A Shadow And A Thought - Introitus (Part 1)

1.1 Patience.

Patience was something for which Carth Onasi had never had much use. He found himself wondering, as he gazed out onto the slowly healing planet below him, whether it was innate or learned. Bastila had not exactly been the galaxy's most patient woman, despite many years of training--or brainwashing, depending on how you looked at it. After several silent minutes of playing out a complicated, thoughtful debate on the subject, Carth had only resolved on only one point: he had spent far too much time hanging around Jedi and picking up their nasty habits, namely spending several silent minutes on complicated, thoughtful debates.

Carth sighed and ground his palm into his forehead, turning away from the planet that had given him life and which he was now bringing back from the dead. It had been seven years since Revan had left, and Carth had no way of knowing if he would ever be back.

"Just think of it as a very long vacation, sonny," came a familiar voice from the doorway to Carth's left.

"Jolee!" Carth couldn't help but break into a grin--it had been too long since he'd seen any of the old gang for his taste.

"Yes, yes, it's me. You look old. And what in the galaxy's name are you wearing? Feh, I liked that stupid orange jacket of yours better than this get up," Jolee said, wearing his usual expression--sourness warring with joviality.

"You know, I'm not really sure if I should take fashion advice from a crazy old ex-Jedi hermit who spent 10 years with the Wookiees," Carth said, still smiling. "And how did you know what I was thinking about?"

"Because it's what we're all thinking about. Now don't change the subject on me. I may be old, but I'm not that easily distracted. You need to change into something else for the interest of public health. My eyes are aching." Jolee settled himself on the rickety couch Carth had insisted replace the top-of-the-line nerf leather monstrosity that had originally been the centerpiece of his living quarters. "Can't you afford better furniture?" Jolee grumbled.

"I guess so, but I don't want a single credit go to waste when it could be used for rebuilding Telos."

"Yes, the Ithorians seem happy about your work," Jolee said with an approving nod.

"You've been on the planet?" Carth asked, easing himself carefully into the equally unstable chair across from Jolee.

"I have. You've done some good work, sonny. I know Revan will be happy about how Telos has progressed."

"If he ever comes back. It's been two years since the Exile went chasing after him into the Unknown Regions, and we still haven't heard so much as a commsqueal from either of them," Carth said, his voice rising and cheeks coloring.

"I know you're upset, Carth. I'm upset too. But I think things are going to start happening soon." Jolee stared past Carth at Telos, his gaze unfocused.

"What things?" Carth asked.

"All sorts of things," Jolee said noncommittally. "Your task was to rebuild and fortify Telos. Do you know what job Revan left me?"

"I thought he wanted you to help Juhani rebuild the Order. Don't you change the subject, old man--do you know something? Has he contacted you?"

"I'm getting to that, you young rapscallion. A little patience goes a long way, you know."

"I'm not in the mood for a lecture. Please, just get to the point," Carth begged. His hands were balled so tightly at his sides that Jolee became worried the admiral would snap his tendons.

"Okay, Okay. My job is to make sure you all do your jobs. I've been flying around the galaxy for the past seven years, making sure that Canderous has been raising his army, Zaalbar has been stabilizing Kashyyyk, Juhani has been rebuilding the Jedi, and--uh... I'm forgetting someone, aren't I? Damn, I always forget one... Revan really shouldn't have chosen the senile one to keep track of everyone else, heh heh. . ."

"Mission," Carth supplied restlessly.

"Of course, of course. Mission has been working on the seedier element. You know, disrupting Exchange activity where it's hurting the Republic's interests and bolstering it where it's supporting the Republic. Lately, she's also been keeping track of the Senators, some of whom we think might be on the Sith's payroll. I've even been keeping an eye on the Exile's old friends. Heh, that young Rand sure can drink--"

Carth glared at Jolee, grimly twirling his hand in an impatient gesture that clearly said, Hurry up with this or I might just get violent.

