Memory / Chapter 24 / Happy Families

'Blue, isn't this a really big risk for you?' Mekel whispered.

At his side, Millifar was watching him too closely. Strange, because he used to wish she'd watch him -- but she mostly had eyes for Oerin Lin. Hey, who could blame her? The blonde-haired man had it all: looks, Force, personality, power . . . but of course Milli watched Mekel now because she was afraid he was going to fall down again. Normally he'd be touched to have gotten her attention; but as it was, her attention was terrifying.

Mekel didn't want anyone to know why he kept having the fits -- the shakes, the Coruscanti shamble as they called it in the sublevels.

-- The risk's within acceptable parameters, Mekk. Fleet forces are all over the place, you really think they're going to miss one little troop carrier? Besides, at this point a show of resources beyond their understanding will impress our enemies. And making an impression is seventy-nine point four tenths of the battle yet to come. --

They were standing on the roof garden, which still bore the debris from the festival two days before. Cleaning crews hadn't been able to come since the building had been put on lock-down. To his right, Gwenarius fiddled with the shield generator that held up the roof dome, cursing softly to herself.

'Let me try,' Mekel said finally. The Mandalorian woman eyed him, dubious. 'I'm good with locks.' It was too easy a lock for Mission, too self-contained; but he reached into its circuits with the Force, seeing each one like cool and bright threads. He untangled them and everything snapped into place.

The dome's forcefield above them dissolved.

-- Bringing the boat down now. -- Mission murmured in his ear. -- Easy! ---

Above their heads the great silver carrier decked and settled, turbines churning in for a landing. It was huge. Designed to hold maybe two hundred troops and there were only twenty of them.

'Impressive,' Gwenarius said. 'Are the barbarians likely to be intimidated by the size of our vessel?'

One of the other women answered that in Mandalorian, and the boys in front of them all blushed.

-- I've gotten us docking clearance in the Senate's main hangar bay. Tell them to start getting on board. The guards there are expecting us. They've been told that our presence was unofficially requested by Fleet command.--

"Was it?" Mekel asked, automatically relaying the information to Gwenarius.

-- Don't be dumb, Mekel Jin. Fleet command is tied up in so many knots right now they don't know which end is up. -- Her voice sounded -- almost smug.

Gwenarius nodded to the others and they all trooped up the docking ramp inside the carrier. It was one enormous room lined with benches.

"Welcome aboard!" Mission sang out over the comm speakers. There was a grind of metal as the landing gear disengaged and the floor tilted. They took off. Mekel put out a hand on a bench to steady himself. The edges of his vision blurred.

-- Your pulse rate is increasing again and your circulatory pressure is dropping. Brain wave patterns indicate --

Frack, Blue, just say it. I'm having anoth --

And then Dustil was screaming in his head again, like a hammer in his skull. Nothing but wordless rage -- and Mekel slipped out of his body, dimly aware that somewhere it was falling to the ground and twitching. Copper taste in his mouth -- there goes my tongue -- and then it all went hazy and he was back on that small sleek expensive ship again. He couldn't remember its name; but he was back again, and Dustil paced around him like a stimmed-up mark.

'Why don't you help me?' his old friend yelled. 'Help me get him out of my head, help me get out of this?'

'I don't know how,' Mekel said. 'I don't know where this is; I don't know what it is. I don't know what's happened to you, Dustil but I --"

'You do know,' Dustil hissed. 'This ship is from your mind, not mine. You helped him do this to me, lock me away like this . . .'

Mekel swallowed. Him was Malak but that was something he never ever wanted to say out loud. To anyone.

What had that Falleen said to him? "Now all I sense is purpose. Determination. And strength. Jedi Knight Revan has been a good influence."

Purpose. Determination. Strength. She should have sensed secrets, I feel like I'm drowning in them. . . . He hadn't told anyone about Dustil and Malak. He wasn't sure how to, or what it meant. He hadn't told anyone about Arca and the Sith, either. Who would he tell? Revan was the only one that paid any attention to him at all, besides Mission. The Mandalorians had accepted that the voices he spoke to were really Revan's supercomputer with complete equanimity. Now, Gwenarius and the others just used him as a conduit to ask her things when the T3 chassis was elsewhere or they weren't close to a nearby console . . . and since the medscans said his fits weren't going to kill him, everyone ignored them too. He was terrified of Oerin or Revan finding out the truth. He was terrified of Oerin, period.

