Too Many Justins - Chapter 53

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Chapter 53 – Accidental Tourism

“When you cruise on the galaxy's most luxurious passenger liner you expect adventure! You expect the amazing! You expect the unexpected! What you don't expect are hassles. Tourosian Cruise Lines – the hassle-free cruise.”

- Tourosian Cruise Lines Advertisement

The boarding ramp closed and the Star of Peltion went black. It took a few seconds, actually, the lights switching off starting at the bow and moving stern-ward, a last sliver of daylight streaming through the narrowing crack of the ramp like a lightsaber until it finally closed completely, cutting the group off from the rest of the universe.

“What the hell!” bellowed Carth. He stumble over something hard near his knees and reached out to steady himself. Partway down his hands met something warm and soft. Something very familiar. And entirely feminine. “Sorry, Tianna,” he apologized as he pushed against her ribcage to right himself, giving her a gentle squeeze, no hint of embarrassment in his tone.

“I'm Bastila!”

“Oh Frack!” That phrase had the expected quantity of embarrassment.

“I'm over here Admiral,” called the Lieutenant, tangling with an obstacle of her own.

Once the initial surprise died down and everyone got, if not settled, at least steady on their feet for the moment, they took the opportunity to assess their current condition. A certain amount of overlapping conversation is to be expected during such a situation, and the seven humanoids and one Wookie did not disappoint.

“Why are the lights out?”

“Is that you Juhani?”

“Did anybody touch anything?”

“What difference does that make?”

“Did anybody touch anything?!”

“Maybe if I just...”

“{Sorry!}”

“Hey!” called Mission. “Quiet!”

“{I said I was sorry.}”

“What?” asked Carth.

“I said quiet!” commanded the Twi'lek, her voice strained. There was a long, inky pause. “Do you hear that?”

Juhani strained her extra-sensitive ears. “I hear nothing but the sounds of our breathing.”

“Exactly,” answered Mission. There was another long pause.

“Life-support!” called Carth.

The galley filled again with the sounds of moving bodies, chairs turning and bodies falling over them, or each other.

“That's me, Dustil,” said Tarre.

“Sorry!”

“No, it's okay.” Dustil could imagine the red-head's wink, even in the blackness. And then he felt her lips on his as she grabbed him.

“Carth,” called Bastila, one hand on the edge of the table, the other waving out in front of her, “the bridge is to starboard.” She closed her eyes more from habit than anything else, and called the Force. It couldn't let her see in the dark, but she would at least be able to tell where all the others were from their auras. “No the other starboard, Carth.”

“Right.”

“Lieutenant,” the lady Knight said, “if I'm facing the direction I think I am, you should be right by the corridor back to engineering. It might be worth you heading there and seeing what can be done. Juhani, go with her. I'll go with Carth. I've flown this ship before.”

“Yes, Master Bastila,” the Cathar purred.

“What should we do?” asked Tarre, her disembodied elf-voice discordant with the situation.

Bastila looked in the direction of the voice and saw two figures, a large one laying on the deck, a smaller one laying on top of it. She pursed her lips, not that anyone could see. “Anything but what you are doing right now, I should think.”

“Spoilsport,” Tarre whispered, just loud enough for Dustil to hear, before giving him another quick kiss and moving off him.

Once in the empty corridor, with no tables or chairs to get in his way, Carth was able to move more quickly and a moment later he was outside the bridge, the security panel blinking periodically, casting a tiny pool of orange into the darkness. He pressed a few buttons to no avail.

“Mission!” he shouted back down the corridor.

“What?!” came the Twi'lek's irritated reply from his elbow.

“Sorry! I didn't know you were so close. It's locked.”

“No prob.” Mission reached into her small shoulder satchel and rummaged for a minute before pulling out a selection of tools and electronic devices. After hooking them up, her face bathed in the light from the tiny display, the little smuggler set to work on cracking the lock.

“At least the flight plan has been pretty smooth,” thought Carth. “No 50G turns or anything.” If the ship was programmed to operate without a crew aboard (“And why else would the lights and air be turned off?”) there was no telling what else it might do that could get them all killed.

Meanwhile, Tianna and Juhani found themselves in much the same situation, the blastdoor to engineering sealed shut, the security system blinking dispassionately at them.

“Can you spike it?” the Cathar asked.

“No,” answered Tianna. “Can you?”

“No, but I do not have to.” Juhani reached to her belt. “Stand clear.” With her superior eyesight she saw Tianna quite clearly even in the dim light thrown by the security panel and once the Republic officer was well back she activated her lightsaber.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Tianna asked. “This isn't our ship.”

“Under the circumstances, I think we are justified.” With that, Juhani stabbed the blade full into the blastdoor and began the slow, deliberate process of carving a circular hole through the thick metal.

Back at the bridge things were following their own course.

“What's taking so long?” asked Bastila.

“A little slack?” countered Mission, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “This is a real tough one.”

Just then, Bastila noticed that her feet didn't feel as heavy as she was used to.

“Uh oh,” said Carth.

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” added Mission.

*

Not ready to announce his personal role in recent galactic affairs just yet, Revan looked on through the one-way glass panel, quaint but all the more effective for its simplicity, as Mandalore received the 'emissaries'.

“Oh, Great Mandalore,” began an elder-middle-aged human, his dress marking him from Agamar.

“Typical,” observed Revan from his hidden perch, high above the 'throne room'. “Leave it to a dirt farmer to spin the flowery nonsense. It will only get worse from here.”

“... Leader of the Chosen People, Font of All Beneficence...”

“See?” said Revan, speaking as if he had an audience. But since Hetireph's 'dismissal', the Dark Lord had been alone in his ruminations.

“... Defender of the Willing and the Faithful...”

By now, even Canderous Ordo had tired of the wind-bag and he raised an armored hand. “Get to the point.”

The interruption threw the Agamarian for a loop and he froze, unable to continue. Revan was pleased. The stupid man's reaction showed that he had some vast, intricate introduction memorized and the Dark Lord was glad to have it left out. Like the Clan Leader, Revan was curious to see what kind of a deal the group would propose.

After a short, panic-filled pause, one of the others, a female from Oorn Tchis, stepped forward to rescue the entire mission.

“M'lord Mandalore,” she began. Canderous groaned, worried that she was simply going to continue the pointlessly elaborate nonsense. “We come from Lahara to ask for your benevolent assistance.”

Revan laughed out loud. “Benevolent? Canderous Ordo doesn't have a benevolent bone in his body. Not anymore.”

“Assistance?” asked Mandalore.

“We are but simple farmers for the most part...”

“Granted,” said Revan to himself.

“... but the Exchange has begun a systematic campaign of extortion against our worlds.”

“Extortion? How?” asked Mandalore.

“As you know, Great Mandalore, our livelihood depends upon the free and inexpensive transport of our agricultural goods to the Core Worlds. Realizing this, the Exchange has lay us with two intricate sieges. First, although they do not claim credit, we have incontrovertible evidence that they have established blockades of our shipping. Cleverly they disguise it as mere piracy, they strike at random, precluding us from taking preventative action.”

“Pirates?”

She nodded gravely. “Additionally, given the random nature of the losses, the costs to insure our ships and our cargoes goes up every day. The insurance is purchased from purportedly legitimate businesses, but they are in fact owned and operated by the Exchange.”

“Worthy,” Revan said. “Worthy even of me. Create a demand, and then fill it.”

Ordo sat blankly, as Revan expected. Fortunately he hadn't selected the old mercenary to do any heavy thinking. When things needed shooting or blowing up, Canderous Ordo was a genius. Otherwise...

“But why do they not turn to the Republic?” Revan asked the emptiness around him.

“Why not go to the Republic?” asked Mandalore.

“The Exchange works through the Drakmarians and their ilk; they own the President and the parliament. Their ambassador argues against us in the Senate, keeping the Republic set against us. We are the trouble-makers. We are the problem, not the Drakmarians, not the Exchange.”

“Then you wish to leave the Republic? Wish to join with me?”

The woman nodded. “We would, M'Lord.”

Revan raised the commlink to his mouth. “Ordo, agree.”

As his Lord watched on, Mandalore nodded his head. “Arrange it,” his ordered his staff.

After much bowing and another attempt by the Agamarian to finish his greeting, thankfully cut short by Mandalore's armed escort simply herding them all out, Ordo took the small open lift up to the Dark Lord's hidden overlook.

His hands moved to his head before he changed his mind, and the rest of the interview was conducted mask to mask.

“Lord Revan, I don't understand.”

“Which part?”

“What do we get out of helping these farmers?”

“Recruits, time and training. At least at first.”

“Lord?”

Revan sighed. “Definitely not for heavy thinking,” he thought to himself. He raised a finger. “One. These farmers will fight under your colors. My colors.” Another finger. “Two. A squabble between pirates, backed by the Exchange or not, and a agricultural collective will raise no alarms in the Republic until it is too late for them to do anything to stop us. In fact, the Senate might actually send assistance; fighting at our side.” He chuckled at the thought.

Revan raised a third finger. “Three. You have said repeatedly that your troops need more time to learn how to fight the ships. To learn to fight you need targets. Living targets. For such a purpose, mercenaries working for the Exchange bleed just as well as soldiers of the Republic.”

Canderous nodded, understanding.

“And,” Revan added, “once in the middle of the fight, we will make a deal with the Exchange to fight on their side as well.”

“Would they do that? Make a deal with us? Even as we fight against them?”

“Of course. They'll never know what hit them.”

*

Justin stood in the Great Hall, just where the statue should be. Again Vandar noticed the missing Ooroo and he wondered if it was tied to his personal feelings about the great Jedi Master, the statue making such an impression on him as a young padawan, or if there was some deeper significance.

He considered this possibility a while, his vision cloudy, drifting in and out, without clarity. One moment he felt as if he could see the hairs on Justin's face move as the outsider spoke, the next it was as if he were looking through a fog bank. Sounds acted the same way, drifting in and out of his hearing.

Until the screams began.

As Vandar had seen before, Justin simply stood. But this time he saw the gathering more distinctly. To Justin's left, the Cathar Juhani. Beside her, Carth Onasi and a human woman he did not recognize. On the opposite side, on Justin's right, were several other beings he could not recognize, one of them a Nautolan, the dark black eyes obvious even through the mist.

Vandar heard a sound that hadn't been there the last time, a beeping and chirping. Somewhere, unseen in his vision, was a droid.

“Where is...”

Just then a dark figure stepped to Justin's side. This also had not happened the last time. The soldier turned and smiled, his hand extended. And Jolee Bindo put a small brown tube in it. Justin broke into a fit of laughter even as the woman's situation deteriorated.

“I can't... I.... Can't...” The woman's voice faded and the cries resumed.

“What am I seeing?” the little master asked. “So many gathered to watch. Such goodness, so much of the Light, and yet they do nothing!”

Justin mouthed some words, but Vandar could not make them out over the piteous cries.

“Bindo is here. Where is Yuthura Ban?” Vandar asked.

Another figure approached Justin from behind. Female but not the former Sith. A hand touched his shoulder and again Justin smiled, this time leaning over and kissing the new arrival. The screams and cries stopped, replace by a terrible, ominous panting. The woman was exhausted.

“I'm glad you came,” said Justin in the lull. “It's almost over.”

“I wouldn't miss this for the universe,” Bastila Shan replied, her expression so passionate as she looked at him.

With a last horrible, grunting scream the sound stopped and Justin smiled, looking at lady Knight who smiled as well. Vandar wanted to close his eyes and make the vision go away, but something changed his mind, two somethings in fact, 'somethings' that hadn't been there before.

The first was Dustil Onasi, standing up in front of the group, his hands wet, a few spots of red on his fingers. The second...

“Arca Jeth was right...” he whispered. “There is a sound.”

*

Between the three of them, Carth braced as best he could against one side of the corridor, his back pressed firmly against Bastila's, her feet planted against the wall opposite his, their arms intertwined behind them, and Mission Vao face down with her legs wrapped around both their middles, the blue Twi'lek was able to continue working feverishly on spiking the surprisingly difficult door lock, even without artificial gravity.

But their problems were compounding. At first the ship started feeling warm, the air quite obviously growing stale and humidity, the eight of them using up the oxygen and replacing it with CO2 and water vapor. But after 20 minutes they were all noticing the opposite; the Star of Peltion was hurtling through interplanetary space toward the hyperspace jump point, growing colder, much colder. Mission was most aware of it, her breath visible in the dim light of the spike display.

“Aaaaaaalmost,” she whispered. Suddenly she twitched, squeezing her companions painfully. “Ahh, frack!”

“What?” asked Carth.

“Cramp. Hurts like a kinrath bite. Give me a minute.” She twisted again, bracing herself against the locked bridge door, trying to alternately straighten and flex her left leg. “That's better. Now for you, you little schutta.”

With a finally flurry of key presses the door slid open. Mission pushed off the others and drifted onto the bridge.

Events at the aft blastdoor leading into engineering had been at a standstill since Juhani finally lost her grip on the floor. Neither she nor the Lieutenant had any experience in zero gravity, Tianna's one experience during six-week Basic Training more a check the box exercise than any actual practice.

“Well?” Juhani held her inactive lightsaber, fortunate to switch it off before causing any unplanned damage as she floated around.

“Let's hope Carth can get life-support back on,” the blonde replied.

Part of her hated this, traveling with these circus performers, forever getting her, Darth Infieda, into life-threatening peril. And she always powerless to do anything about it. Between a love-struck pilot, a drug-addict Jedi, a well-meaning but ineffective cat, a mouthy Twi'lek and her odoriferous pet Wookie, and her old stooge padawan and his footsie-playing Jedi girlfriend, she'd been stabbed, poisoned, shot, blown-up and now stranded inside a sealed starship, running out of oxygen.

And with the temperature dropping precipitously, it wasn't clear if she would die of asphyxiation before she froze to death.

“It just isn't fair!” The words echoed inside her head as the pair pulled along between the few hand holds they could find in the dark, back to the galley.

“Help!” came a startled cry from up ahead. Juhani flung herself forward into the pitch black, running straight into Gwarshawk, his elbow cracking her just under her left eye. Tianna pulled along more slowly, not sure if she wanted to get involved, or even what to do.

“Ahhggh!” the Cathar cried out, more in shock than pain.

“{Sorry!}” grunted Gwarshark.

“Tarre?!” called Dustil from across the room.

“I'm over here,” came the little red-head's reply from a different direction. “I'm stuck!”

“Wait there,” the padawan replied. “I'm coming.”

“No! Dustil, wait!” moaned Juhani, her hands to her face, feeling it swell already. A second later, the young human smashed into her as well, sending her spinning out of control until she banged against the back of a galley chair, firmly bolted to the floor. At least she knew which way was 'up'. It was in the direction of the Jedi historian's voice.

“I'm stuck somehow,” Tarre said. “It feels like pipes. I can't budge.”

“She's caught in the overhead,” said Tianna, drifting about in the dark, her hands before her face hoping not to run into anything, but not daring to use the Force to get her bearings. Seconds later her hands met warm, soft fur.

At that moment the lights came on, blinding them all.

So did the gravity.

Accompanied by four loud thumps, Juhani, Tianna, Dustil and Gwarshawk dropped unceremoniously onto the decking.

“Ahhrrgh!” screamed Tarre, dangling from the nest of pipes and conduits over the galley table. “I can't get my arm free! It's wedged! Dustil!”

With a shake of his head, the young human grasped the situation, and without a look back, ran toward the bridge.

“Dad! Dad!”

*

Warm from her afternoon tea, Atris nodded off, the words of her beloved Entertainment news and all its racy gossip, coloring her dreams.

“You know, Chanda, you look far too pretty in the morning.”

With a content sigh Atris rolled toward the voice, her eyes still closed. His morning stubble brushed her cheek as he kissed her.

“Whoops,” he said, looking over at the chronometer. “I need to go.” He kissed her again and slid out from under the covers. She heard his bare feet on the hard floor as he walked to the small 'fresher. Sad, she rolled back over, but realized that she too needed to go.

The water ran, weak and cold no doubt, and she heard the curtain open and then close.

“Klash, do you really have to go?” She sat up, pulling the warm covers tight across her top.

The curtain rattled again and his soap covered face appeared, eyes squeezed tight against the foam. “You can't be serious, darling. You know what would happen to the both of us if we get caught.” He pulled back to rinse. “I'm running a big enough risk as it is staying this late.”

“Please?” she asked, a slight whine in her voice, pulling back the curtain, a few drops of water hitting her naked body.

Klashtan Darney shook his head and smiled. “You are incorrigible! I would think a Jedi would have more self control.”

Atris stepped in beside him and ran her hands over him.

“No!” he complained, trying to move away with limited success, the stall too small for them both. “I really need to go. Now, please stop, so I can finish washing up. I'll see you tonight.”

“Promise?” she asked as he stepped out and dried himself.

“Of course. We have that dinner meeting with the Arcnonan delegation.”

The water felt even colder as Atris thought about spending hours across the table from the handsome young Lieutenant and having to maintain a stoic countenance, nodding at every statement, smiling at every banality spewing from the delegates.

“I hate sitting through those. Couldn't we just...?”

“Channy,” Darney said, fully dressed and adjusting his collar, “we've been through this before. Until you manage to get this peace deal negotiated, we have no choice.”

“Peace deal! I just want to be with you.” The young white-haired padawan stepped out of the stall and wrapped a towel around herself.

“And I want to be with you,” the Lieutenant replied, taking her by the shoulders and kissing her forehead. “Maybe be if you were a little less scrupulous with your Jedi mind powers this would be all over by now.”

She frowned. Atris hated when he mentioned that. Hated that he thought she should just mind control the delegates into signing the treaty. Didn't he understand?

“Master Atris.”

Atris awoke with a sniff. “Yes, Kelley?”

“We have arrived, master.”

*

“Wheew,” vocalized Carth. “That was a whole load of no fun.”

“Tell me about it,” added Mission, standing on one leg and flexing the other, rotating it in and out from the hip. The awkward drop to the deck as gravity was restored and the subsequent short return to zero-G to get Knight Adjura freed from the overhead hadn't made her hip feel any better.

“At least we have gravity, air, light, heat and water,” said Bastila.

“Fat lot of good that'll do,” the old pilot added, randomly pressing buttons and flipping switches on the inactive panel. “The control are frozen. We can't change course.”

Bastila and Mission both stepped to his side, looking down at the console, each reaching the exact same conclusion.

“In fact,” he added, “we can't even tell where were headed.” Something about the situation bothered him, and it wasn't the ship, or their accidental travel. He looked over at the others.

They were standing next to him. That wasn't the problem. Both were puzzling over the navigation readout. Also not the problem. They were standing almost side by side, Bastila pressed up against Mission's back, looking over the smaller woman's shoulder.

“Hey, wait a minute,” he said. “What's with you two?”

Bastila looked quizzically. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, for the last three months you haven't been able to so much as share a planet with Mission without breaking out in a sweat.”

“Yes?”

“So those seeds worked?”

“Obviously,” said Bastila dismissively. “They taste filthy, but they seem to have done the trick, just as that miserable Tarasin said they would.”

With a last look out the viewport as the ship shifted to hyperspace, Bastila asked “Caffa?”, looking at Mission and holding out a crooked arm.

“Delighted,” the Twi'lek answered, linking her arm through.

*

Jolee came out of his room with a strange, puzzled look on his face.

“Is something wrong master?” his padawan, Yuthura Ban, asked.

“Wrong? I'm not sure.”

Yuthura set down her datapad. She had spent the better part of the last hour reviewing and re-reviewing all the available material on Borleias, trying even at this late hour to figure out why any of them had been sent to the place. As far as she could tell, Borleias was a boil on the backside of the Core; close enough to have been explored a thousand generations before, but lacking in any resource or commodity that would give anyone a reason to come, let alone stay.

Jolee moved as if asleep, nearly walking into the table set in front of the small sofa in the common area of their small suite.

Yuthura waited as long as seemed proper, he was old after all. “Master, what is it?”

“I just got a very strange message from Vandar.”

The Twi'lek raised an eyebrow. As far as she could tell Vandar only sent strange messages. Like the one that sent her and her master off with Atris in the first place. A week on a Republic frigate with the ice queen was hardly “danger duty”, hardly the kind of thing one needed a pair of Jedi to do, but then their previous assignment hadn't been either.

And that escapade had also been at Vandar's order.

“What did it say, master?”

“That we've been reassigned.”

“What?! Reassigned? We only just got here!”

“I told you it was strange.”

“Strange doesn't begin to describe it, Master.” Yuthura couldn't decide between standing in place fuming or rushing about the room throwing things in fury, so she sort of did both, alternately moving from place to place, picking up small items as if to throw them and then standing for a moment, hand poised, muttering under her breath before putting the item back and moving on.

“I don't...! As if we just...! And then to simply...!” She rounded on Jolee. “How can you be so calm, Master?”

“Old age.”

In a moment Yuthura managed to gather herself, Jolee just letting her run herself down and she flopped onto the sofa next to him. “Reassigned!” she said with a certain desperation.

“Yup.”

“Is that all you can say?”

“What would you like me to say? Vandar said we were no longer needed.” More raised eyebrows form his padawan.

“Even with that Rodian we found in the Archives?”

“Vandar doesn't know about him, remember? Besides, he said a suitable replacement was already en route.”

“Oh?”

“Carth Onasi.”

Yuthura drew a deep breath. Jolee smiled at how seriously she was taking all of this. “Another sign of how ready she was to be off on her own, or at least off somewhere with Juhani,” he thought to himself.

“Well, I feel better about that,” she said, “knowing that Admiral Onasi is here.”

“Not here yet, apparently. Vandar said it would likely be today or tomorrow before he arrived. Once that happens the Defiant will be released to take us to Kashyyyk.”

“Kashyyyk?”

“Vandar said he had a report of some bad trouble there. Czerka seems to have set up shop again.”

“Czerka?” She paused. “Oh, that's right. You've dealt with them before, haven't you master? Back with Revan and Master Shan.”

“Um hmm,” Jolee grunted in agreement. “I don't expect it to be any more pleasant this time around.”

“Why not?”

“The report came from Bastila Shan.”

*

Buth didn't need Iestyn to tell him the shuttle was Republic, the markings on the hull would have told him even if the design hadn't been so unique and recognizable.

Rescue!

The young padawan ran back to his hide out and gathered what little he had, a few trinkets, some food and the droid's data interface, throwing it all into a makeshift bag he'd knit from wiring insulation while sitting idle, watching the Mandalorians build their Basilisks. Actually it was the Mandalorian's droids that built the Basilisks, not the Mandalorians themselves; running to and fro; hauling, lifting, welding.

As he'd watched, day in and day out, Buth became convinced that he was the only living being on the planet. Perhaps the only one that had ever walked the surface, although he hadn't dared do it again since the very first day, leaving Iestyn to do all the reconnaissance since. All those days of watching the machines below him building war machines, coupled with his experience aboard the flagship high above, made him more and more cautious, and he kept Iestyn in sight, through the Force at least, every moment it was away, just to be sure it wasn't followed, or worse, compromised into revealing his location.

So it made sense that he would remain hidden, observing the shuttle from afar, until it landed.

“Strange,” he whispered, the sound echoing eerily in the extreme stillness of the observation area. “I would have expected them to kick up more dust. That landing pad hasn't been used since we got here.”

He even considered drawing his lightsaber and making a run for it, his bag over his shoulder, muscles tense for the fight, but something made him hesitate. He saw Bee-six walk toward the ship. He continued watching. When Jedi Master Atris walked down the ramp, joining the protocol droid at the bottom he took a deep breath.

Just what was he going to do now?

*

== Completing orbit twenty three. Scans clear. Well, sir? ==

++ Again. ++

“No! Wait,” Justin contradicted himself. “Don't bother. It's obvious he isn't here.”

Marauder had been waiting twenty orbits for the pilot to finally admit the fact. A course back to the Village moved to the top of the flight plan display a few seconds later. Justin looked around, the wroshyr trees flashing past only a few meters away on either side, as the ship sped along, dodging and weaving.

After short stop to explain his plans to Halarunga and Zaalbar, Justin was off again, Marauder powering out of the planet's gravity well and into interstellar space.

== Where to, sir? ==

“Ploo. There's a little Jedi I need to do something nice for.”

== And Gwarshawk? ==

“With any luck, he's with Mission and the others. Wherever they are. We'll catch up with them eventually.”

“Or not...” he though to himself.

== Course plotted and ready. This actually works out well, sir. ==

“How so?”

== You have three days of appearances and the network deal to close. ==

Justin groaned. “Do you always have to rain on my parade?”

== I'm sorry sir, but the additions you requested cost more than originally budgeted, and with the new hires from Manaan you approved just before we arrived... ==

The groan turned into a growl as Justin realized he'd been played. Played by his own ship!

== ... and the continuing cost growth on both Telos and Taris, not to mention the problems on Vinsoth... ==

“ 'Mo, stop with the good news already, okay?” The soldier/pilot removed his flight helmet and pinched the sides of his nose, just at the bridge between his eyes.”Just wake me up when we get there.”

*

“So you see,” said Dustil his eyes flashing, turning the blood-red crystal in mid-air, “by aligning the crystal with the polarization of the amplifier, you get a much better power to dissipation balance.”

Tarre nodded, her eyes glazed over. “Uh huh.”

Juhani joined the two, looking for caffa, just as Dustil reached the climax of his technical explanation.

“Padawan Onasi, I was unaware you were such a student of lightsaber construction. That is a very advanced technique. Quite dangerous, as well.”

“Not really, Knight Juhani.” Dustil contradicted. “I mean, back on Korriban we...” He trailed off. “I suppose I shouldn't talk about that, should I?”

At the mention of Dustil's former training ground, Tarre's eyes refocused and she said: “I don't see why not. Not talking about it doesn't erase it from history.”

“But...?” he started before stopping again. Tarre had that tone in her voice, he noticed, that 'Jedi Master' tone he'd been so surprised to find her capable of.

“Nor does it undo how it affected you,” added Juhani. She gave the little red-head a look and was relieved to see Tarre move her head slightly, giving the Cathar 'permission' to instruct the young man. “But I understand your reticence. I still find it difficult to speak of my own brush with... darker times.” She had started to say something far more forceful before remembering how much less significant was her own experience with the Dark side.

Bastila and Mission joined them at that moment, both laughing over some shared secret joke. Noticing Dustil's disassembled lightsaber scattered across the messroom table, the lady Knight stopped to examine his selection of crystals.

“May I?” she asked.

Dustil looked at Tarre, who promptly found something incredibly interesting about the piping overhead to look at.

“Of course, Master Shan,” Dustil answered. “I was just talking with...” The young man fumbled for a second with what to call the red-head in this company. “... Knight Adjura. About crystal alignment.”

“Tarre, don't tell me you've actually become a lightsaber expert?” Bastila closed one eye and held the crystal to the light, turning it slowly.

“Hardly,” the historian replied with a snort.

“But you said you beat Master Condrut,” offered Juhani.

“More a condemnation of his talent than a recommendation of my own, I assure you.”

“You two know each other?” asked Mission, pointing between Bastila and the smaller red-head.

Both Jedi nodded.

“Wait,” added the Twi'lek, “I remember now. Bastila, you mentioned her before. I thought I'd recognized her. She and Justin went to the Senate ball together. Ha ha. You were pretty upset...”

“They most certainly did,” answered the lady Knight, her jaw clenching.

Dustil tensed as emotion charged the atmosphere. “Oops,” whispered Mission, taking her caffa and slipping quietly out of the room. Juhani was torn between following her and staying to maintain order.

“Oh Force...” Tarre moaned under her breath, the memory of that night not a pleasant one for her either. And the possibility of having a potentially jealous Jedi Master to contend with didn't have things looking any more positive.

“Well, what about it?” Bastila asked, her whole tone changed, confrontation vibrating in every syllable.

“You have got to be kidding, Bastila,” Tarre said. “That happened months ago! I didn't even have a good time.”

“Conscience get the better of you? Good.”

“Conscience?” mimicked Tarre. “Listen Princess, I don't need your moralizing to me about my spending a lousy evening with your boyfriend.”

“A little more moralizing might do you some good. And he is not my boyfriend!” Bastila was quivering now. “And you wore my dress! Justin gave you my dress!”

“He did not!” Tarre countered. “He bought me one of my own..!” “Smooth move, Tarre!” she cursed to herself as the words tumbled past her self-censoring mechanism.

“He bought you one?!” Bastila exploded. She took two quick steps toward the still seated Knight.

The little red-head tensed, never good with physical confrontation. Dustil sensed it and, cursing himself for taking his lightsaber apart with Bastila Shan apparently still on a hair trigger, he stood, placing himself partly between the two women.

“Excellent!” said Carth, walking in, clapping his hands and rubbing his palms together. “Everybody's here. Wait, where's Mission?” He paused and looked around. “Did I miss something?”

“Not yet, Dad,” replied Dustil, his eyes never leaving the angry Jedi. “Master Shan, I would feel more comfortable if you would move your hand a little farther from your belt.”

Bastila's eyes went wide and she quickly looked down, yanking her hand away from her saberstaff. “I wasn't... I didn't...!” After a pause she turned and practically ran from the room.

“She's nuts,” whispered Tianna, stepping to Carth's side.

*

With Atris wandering about, Buth Redfern wasn't comfortable with letting his presence be known. Fortunately he had become quite good at discerning the patterns of movement in the shipyard, so it took him only a few minutes to make his way to the landing pad without being seen.

Getting aboard the shuttle would be a little more complicated, but nothing a suitable application of the Force could not handle. Tricking another being, changing their thoughts as he saw fit, was not a skill at which he excelled, but he figured that with only two spacers from the Fleet on station, one at each side of the open ramp, sidearms holstered, he didn't need anything elaborate.

In fact, a pebble was all it took.

He approached from their blind side, using the bulk of the ship to hide from their eyes and ears. Once within throwing distance he heaved the pebble, focusing the Force on it as if flew, propelling it against the hull with incredible power, and then quickly manipulating the fields of Force energy to amplify the sound a hundred-fold.

“What the hell was that!?” he heard shouted from the other side.

A moment later he would have seen two startled pilots, weapons drawn, inspecting the area he had just vacated, but he was already inside by way of the unguarded front. In a flash, he'd already called the Force, so he figure he might as well put it to good use, he rifled the cockpit, but found nothing incriminating. His mind running at Force-multiplied speed, he scanned the consoles, not sure of half the indicators and readouts he saw.

“Somewhere to hide!” he scream in his head. “Where?”

The bridge, even of such a tiny vessel as this, was the least likely place.

He dashed back the way he came, passing the open boarding ramp just as the crew came back to the foot.

“I don't like this, Nert.”

“Me either.” The pilot cast a glance up the open ramp, into the comforting darkness at the top. With a quick flip of his head, the pair ran inside, the padawan barely able to duck into a small cubby before they passed him.

Buth looked around his cramped surroundings with the Force, sensing more than seeing that it was a storage closet. He heard more footfalls on the ramp, several pairs, and he scrambled to climb up as far as he could, squeezing himself into as small a package as possible, high above the topmost shelf, not daring to wait for some crew member to open the door and hang up a jacket on his nose.

“I don't know, you...” he overheard, the deep gravelly voice muffled by the door, “but between Van... and Bastila...”

“And Atris,” added a female voice.

“And Atris... I'm going to ask Redfern for someth...”

There was a moment of panic when he heard his name, but further reflection made him smile for the first time in weeks.

“Redfern. Yeah.”

*

Pers Vils'mer sipped his ale slowly. For a cheap Tarisian knock-off it wasn't half bad. It wasn't half good either, but frankly he didn't expect much for ½ a credit.

The cantina was dark, just the way he liked it. It smelled of cheap booze and even cheaper companionship, also just the way he liked it. Vils'mer was never one to spend frivolously on females, so being in a place where all the females had correspondingly low expectations made that easier.

He finished his drink, tipping the glass all the way back to get the last bit from the bottom when he felt the stool come out from under him. His inertia at rest, he remained suspended, upright, head looking toward the drab tan ceiling, for a split second before gravity took over.

As he fell down the front of the bar his left ankle caught in the foot rail, his weight wrenching it as he tumbled. The pain was nothing compared to smashing his chin on the edge of the bar. The glass shattered, filling his mouth with broken glass, competing with his many shattered teeth.

“Do you want to tell me what you were doing in Dupullio's?” a voice whispered in his ear. Through the pain he could barely tell what the words meant.

“I... I...” A hand grabbed him by the back of his neck and shook, broken glass falling from his bleeding mouth. “I didn't... Honest! It was an accident!”

The hand pulled back and with a quick thrust slammed his face against the top of the bar. Vils'mer and everyone else in the place hear the crack as his nose snapped clean at the bridge.

“I swear! I swear to the gods!” He spit blood from his mouth so he could speak, the bar and his clothes already covered in it. “I didn't know Vao would be there!”

The hand pulled back again and the small-time thug put his hands up, hoping to protect his battered face from any more punishment. But he expected slam didn't come. Instead, he was spun on his broken ankle to face his assailant. His eyes had swollen nearly closed so he could only see the large silver ring on the hand at his collar, not the person behind it.

“Vao is my business,” the voice said. “You got that? I'm the one with the contract! Understood? So if you or any of your buddies gets in my way again, I'll peel the skin from your hide myself.”