"Anyway, it started after I visited Canderous. He said he'd gotten something funny from the deep space communications array. He showed it to me, Carth, and it didn't look like much. It was garbled and made no sense, no sense at all. But Canderous had a strange feeling about it, and after watching it, I did too. I took a copy of it with me, and told Canderous to keep listening. My next stop was to Zaalbar. He and his father had discovered a similar message on the old Czerka communications array that they had converted for their purposes. It was different from Canderous's message, but just as scrambled and meaningless. I took a copy of that one, and the same thing happened when I visited Mission on Coruscant. And again, when I met with Juhani and Mical on Dantooine. By then, I had several pieces of the puzzle, and after a lot of sitting around and meditating, we figured out how to slice them together to make one message. But we have reason to believe you have the most important part."

"Jolee, I haven't gotten any transmissions," Carth said in a pained voice.

"How do you know?" Jolee said.

"Well--I'm sure communications would have informed me if we'd gotten anything strange," Carth answered.

"Would they? Everyone except for us who sees those transmissions just thinks they're nothing more than static from some supernova exploding in deep space. For some reason--it might have to do with the Force, or maybe that message has properties we don't fully understand--for some reason, when any of us hear that message, we know that they are trying to contact us."

"So what are we waiting for? Let's get down to the communications bay and see what they have for us," Carth said, already half out of the door. "You didn't have to be so long winded about it, old man."

"Listen, young whippersnapper, when you reach a certain age you're in no mood to be rushed around the galaxy by ungrateful--" But Carth had seized Jolee's arm and dragged him through the door and down the corridor before he could finish his thought.

---

"Hmpf. I didn't think it would be that easy to figure out. Are you sure you did that right?" Jolee asked suspiciously.

"Only one way to find out. Splice it in with the message."

"It took us weeks to figure out how the rest of it fit together," Jolee grumbled.

"Yeah, well, maybe Revan remembers how abysmal my slicing skills are. Come on, Jolee, just try it."

"Alright, sonny, but don't be disappointed if it--" Jolee caught the infamous 'Onasi Death Stare' and wisely hit the execute button on the console.

His fears, it seemed, were unfounded. He had assumed that Revan would be transmitting, but he had clearly been mistaken. Sithspawn, if he had known who was really sending it, he might have prepared Carth better . . .

"Hello, I hope this message finds you all well. I don't have much time, so I'll have to make this short. Revan and I met up with the Exile about 15 standard months ago on the Sith planet Algol. Since then, we have been nearing completion of our objectives. We might have even been back by now, but . . . some things we couldn't predict happened. The Exile was captured about a month ago, and Revan and I have been trying to get her back. Revan is obsessed with rescuing her, I think maybe even at the expense of our final objectives. It got very. . . personal between the two of them. He doesn't know that I'm sending this, but I don't know what else to do. We can't save the Exile between just the two of us, but Revan doesn't want to leave the Regions to get help while the Sith have the Exile in custody. I know it was risky for me to send out this transmission, even broken up into pieces like it is, but we desperately need help. Please, help us, father. You're my--"

At this point, the transmission cut off abruptly.

"Dustil," Carth rasped, his eyes wide and his hands shaking.

"You've got to let us help you, Carth. We'll have a much better chance of finding them and getting them out if we're together," Jolee said quickly, clapping Carth's shoulder and, after taking the datapad of the transmission from the holoprejector, leading Carth out of his quarters and toward Jolee's ship.

"How long will it take to get everyone? I'm not waiting more than a week. I can't. Jolee--my son is. . ." Carth's words dissolved into a choked sob as he laid his head upon his palm. "I never protected him the way I should have. I didn't even know he was with Revan in the Unknown Regions. I thought he had just disappeared again. And now he's asking me for my help. I need to be there for him, Jolee. I have to."

"I know you do, sonny, I do." Jolee sighed. "I hate to risk it, but I don't think we have a choice. We'll have to send out our own transmission to everyone to meet up."

"Where?" Carth and Jolee climbed up the loading ramp, and Jolee held up his hand, blocking the way.

"Wait just a minute--"

"Dammit, Jolee, I'm not waiting, not any more!" Carth shouted.

"That's fine. I just thought it might be wise, admiral, for you to discuss a leave of absence with your superiors before you abandoned your post."

"Oh--oh!"

"Hmph. Disrespectful and scatterbrained to boot."

"I'm sorry, Jolee. Just tell me where we're meeting, and I'll be there after I sort everything out with the Republic Navy," Carth said, sounding appropriately abashed.

"Tatooine."

"I--what?" Carth's jaw visibly dropped, much to Jolee's amusement.

"Your hearing can't be going bad already, surely?" Jolee said.

"No, it's just--uh, why Tatooine? Are you messing with my head, old man?"

"Hunh! Hardly. Tatooine is the only planet that makes sense. Dantooine has too many Jedi around--we don't really need them involved, Revan didn't want them knowing where he was going or what he was doing. Myself and Juhani are obvious exceptions. Coruscant is right underneath the noses of the True Sith's Senatorial allies, and as much as people like to bandy around that brainless saying, 'hidden in plain view,' I don't place quite that much faith in the Senate's stupidity. It would be incredibly obvious for a bunch of humans to show up on Kashyyyk, which the Wookiees have forbidden to off-worlders for the time being. Dxun is more appealing, but it's on the other side of the galaxy from the Unknown Regions, and I don't get the impression that you're thrilled about wasting time. Tatooine isn't part of the Republic, so it's out of reach of those rotten Senators and the Exchange, too. It's close enough to the Unknown Regions. And we all know the planet fairly well. So are we settled? Hey--Carth! You miscreant!"

Carth had long walked off and was on the other side of the hangar before Jolee had finished his monologue. "Sounds great Jolee! See you soon!" he shouted as he boarded his own transport.

"Be careful!" Jolee warned. "Don't make contact with anyone, leave that to me!"

Carth gave Jolee a thumbs-up before closing the hatch behind him and fairly sprinting to the cockpit to prime the engines.

Dustil was alive.

Carth had never really thought that he'd have a reason to hope any more. Of course, he hoped Revan would come back safely. And that the Sith were neutralized before they could do any real damage to the Republic. But it had been a long, long time since the Force had given him an unexpected happiness.

Even though his son's expression was one of gravity and worry; even though he only contacted Carth under dire circumstances--somehow seeing Dustil's mature face, the face he would wear for the rest of his life, kindled feelings of joy deep inside of Carth's heart. These were feelings he'd never thought he'd experience again, yet fate had surprised him. And Dustil was alive.

"Destination?" the ship's navicomputer asked in a haughty, Core-World accent.

"Coruscant, and as fast as this ship goes."

Patience was something for which Carth Onasi had never had much use.

---

1.2 Atton Takes A Trip On The Juma Express.

The cantina was a run-down, deserted hole in the wall where all the pazaak games were rigged; a place with ugly hookers, bad drinks and worse food. Atton used to be happy in such places--if not happy, he'd at least had the feeling that he belonged. Now he wasn't so sure. Being a Jedi, he wasn't supposed to be drinking, gambling or spending his free time in dumps like this. Come to think of it, Jedi weren't even really supposed to have free time. It was, in theory, all-meditating, all-rescuing and all-pontificating, all the time.

"Sir, sir--an offer I have for you!" a Rodian with weird boils on its neck sidled up to Atton, opening his moldy jacket slightly to reveal a number of sinister looking vials.

"Not interested," Atton said, turning back to his drink.

"But I think you will be," the Rodian cooed. "Azmof has the best wares, oh yes. Extract from gallbladder of Maalraas, most effective in reviving sexual passion in older men--"

"HEY! I said I'm not interested, okay pal? And for the record, I definitely don't need help in that department, got it?"

"Of course you don't gentle sir, and that is why. . ." Azmof the shifty Rodian carried on with his pitch as Atton stared into the half-full glass of Juma, wondering if the foul drink was worth finishing. ". . . And today Azmof has special deals, only forty credits for pickled wampa intestine--"

"Sell your pickled wampa intestine to someone else," Atton growled, tossing a couple of credits onto the bar and heaving himself off of the stool.

Back to the 'Hawk. Back to memories of her.

Atton staggered out of the cantina that aptly called itself the Juma Express--the juma he'd ingested was taking the express route to his brain stem. Just moments ago he'd felt fine, but the juma had hit him like a swoop going about 400 miles per hour as soon as he stepped out of the door.

"Ungh," Atton moaned, leaning heavily on the railing of the walkway.

"Hey, you're Atton Rand, right?"

Atton had to be hallucinating. Juma juice wasn't normally hallucinogenic, but considering the looks of the swill they served up at the Juma Express, Atton guessed that anything was possible. What wasn't possible was that a slim, attractive blue Twi'lek girl wearing. . . well, not much, not much at all. . . was standing before him with a sweet smile and an expectant expression.

"Hey, nerf-breath, I'm talking to you!"

That was more like it.

"Oh man--you didn't drink that sludge they call alcohol at the Juma Express?"

"Wha. . . Rutian?" Atton groaned.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm blue, get over it already. And stop ogling my lekku."

"They're most longer," Atton said, wiping a strand of drool from the corner of his mouth.

"Ugh, you've got to be Atton Rand. Jolee told me about you. Come on, Atton, let's get you into bed. No more talking, you'll just make me mad and then I'll have to kick you where I don't think you want to be kicked."

"Bed? With you? How much?" Atton squinted blearily.

"Stow it, sleaze bag!"

That was about when Atton hit the deck, the corners of his vision blackening around the pretty Twi'lek's concerned face.

---

Brightness. Contemptible, hateful, unforgiving brightness all around him.

Atton didn't love hangovers, but he was used to them. This, however, went beyond a hangover. He had died in Coruscant's seamy underbelly and woken up in hell.

"Don't move." The voice rang in his ears, splitting his skull in two. Atton tried to scream in pain, but it came out as a weak sigh.

"Don't worry, Atton, you're still alive. You probably shaved off a good ten years of your life after drinking that gunk, but you're okay for now." Atton felt a soft, cool hand patting him on the shoulder, and he sighed once more, this time in relief.

"Never again," he wheezed, his eyes closed against the light.

"Yeah, well if half of what Jolee has said about you is true, I think that's a big lie." The voice sounded amused. Atton scanned the flimsy fragments of his memory from the last night for who the owner of the voice might be, but all he could remember was that sketchy Rodian at the cantina. And as desperate as Atton was, he was pretty sure that he didn't let a puss-oozing Rodian take him home for the night.

Of course, anything was possible.

"Who. . . you?" he managed to ask.

"I'm Mission Vao. I'm a friend. And in case you're in doubt, I made you a pot of caffa and brought it up here for you," Mission said.

"Caffa!" Atton cried with a little moan of ecstasy.

"Yeah. . . um, I'm just going to leave you alone with your caffa for a while, 'kay? Meet me downstairs when you're decent. Well, if not decent, then at least, you know, fully conscious." Atton felt the matress shift and heard the voice's owner step through the door and close it after her.

Leaving him alone with the sweet, delicious, divine caffa.

---

"Better?" Mission asked, grinning over her plate of eggs.

"Yes, thank you," Atton said stiffly. "I really don't remember you. I mean. . . you and I--did we--"

"Absolutely not. First of all, you're way too old. Secondly, you're a totally skeaze. Thirdly, ew," Mission said.

"Hey, I'm not that bad!" Atton said, looking wounded. "And I'm not old!"

"Right. Anyways, I'm a friend of Revan's. Which I guess makes me a friend of you, somehow. Anyways, Jolee sent this message along to me, and I'm guessing he sent it to you too. Have you seen it yet?" Mission asked, moving to the holoprojector at the center of the small, tidy apartment.

"Nope. Jolee's a good man," Atton mused.

"You two probably just get along because you're both geezers," Mission said, pressing her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Watch it, sister. I'm not in a real charitable mood right now, okay?"

"Is that any way to treat your rescuer? If I hadn't been there when you passed out, the gangs would've done a number on you but good, friend."

Atton glared at Mission. Mission glared back.

"Fine," Atton muttered. "Where's this message?"

"Right here," Mission beamed, clicking a button on the holoprojector.

"Hello, everyone, it's me. Admiral Onasi has just provided me with the key fragment of a message sent from the Unknown Regions. While we believed the message to be from Revan, it turns out that the message is from Dustil Onasi, who has been travelling with Revan and the Exile. I don't want to reveal the contents of the message over a transmission, even an encrypted one, so Carth and I have decided to call a meeting of sorts on Tatooine. The arranged meeting spot is going to be the Anchorhead starport in five standard days, on the Ebon Hawk if its custodian, young master Rand, will assent. We've got a lot to discuss and we're on a very sensitive time schedule, so be there and no lollygagging!"

The holo winked out.

"See, Jolee doesn't think I'm old," Atton said triumphantly.

"I can't believe you're the one they trusted the Ebon Hawk with. I heard you crashed it at least five times in what. . . six months?" Mission said.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault that there were psychos trying to shoot us down every damn planet we landed on!"

"Whatever. I just hope nobody's stolen it while you've been passed out. We need to haul our butts if we're going to get to Tatooine in three days," Mission said, tossing the datapad into the garbage disposal and collecting her things.

"Are you space happy? Jolee said five days."

"And when's the last time you checked your comm?"

"Good point. Okay, I left the 'Hawk on the Yelping Bantha Starpad in the Southeast side of Sector--what?"

"Are you nuts?! That's Exchange territory!" Mission cried.

"Well. . . you know. . . the price was right. Hidden in plain view, you know what I mean?"

"This isn't going to be pretty," Mission prophesied darkly.

---

1.3 Peace and Passion.

The tranquil skies of Dantooine promised passionless serenity for the generations of Jedi who had called the planet home, yet on Dantooine's surface Mical could find no escape from the ceaseless echoes of the past or the tumult into which they cast him.

He didn't know if he could hold out for another five days not knowing where she was, or even if she was still alive. Jolee and Admiral Onasi did know, and their access to this priveliged information tore at his mind, leaving him ragged and raw and aching.

Mical drew in a long, deep breath, reaching out with his senses, trying to soothe his unhappy spirit in the dispassionate embrace of meditation.

After an hour or so of brave and completely futile attempts at finding that elusive sense of peace, Mical heard the soft patter of feet outside his door.

"Please, come in," Mical said.

The door slid open to reveal Brianna, who was in her customary white tunic. "Forgive me for disturbing you, Mical."

"There is no need to ask forgiveness, Brianna. May I be of assistance?"

Brianna opened her mouth to speak, then shut it. She finally settled onto the mat where Mical was sitting. "The Sightless One showed me the transmission from Master Bindo."

"Ah," Mical said. "You are welcome to come to Tatooine with us, of course."

"I--I would like to. I have not had many dealings with the Exile, but she helped me see the truth even when I refused to open my eyes," Brianna said, staring at the mat.

"Yes, she does have that effect on people," Mical said, smiling reminiscently.

"There is another reason I would like to go," Brianna said suddenly.

"What is that?"

"The Exile is an important woman in your life. The most important woman," Brianna corrected herself, "And you are important to me."

Mical frowned. "I'm sorry, Brianna, I don't understand."

"You are a brave and good man, Mical. I have admired you for a long time, but recently my admiration has become affection. I don't know what I would do if you were harmed while I wasn't there to fight by your side. I understand and respect your feelings for the Exile, but that doesn't change my feelings for you." Brianna took a deep, shuddering breath. "I thought you should know these things before I went to Tatooine with you. If you still want me to go."

Mical gazed at the jewel-toned patterns of sunlight the windows left on the floor of the room, unsure of what to say. Certainly, he and Brianna had developed a bond of friendship after she had arrived on Dantooine to join the Jedi. But he had never expected that the friendship they shared had changed to love.

"I don't know what to say, Brianna. As you know, I have very deep feelings for Mirda'lor. I am flattered by your regard--"

"Please, I am not asking you to return my feelings," Brianna said, tears welling in her eyes, "I just want you to understand why I am hesitant about going. And I thought you should know if we were to travel together."

"Brianna," Mical said warmly, "Of course I would still like you to come with us. You have become a very formidable Jedi, both a skilled warrior and a wise counselor. The Jedi Order is lucky to have you in our ranks, and I am lucky to have you as a friend."

Brianna smiled through her tears, wishing she could express how much those words of kindness meant to one such as her--but she settled for a simple "Thank you" before slipping out of the room as quietly as she had come.

Mical sighed, staring at the door. There had been little hope of finding peace before, and now there was none.

---

Visas shook her head slowly, deactivating her lightsaber. "It was foolish and weak of you to speak your feelings."

Likewise, Brianna powered off her lightsaber, wiping away the beads of sweat on her fair forehead. Despite their initial dislike of one another, Visas and Brianna had become much closer after discovering their complementary fighting methods. Each had learned a great deal from the other's vastly different style of sparring; what had begun as antipathy became respect and now, finally, a friendship of sorts.

"I had to tell him now. If he were to discover my feelings while in a dangerous situation, it would be an unnecessary distraction," Brianna said, seating herself on one of the hard plastisteel benches which lined the sparring room.

"Better that he never found out at all," the Miraluka said.

"I am tired of hiding who I am," Brianna said.

"I understand your meaning," Visas said with a thoughtful nod. "I am sorry if I was unkind. I have never loved anyone, and I hope I never will after seeing what you have endured."

"But you have loved someone. You love the Exile," Brianna observed.

"Not passion-love. I love her as my leader, my master. It's different."

Passion will be the end of you, Handmaiden the phantom of Atris whispered in Brianna's ear. Brianna couldn't repress a shudder at her old Master's voice.

"What is it?" Visas asked, sensing Brianna's discomfort.

"Nothing. Just something Atris once said to me. Come, if we are to leave Tatooine today we ought to help Master Juhani make the necessary preparations."

---

1.4 Buir.

It was much easier bearing down on a hostile planet in a Basilisk War Droid with countless thousands of blasters, turbolasers, and lightsabers trained on you than it was to bring together a bunch of refugees, green recruits, and irascible old vets together into something resembling an army. Canderous could speak from experience. The task of bringing the Mando'ade together again was made even more difficult by the terrain he had chosen to settle on. Canderous had selected it for symbolic and strategic reasons, but hadn't had realized exactly how miserable the wild, untamed fauna (and flora, for that matter) of Dxun would soon make him.

Last week, it had been a mad zakkeg rampaging around the hangar bays. Canderous had taken the honor of slaying the mighty beast himself, but not before it put two of his boys in the infirmary.

Now, it was a nest of maalras in the armory. And they had discovered several other maalras nests in warrens beneath the mess hall, doubtless coming out at night to feed on the remnants of the evening meal.

"Damn!" Canderous shouted. A couple of warriors idling in the corridor where Canderous was passing snapped to attention. "As you were, boys," Canderous muttered, continuing toward the barracks.

In the raw recruits' dorms, a large group of young men and women were circled around a tall and engaging figure who was shouting animatedly.

". . . And Kex, if I ever catch you scratching yourself in that place again, I'm selling you as a slave in the Nar Shaddaa red-light sector. I mean it this time! You there! I didn't see you at drills yesterday. You were sick, huh? Funny how you weren't too sick to drag your sorry shebs into the mess hall last night. This is the Akaan'ade, not some sorry Czerka mining detail! Are you listening to me when I'm talking to you, ad'ika? I'm Mandalore! As far as you're concerned, I'm your own personal God! And you--" The recruit paused, trying to figure out why his audience had suddenly found they had other things they needed to do, many of them seemingly urgent and on the other side of the grounds.

"Nice impression, soldier. It will be even better once your voice changes." Mandalore's grim voice came from behind the recruit, who visibly cringed.

"Y-yes, sir."

"That good. Because I was looking for someone to clear out those maalras nests underneath the mess hall and it seems like everyone else is busy," Mandalore said.

For the common area, full to bursting just moments ago, was suddenly very empty.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Off you go then, ad'ika."

The recruit trundled off in the direction of the mess hall, and Canderous soon heard the jubilant whoops of his fellow recruits as he ran into them outside.

"Kids," Canderous muttered.

As Canderous was heading off to the swoop garage to see how the modifications on the more jungle-friendly protype they had been developing were going, he was intercepted by Kumus, an earnest if none too bright young warrior.

"Mandalore," Kumus acknowledged, thumping his chest with his fist.

"Yeah, what do you want?" Canderous growled.

"Sir!" Kumus shouted nervously. "Zuka requests your presence at the communications array, sir!"

"Alright, son, you don't need to shout," Canderous said, patting Kumus's armored shoulder. "Udesii, udesii."

"Very good, sir," Kumus demurred.

"That's a good lad. Why don't you escort me to the communications array and we can discuss how you're settling in here," Canderous said.

"V-very good sir," Kumus said, punctating his affirmative with an audible gulp.

The pair turned toward the distant (certainly far too distant for Kumus's tastes) communications array and began the long walk.

"Your commanding officer tells me you're very brave," Canderous remarked.

"Sir," Kumus answered.

"Cut that out. Forget for a moment that I'm your leader, and pretend I'm your buir."

"My father died when I was six," Kumus said, his head hanging.

"That's too bad. Did he die bravely? In the Wars? What Clan did he fight with?"

"We are of the Clan Skirata," Kumus replied, gulping again, "I think he died due to a power coupling overload on base."

"Ah. Well, no warrior can choose how he dies. We must content ourselves to choose how we live. Are you happy with the life you've chosen, Kumus?"

"Yes, sir--I mean, buir. It is a great honor to restore the glory of the Clans," Kumus said.

"Got a wife?" Canderous asked.

"Not yet, sir. Most of the women on base are already married," Kumus explained. Canderous was pretty certain he could hear Kumus blushing inside his helmet.

"You do like women, don't you Kumus?" Canderous struggled to keep the laughter out of his voice--maybe it was cruel to tease the young warrior this way, but he couldn't resist.

"Yes, sir! I mean, buir!"

"Next time I go off planet, Kumus, you're coming with me," Canderous said.

Kumus gulped again. "Sir?"

"We've got to find you a woman, Kumus. I'd prefer she not be aruetii, but as you pointed out, there aren't many Mando'ad women around," Canderous sighed.

They had finally reached the communications array. Kumus seemed close to weeping in relief.

"Good evening, sir," Kumus said before turning to take his leave.

"Just a moment, Kumus," Zuka shouted from inside the building. "I need someone's help sorting out that sequencer in the back."

"Not really your night, is it, son?" Canderous observed.

"Sir," Kumus agreed, following the Mandalore into the building.

"Okay, what's this about, Zuka?" Canderous asked, folding his heavily armored arms in front of his chest.

"For your eyes only transmission from Telos, Mandalore," Zuka replied shortly.

"Well, play it, then! I haven't got all night."

"Yes, Mandalore."

Kumus made a small noise from the back that was probably meant to be a cough but came out more like a squeak.

"I don't mind that you're back there, Kumus; it's just a transmission from an old friend and I doubt it's of any interest," Canderous said, gesturing for Zuka to proceed.

It was of interest.

"Sir--er, buir--I mean, Mandalore. . . did that crazy old man say he knows where Revan is?" Kumus breathed.

"Damn. You shouldn't have seen that," Canderous growled.

"I'm sorry, sir--buir--uh. . ." Kumus blustered.

"Not your fault, Kumus. Well, I promised I'd take you off planet with me, anyways," Canderous said thoughtfully.

"Yes, sir," Kumus said, sounding a bit more excited about the prospect now.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that whatever you may hear at this meeting is secret and if you should reveal any of it you would be both Dar'manda and on the top of my list of people that need killing," Canderous said mildly.

"Sir." Kumus blanched.

"Alright. Zuka, we're leaving immediately. Long trip to Tatooine. Anything you need to collect before we ship out, Kumus?"

"No, sir."

"Excellent. Good preparation is the hallmark of a truly formidable army," Canderous said, nodding to himself. One of Revan's maxims.

"Actually--I need my, uh, weapon, sir," Kumus said.

Canderous sighed. It was going to be a long trip. "Alright, son, get your gear and meet me at the hangar."

Kumus zipped out of the room, his armor clanking as he ran.

"Zuka, make sure I see some progress on the swoops by the time I get back. I'll be sending down instructions from the sky after Kumus and I have lifted off."

"Understood, Mandalore. Have an enjoyable trip. Bring me back a wraid skull?"

"Not on your life, ner'vod," Canderous growled.

---

A/N: I took some liberties with galactic geography; savvy readers might notice that Tatooine is described as being in close proximity with the Unknown Regions, whereas it is, in reality, on the opposite side of the galaxy. What can I say? Every Star Wars yarn needs some Tatooine. Next chapter features a clash of K1 and K2 Ebon Hawk crews on aforementioned misplaced planet and more cowbell, among other things.

Mando'a Glossary:

Mando'ade - Mandalorian people, lit. children of Mandalore

Sheb - backside, ass

Akaan'ade - army

Adi'ka - kid, lad, boy, sweetie, darling

Udesii - relax (imp.)

Buir - father

Areutii - outsiders; anyone who isn't a Mandalorian

Dar'manda - a state of being "not Mandalorian"; not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and soul

Ner'vod - my brother