"Why did you help Malak do this to me?" Dustil hissed.

"I-I didn't," Mekel whispered. "I just wanted to see him."

"Why?"

Mekel ignored that. It was the twentieth time Dustil had asked, and he never seemed to understand the answer. Why do you want to see your father, Telos? Because he's --

"Malak's not your father."

"I know that." He did know that, and the only person besides Revan that Mekel had ever admitted wishing it were so to, was now, thankfully, dead.

"I understand what you're going through, Selene . . ."

Secrets. Mekel twisted a grim smile at Telos Angst boy. "Why'd you even go there? You walked straight into D'Reev's hands. How could you do something that dumb?" he asked for the thirtieth time.

"Because I didn't want to be like this!"

"Listen, Dustil. I need your help. Can you tell what Malak's thinking? Can you tell where you are? Can you talk to him?"

"Why should I help?" His friend ran his fingers through his hair and paced, back and forth, back and forth, rancor in a cage. "I don't want to talk to him. I want my fracking body!" He glared at Mekel. Was it the light or were his eyes . . . ?

"I feel . . . different," Dustil admitted. He took a deep breath -- or a ghost of one. It wasn't just the light. His eyes were lighter than they had been. Yellow flecks in the black. They burned. "I can't talk to him. I can't sense him at all. There's just this fracking ship and this fracking room and that's all and sometimes -- sometimes you." Angrily he kicked the wall of the bulkhead. His foot passed through it, as if one -- or both of them were insubstantial.

"We're going to the Senate today. Today's the day everything happens . . . they -- they need me, Dust. I have to go. . ." Let me go. Please.

Dustil snarled at him, an almost animal sound. "You'd probably like him in my body better than me, wouldn't you, Mekk? You still think he cares about you? He told me he'd forgotten about you completely. He told me that right before he stole my fracking body!" He kicked the bulkhead again, to no effect.

"He had a lot on his mind. Let me go, Dust. Please. She -- they -- need my help."

"What have you told my father?" Dustil had a nasty smile on his face. "Is he even wondering where I am or is he so busy fracking the Dark Lord of the Sith that he doesn't even miss me?"

"Your father doesn't talk to me much . . . I-I told him you were fine. With D'Reev. He's going crazy trying to get you back. You --D'Reev sent them a tape of you . . . of. . . Him pretending to be you, I guess. They have a plan to get both of you out of this . . . Revan's going to challenge the Senator for his Senate seat. If she wins, the old man's out and then --"

"And then, what? Then Lord Malak is going to give me my body back and vanish in a pool of misty light like a wise Jedi ghost from some holovid?" Dustil's face twisted. The shadows under his eyes looked bruised. "He's pretending to be me and Father didn't even notice?"

"If things go well, I'll see you. In the real world. Him, I mean. I'll talk to him. I'll --"

"What if he wants his wife and son back in my body?" Dustil looked horrified.

"H-have you tried to talk to him?"

"He tries." Dustil folded his arms and looked smug. "I have nothing to say to him. "I think . . ." he frowned. "I think he can feel how angry I am. I think it hurts him." He almost looked pleased.

"H-he's -- you said he said he was just trying to keep the kid safe, Dust. Maybe that's all it is. Maybe you should talk to him. Revan . . . she's been kind to me. Maybe Lord Malak is --'

"I trusted him." The darkness in Dustil's face was impossible to ignore. "I trusted him, I thought I could help and look what happened. You're the only person that can hear me, the only person in the world that can help me, and you're telling me to talk to him?" His fists clenched tight and for a moment the ship's walls wavered, replaced by rubble and dust. In the distance came the sound of explosions and screams. "You talk to Revan! You talk to my father! Talk to someone! Tell someone! Help me!"

I can't. Mekel didn't have to say it out loud, they were close here. Too close. Telos knew why he couldn't -- or why he wouldn't. It would make Revan angry. It would make Carth angry. It would disrupt the fragile position Mekel had carved out for himself with her, and among the Mandalorians and Mission. And also . . . he really did believe Malak was doing this for a reason. "I can't," he said out loud. "Just wait. Let me talk to him first. And then, if it's bad, I'll talk to them too."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Dustil hissed. Their surroundings wavered and shifted, becoming what looked like a brig on a command carrier, a stone dormitory cell on Korriban, Mekel's uncle's squat in the Underground.

"I don't know? Try and think of something fracking happy for a change?" Mekel focused, as hard as he could and the walls of the ship came back into resolution. "I was happy here. This is my memory. Try and -- try and be happy. Calm. Please." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, waiting for another Telos explosion. It didn't happen.

"I-I'm scared," Dustil said quietly. Mekel opened his eyes. Telos was sitting on the floor hugging his knees to his chest, looking like a frightened kid.

"I-I'm sorry," Mekel touched his friend's shoulder, trying for reassurance. His hand passed right through.

The Jedi surrounded them in perfect circular formation. The hangar was enormous, a vaulted ceiling of ferracrystal etched with patterns of twisting lines that ran down the sides. Through the faceted crystal, the milky haze of the Coruscanti sky shimmered. It was like being on the inside of a giant pearl. Theirs was the only ship docked, although a squadron of Republic fighters that had flown escort to them hovered in front of the entrance to the bay. The Jedi's whispers and muttered asides had ended the second they stepped off the ship. To the outside world--or rather the perfectly-aligned rows of CoruSec and Fleet guards that lined the docking bay--the Jedi were a united body, moving in a perfect circle with Revan, Carth and Canderous in the middle. Oerin and the Headwoman trailed behind with HK, almost forgotten.

Oerin can't be happy about that, Revan thought to herself. She kept her eyes fixed ahead of her--which was easy enough due to the collar.

'I think,' Canderous muttered in Mandalorian from her back, 'That they're taking us seriously now.'

'I'd feel a little better if they weren't all ready to shoot us,' Carth said. She turned to see his face. He gave her a tight smile, and she realized he was trying to make a joke. Revan bit her lip. Force, I love you, Carth.

The circle of Jedi parted to reveal their military escort. That Ekkumi woman, General Jiya Sand, and a tall Trandoshan in Admiral's bars.

'Carth,' Captain Rew Ekkumi said.

'Captain Ekkumi,' her husband nodded, voice careful and even. Professional. One soldier to another. She should be calling him Captain. Carth's shoulder brushed hers and he gave her a ghost of a smile. The fact that she had not hadn't escaped his notice either.

Rew Ekkumi nodded back and Revan was reminded of the impression that they made. Surrounded by Jedi, hands bound in front of them with reinforced restraints. Carth's dress uniform was a little bit crumpled. Cleaning and pressing hadn't been on either of their list of priorities the past few days. Her own robes were simple Mandalorian ones, the color of sand, cut looser than Jedi robes, woven from coarse cloth. Oerin Lin wore his father's armor; the helmet tucked casually under one arm. The other Mandalorians were dressed as she was.

'I've heard . . .' Ekkumi's voice trailed off. 'I've heard many things about you these last few days, Revan.' Her dark eyes flickered with something that could have been hurt. She glanced at the squads of guards surrounding them, and they moved farther away, giving them at least the illusion of privacy.

Telos, she's Telosian. She's Telosian and what Malak did and what I -- There wasn't anything Revan could think of to say. So she said nothing. Neither did Jiya or the Admiral.

"What do you want, Rew, Jiya?" Carth said. His voice was angry. His head jerked. "Admiral Rensha," he added, acknowledging the Trandoshan. "You've returned from Rim patrol."

"I have," the Trandoshan agreed. She folded her arms. Again, the lack of Carth's military rank in her response was only too evident.

Out of the corner of her eye Revan saw the flutter of brown robes. Their Jedi escort retreated, without a word, without another entreaty, without saying farewell. Part of her shivered, as another part felt a spark of anger.

Thanks, Jedi Masters, she thought at their retreating backs. Thanks for all your help and useless advice. Thanks for your offer to just mindwipe me again. As always, you've been a great help.

General Sand came forward; his hands spread open in a gesture of peace.

We need to talk," he said. "To speak frankly. Before we -- well, there's a few things we must resolve."

The Seroccan had a kind face. His voice was almost familiar. His hair was iron-gray and receding. His weathered features shifted, as if seen through a haze of blue.

The world tilted; it felt like she was floating.

Bacta tank. Pain in her head, blinding. Like an explosion. And an anger so hot that it was the only thing left.

"And this is the great hope of the Republic. This is what it all comes down to. She's nothing more than an animal now. Just like the rest of them."

He turned and looked at the dark-haired girl standing next to him. Her blue-violet eyes were full of tears and she was biting her lip.

Bastila spoke. "If the Fleet will give up custody to the Council, we can salvage . . . something from this. In her mind is the source of Malak's power. If you release her to us . . ."

The General's kind face hardened with lines carved from stone. "Do what you must, Jedi." He turned his back. "She was never one of ours."

"No one ever knew why Fett Cassus Lin chose to meet you in single combat, Revan," General Sand continued. "But there were rumors."

"There are always rumors," Revan muttered. She refused to blink her eyes or look disoriented.

Cassus must have had no choice. It was an internal clan challenge. I was Lin. I used their own laws against them.

"Why are you really here, Revan?" Rew Ekkumi said flatly.

"Ordo promised me . . . clemency." She made her voice hard. "I didn't realize they were Lin's lap-hound."

"You're not the Mandalorian's prisoner, stop fencing with us." General Sand's eyes were as hard as stones.

"I'm here for Carth," Revan swallowed.

Canderous had moved to flank them. Oerin was perfectly still on her other side. If she could turn her head she expected she'd see his usual bored, blank face. Behind them Headwoman Catrinex gave out a small impatient sigh and muttered something untranslatable in Mandalorian.

"What are your plans?" General Sand asked her frankly.

Corporal -- no, General -- he's a General now -- Jiya Sand was the more dangerous one. He knew something about Mandalorian culture, and perhaps part of what it was still necessary to hide. If she was known to be Lin, the Senate would not accept Oerin. Rew knew less -- that was obvious by the confusion in her expression, the twist of something that might even have been jealousy -- she was Carth's lover, how long, how could he -- the rational part of her mind slammed down on those thoughts like an airlock closing.

It was something they'd avoided talking about these past few days.

"I want what's mine," Revan said.

"Is this a threat?" Rew Ekkumi looked at her with a mixture of jealousy and strange admiration. The admiration was the worst.

How can she admire me after what I've done? What have I done? What did I do?

"You still have a great deal of respect, among many in the Fleet," Jiya Sand said. "When you tried to recruit me I was tempted, as many were. You made a compelling case, you and Malak. The Republic at the time was a corrupt beast, and there were many who believed that the way to resolve that was to rebuild a new order on the ashes of the old. Is that still your intention, Jedi Knight Revan?"

Revan didn't know this person he was addressing. She tried to find some part of her in her mind and found nothing.

"I have no military ambitions," she said quietly.

"And yet, you have allied yourself with at least one . . . Mandalorian clan," the Seroccan replied.

Meaning you know it's really two. Two clans, not one. Lin and Ordo both. So Fleet knows. The Jedi know, the Fleet know, D'Reev knows . . . Her stomach sank. This isn't going to work.

"Are you Sith or not?" Rew asked flatly. "Is it true you remember nothing of your former life?"

"Fragments, nothing more. I don't remember the wars. I -- I know I met you, Corp -- General Sand --" the man's mouth almost smiled at her hesitant correction; "I remember very little of what I once was." She took a deep breath. "I don't want to be that person again."

"What really happened at the Star Forge, Revan?" General Sand's voice was soft. Deceptive concern.

I don't want to remember that.

"She killed Malak," Carth answered for her. Revan half-turned to look at him. His brown eyes were blank, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. Whatever he really thought, he wasn't going to say it now. Not here.

"What really happened to Bastila?" For a disconnected moment she saw General Sand's face again, through that strange blue light -- bacta tank -- and she was screaming and beating her fists against the field that separated them.

"I killed her." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Canderous wince.

I-I shouldn't have just said that. Tact. Be tactful. Well, frack it. Go on the offensive. Don't let your emotions cloud this. Use what you know against them.

"When I was captured on my flagship, you were there, General Sand. There was never any trial."

"You were hardly in a position to speak in your own defense," Jiya said, eyes narrowing.

"Perhaps not, but the legality of your actions was . . . questionable," