weren't."

      "Did you kill them?"

      " I believe we were fired on by their ship, but all I recall was an explosion as I faced them."

      "How did we escape then?" she presses. "Who flew us out of there? Who got us here?"

      "There were droids aboard capable of that function," Kreia dismisses the topic. "I cannot say anything beyond that."

      "Not that I don't agree with you about getting out of here, but there's got to be someone left alive here. At the very least evidence about who or what we're facing."

      "You may wish to extend your search to some clothes..." Kreia observes wryly. "If only for purposes of proper first impressions."

      "I'm sure they'll get over it," she shrugs, pretty certain the old woman is as unperturbed by the fact of her tattooed nudity as she herself is. "Are you well enough to travel?"

      "I'm afraid I am not so young as to leap from death's door as quickly as you. I must leave such explorations as are required in your hands while I attempt to centre myself."

      "Well, you can do that somewhere other than a refrigeration unit."

      Kreia doesn't offer any protests as she's picked up, and Rahne has the briefest impression of a self- indulgent smile before the old woman loops her arms over her shoulders and permits herself to be carried into the office and placed on the cot bed next to the desk. Leaving her to settle into a lotus position, Rahne at last heads towards the en-suite, looking forward to ridding herself of the briny smell and uncomfortably tacky sensation of dried kolto beneath a cascade of hot water.

      She meets with disappointment almost immediately - the shower is only a sonic one, but better that than none at all. Gritting her teeth, she cycles up the quickest setting and steps into the field, bracing herself against the walls and humming a counter harmonic to stop her brain being rattled inside her skull. When she steps out a minute later, every decimetre of her body is atingle but mercifully clean. Rummaging through the small personal locker produces an abbreviated khaki bodysuit, which judging from the smell probably served as physical training gear of some kind; it and the boots are tossed into the shower booth and the cycle rerun. It sags and pulls when she puts it on, obviously designed for a shorter woman with bigger breasts. It'll just have to do.

      "You seem to know an awful lot about Jedi techniques," she remarks, sitting down next to Kreia and lacing the boots as tightly as she can.

      "As do you," Kreia remarks placidly. "Perhaps we could discuss it at length later. Turn your energy to the matter at hand; if we cannot find a way out of here, any answers I provide will prove useless anyway."

      "Fine." Picking up the plasma torch, she leaves the office and shorts the panel again to close the door - just in case someone should come looking. Hefting the tool, swinging it through the air as though there was a proper blade attached, she moves over to examine the damaged bulkhead door: opening it proves a simple manner of slicing through the damaged actuators.

      On the other side are the beginnings of a charnel house. Two humanoid bodies sprawl on the ground, blackened and burnt, their faces little more than charcoal-dusted bone. Behind them, a semi arachnid form of a mining droid lies in a broken heap, a plasma torch protruding from its processor core. An emergency blast door on the right is sealed with its thoroughly slagged control panel leaving no means of opening it, while the rest of Peragus stretches away to the left. Grabbing the second torch and igniting it, she heads left.

      It proves to be a mistake, for in short order she finds two more mutilated bodies, each of which has a mining droid standing over it. They scuttle around to face her, mining lasers whining to life

      "Drokk me!" she curses, and runs.

      But not away. By the time the nearest droid registers what's happening, she's already between its drill emitters, eviscerating its processor core. A pulse from its companion scythes through a knee joint, narrowly missing her head. Vaulting the mechanical corpse, she slides beneath a second pulse and stakes the second droid through its motivator.

      Further up the half-lit corridor comes the sound of more droids homing in on her. Dropping the torches, Rahne heaves one of the second droid's mining lasers upwards, pries open an inspection plate and triggers it. Three crimson pulses scintillate towards her assailants; the second strikes a power core, setting off a detonation that leaves her ears ringing and two smoking piles of scrap. She stays where she is for several minutes, straining her senses but finds nothing else. Getting to her feat, she reclaims the torches and continues on, ignoring the all too familiar stench of death, past several more corpses obviously 'mined' by the droids until she reaches a blast door marked as an emergency exit – given the circumstances, the automated systems should reasonably have been expected to open it. Further ahead is an office and another bulkhead door.

      ::...this is the exit... but it is sealed... strange... in my visions, it was open...::

      "Kreia?" she calls out, turning around. But there is only silence and the gloom of the corridor.

      Sighing, she shorts the control panel to the office and checks inside. Lockers mostly, a couple of chairs and a computer desk; again the terminal is logged in, presumably part of the emergency procedure. She ignores most of what she finds and calls up the security records, recognising the man making them as the bisected corpse just outside the door. There's a reminder they're in an asteroid field that could explode at any moment... another reference to Coorta - a man mentioned in the medical logs as a trouble maker - wanting to sell her to the Exchange... an observation of how keeping her for the Republic had been immediately followed by the onset of the troubles afflicting the outpost...

      You are as the footstep of doom, the voice in the back of her mind whispers.

      "Shut up."

      To know you is to die.

      "Shut. Up."

      Silence.

      She flicks through more reports, disturbed at how easily these people had decided she was a Jedi with her incapable of saying or doing anything to give that impression. There seems little doubt though that this carnage is directly related to-- Ah, an emergency override. Not in the office of course, that would be too simple. Still, a start. When her attempt to access the security cameras fails in a burst of static, she gets up and breaks open the lockers. Nothing... Nothing... Nothing... Ah. A dark smile crosses Rahne's lips as she pulls out a bandolier holding three ion grenades and a stealth-field generator, both of which one of the logs had alluded to. Slinging the grenades across her shoulder and the field generator around her waist, she leaves the office and inspects the bulkhead.

      ::...be careful... there is much energy in the room beyond... yet it stems from nothing that lives...::

      "Kreia? Wh--?"

      ::...can you not sense them... reach out... cast aside your sight, cast aside what you see, and instead reach out with your perceptions...::

      Get out of my head! she wants to scream, but the old woman's voice is comforting, makes her feel like she hasn't in far too long. So Rahne instead calms her breathing, remembers what she never thought to again, and does as she suggests.

      ::...ah, you can feel them... the droids you cannot perceive, but the small oscillations of energy... that you can feel... echoing outwards...::

      She thinks it's her imagination at first, something Kreia is putting in her head: three webs of the faintest gossamer shimmering behind the bulkhead. Moving with intent...

      ::Ah... you hear it. It is faint... but it is there. ::

      I feel strange, she thinks. Like...

      ::It is the Force you feel... Surely it has not been so long as for you to forget...::

      No... "No! I don't want this. Not again. Never again!"

      ::Do not turn away from it.:: There is steel in that thought, the inevitability of time itself. ::Listen... feel it echoing within you. I shall guide you down the familiar paths – you will need it if we are to survive and escape this place. ::

      And with that the touch of Kreia's mind to hers recedes once more. She calls out silently but there is no reply.

      "Fantastic," she snarls, reaching for the control panel only to stop mere millimetres away. Spinning around, she jogs back to the office.

      "Kreia, what the Hell is going on," she demands before she's even finished opening the door.

      "It would seem that our proximity during the long and near fatal slumber we shared has had... unforseen consequences." Though Kreia doesn't even twitch, Rahne is certain the old woman is studying her. "Perhaps the effect will pass with time. Until it does, it would seem to be an advantage we can and should make use of."

      The frustrating thing of course is that she's right.

      "Well, it's not looking good for the others; it's likely the mining droids have been sliced and turned on the crew of this place. You ready to move yet?"

      "I will be when it is time."

      She doesn't bother closing the entrance to the office before she jogs back to the bulkhead sealing off the droids. Flicking on the stealth-field generator and unhooking the first grenade, she shorts the door open just long enough to roll the little orb into the next chamber. A moment later there's a loud crump and a number of electronic death squeals. Tentatively reaching out again through the Force, she finds nothing of the gossamer left and once more opens the bulkhead to survey her handiwork. The three ruined corpses she finds revealed stand avenged against the sparking mechanical carcases sprawled over them.

      She moves on, around the bend in the corridor and shorting open another door to enter colony's command and control centre. A number of droids scuttle about the comparatively vast chamber, their attention mostly focused on a heavily shielded door at the far end. Others patrol the entrance to twin docking arrays, one either side of the communications blister. Mentally crossing her fingers, she slinks onwards taking carefully measured steps, pausing once when one of the droids twitches as though almost but not quite aware of her, until she reaches the central comms console and flicks the hard-line switch hidden beneath it by the security chief whose logs she'd viewed.

      Every droid in the room settles to the decking with a resounding clang. A moment later, the sound of the force field over the door vanishes.

      Walking over to the nearest droid, she bangs it on the motivator with the but of one of the torches, but there's no response. Carefully tuning the blade to the thinnest possible emission, she opens the droid's casing and removes the unit and the processing core. It takes a while, but once found the evidence of tampering is clear: the internal diagnostic display lists organics as the primary mining resource, a command set by the maintenance engineer via voice-lock.

      "Um, hello?" a voice echoes faintly across the chamber. More a heavily muffled shout, really. Getting up, she resets the torch then brandishing both of them makes her way to the door.

      ::...ah... beyond this door someone yet lives... be mindful... his thoughts are difficult to read, but you have nothing to fear from this one... and he might yet prove useful... however, mentioning my presence may be unwise...::

      "I'll give you unwise," she mutters and burns through the lock.

      The room revealed beyond is a holding cell with a couple of force cages. One of these is occupied by a lanky individual, good looking after a fashion and dressed in a style that might be called spacer chic if it also didn't look like it'd been slept in every night for the past week.

      "Nice outfit," he drawls lasciviously, dark eyes taking their time evaluating her and picturing what lies beneath her outfit - not a difficult task. "You miners change regulation uniforms while I've been in here?"

      So, not a miner then. "What are you doing here?" she asks.

      "Eh. Security claimed I violated some trumped-up regulation or another. They stopped listening to me shortly before they stopped feeding me. Now that's criminal."

      "Who are you?"

      "Atton. Atton Rand," he smiles winningly. "Excuse me if I don't shake hands; the field only causes mild electrical burns."

      Rahne smiles back despite herself. "This place is deserted. Care to try and fill me in?"

      "Before or after that wretched Jedi showed up? Either way it's a real short story." Catching her rapidly darkening expression, Atton shrugs affably. "We can leave out the bit where people who don't know pazaak get upset when they lose, and cut to the bit where this Jedi shows up in a needlessly dramatic fashion. And of course where there's Jedi there's inevitably the Republic crawling up your ion engine in no time flat. So some people who should have were disinclined to stick around."

      "They abandoned you."

      "Ah, it gets better," he refuses to confirm the statement. "Turns out the Exchange is offering a bounty on Jedi, and some of the charming folk inhabiting this rock got it into the ferrocrete skulls that since this Jedi was out for the count they should try and collect. Naturally, what passes for the law here fired the retros on that idea. Then there was some big explosion, lots of screaming, something about toxic venting, I was sitting here for a long time, then you showed up in your underwear and... well, things started looking up."

      "Why are this Exchange hunting Jedi?"

      He shrugs again. He seems good at it. "Dunno. They're a big crime syndicate operating out of Nar Shaddaa doing all the usual things. Maybe they want one stuffed and mounted as a conversation piece, or maybe somebody's got something against Jedi and is looking to collect while they've got the chance. I mean, there were hardly any of them left after the Civil War as it is, and those that survived turned off their lightsabers years ago, so that bounty is probably plenty big to justify the effort in digging one up. Wouldn't surprise me at all."

      "Civil War? I'd heard there was a Sith invasion--"

      "The Sith are just Jedi who believe in different things. They all still use lightsabers and the Force and waffle on about light and dark. Besides, it was Revan leading them, the first name any good Republic drone would think of if you asked them about Jedi." The disgust in his voice makes her skin crawl. "Of course it was a civil war. Jedi against Jedi, and neither side had any qualms about doing what ever they had to in order to win. It was a scrap that almost laid waste to the galaxy."

      She reaches out to steady herself against something and ends up leaning against the console controlling the force cages, confused and sickened by what she's hearing. "Revan wouldn't do that. She was ruthless sometimes, she had to be, but she went to war to save the Republic. Not to let it fall!"

      Unbidden, a memory returns of sad and hurtful words that could never be taken back. A parting kiss and an entreaty that she hadn't understood until now.

      "I wasn't there, but I can only imagine that having an army at her beck and call got to be addictive and she didn't want to give it back. But it didn't last: that creepy sidekick of hers... um, what's his name...?"

      "Malak." She falls deeper into the memory, remembers him looming over Revan's shoulder. Handsome eyes full of contempt for anyone who could turn away from the woman her idolised.

      "Yeah, that's right. Anyway, he turned on her and the boosters kicked in hard after that. They exterminated whole worlds like it was nothing. Where have you been that you could have missed this?"

      "I've been... away," Rahne evades. "How did they stop them?"

      "Revan came back and wiped the floor with him. To hear the stories she killed her way across half the galaxy to do it, too."

      "She returned to the light?" Rahne can hear the desperate hope in her own voice as she asks, but she doesn't care.

      "I guess... there's rumours all over space about it one way or the other. But I've heard what she was like during the Mandalorian Wars and how quick she was to take out anyone stupid enough to cross her, and this just sounds like more of the same. Seriously, dark Jedi are bad enough, but when a woman falls to the dark side, you'd be better of spacing yourself before they catch you." The half-smile fades as he recalls who he's talking to. "Uh, no offence or anything."

      "None taken."

      "Um, look. It's not like this half-naked interrogation of yours isn't a personal fantasy of mine, but I'd really appreciate it if you could let me out of here. It sounds like someone's gone to a lot of trouble... Oh. You're the Jedi they pulled off that freighter aren't you?"

      "I'm the person they rescued, yes. Is that a problem?"

      "No ma'am! I have a strict policy about collecting bounties. Look, let me out and I can help you. I can. I've gotten out of trouble countless times."

      "And yet you're the one trapped in the cage."

      "And yet here you are about to deactivate it?" he asks hopefully.

      "Why don't you tell me what you're thinking of?" she cajoles.

      "Well, we're lucky this isn't a military facility. If you let me out of here, it should be easy enough for me to reroute power to get us to the one of the hangers where we can grab a ship and get off this rock."

      "Sounds reasonable. Just don't try anything cute." She powers down the field.

      "Great!" he beams, taking the opportunity to have a proper stretch for the first time in days. "Let's get to that command console."

      They return to the comms blister at a brisk trot, pausing only to reassure Atton that the droids are harmless.

      "Pure pazaak," he grins after a momentary inspection. "The interface is locked off, but being the dashingly clever, and might I add, handsome individual that I am, we can use the navigation auto-broadcast as a back door. And yes, we're in. Now all we do is reactivate the turbo lifts, cancel the lock-- Damn."

      "Sounds like you're about to tell me something I don't want to hear."

      "Someone's physically severed this system from the rest of the network. Actually, it looks like they only hit the command lines; we're still capable of receiving remote sensor data. Doesn't look like anyone's sending any though."

      "I ran into the same problem on the way up here. Anything else we can do here?"

      "The logs for the last few days are available. I'll bring them up."

      They scan through the holo recordings, Rahne scowling inwardly when the details - related by one of the droids taken from the Ebon Hawk - of events on the Harbinger don't match Kreia's account of what happened. Her mood grows fouler still as they read the now familiar litany of accidents and conflict. All of it obviously linked to the rescued protocol droid innocently and unthinkingly tasked to drudge work on the very systems that had subsequently betrayed their operators.

      Tell me about the droids, she thinks towards Kreia, shaping and enunciation each word the way one would a new language.

      ::...they were merely utility droids... nothing more... they are not what you seek...::

      "Hey!" Atton interrupts, nudging her. "You alright? You zoned out on me."

      "I'm fine. Did you find something?"

      "The receiver is picking up something in the Hanger 25 control room. I think there's somebody there: listen." As he plays with the volume, a series of low-pitched interrogative whistles and bleeps some distance from the pick-up can be heard.

      "I think that's a utility droid." Without thinking, she taps the receiver relay. "Hello, is someone there?"

      "What are you doing?" Atton snaps, slapping her hand away. "What makes you think any of the droids here are safe?"

      "Because I don't think it's from here," she answers back and reopens the link. "Hello?"

      "Dwoooooooo... deet? Beep."

      "Are you operational?"

      "Beee-weeeet. Bee-deet."

      "Good. We're trapped up on the administration level. Do you think you can manually unlock the turbolifts?"

      "Doooo-reep. Bee-wheep."

      "I passed an emergency hatch on this level. Do you think you can find a way to open that?"

      "Bee-deeeet? Dwoooop-Beep!"

      "Well I'd rather risk it than be trapped up here."

      "Dwooooooo."

      "How do you even understand what that thing is saying?" Atton shakes his head in bewilderment.

      "Bleeet-wop! Roooo-whep. Deeeeet."

      "Well?" he presses.

      "Apparently whoever did this rerouted a bunch of command access routines to the fuel depot; makes sense I guess to hole up in the on place people are least capable of using excessive force against you." I should never have accepted that invitation. "And you, my brave little friend, be careful: the mining droids have been programmed to attack any unauthorised presence."

      "Blee-eep."

      "Good luck," she signs off and cradles her head momentarily in her arms, trying to hide the world from her sight

      "And now we wait?"

      "And now we wait."

      Maybe half a minute passes, marked by the electronic burble of the computers talking uselessly amongst themselves.

      "So... How long have you been a Jedi?" he starts off, painfully transparent. "I guess it must be tough, not having a family... or a husband..."

      "I told you, Atton, I'm not a Jedi."

      "Your droid said you were. I can play back the log entry if you wa--?"

      "Are you normally this obtuse," she snarls, "or are you making a special effort, just for me?

      "Excuse me?"

      "Don't you get it yet? It's the protocol droid that's responsible for this. All of this!" she flings her arms out to encompass the entirety of the station. "I don't know what it wants with me but it messed up by telling people I was a Jedi, and to cover its tracks it engineered the mass murder of every sentient here."

      Atton makes a long, almost appreciative sounding whistle. " Why didn't it come after me?"

      "Probably didn't realise you were here. Or maybe it thought it'd just let you starve to death since it couldn't get past the field sealing you off without deactivating the mining droids. I'll make sure to ask it wh--"

      The sound of a blast door opening echoes through the emptiness to them.

      "Trouble?" he asks nervously.

      "Look at the schematic: our friend managed to open the emergency hatch."

      "Hey, what do you know - the little cargo cylinder came through after all."

      "We're not out of this yet."

      "If he got the turbolifts going working, then we should have a clear run to the hangar.

      "All that's open is the emergency hatch down to the mine workings."

      "The mines? You are crazy - that's where the explosion I told you about came from. There's probably nothing but superheated rock and collapsed blast tunnels. Only an idiot would go that way."

      "This idiot doesn't have time for you cowardice Atton."

      "Look, take one of the comlinks," he gestures placatingly towards the bank of them against a near wall. "I can keep an eye on you and watch your back."

      "Not that you'll come running to help."

      "Well, if this is all about you, maybe they won't try to kill you as much if you're on your own."

      "Whatever." She stalks away, snatching one of the links and slipping it over her ear.

      "Um, be careful okay? Look, you never told me your name."

      "No," Rahne agrees just before she storms angrily out. "I didn't."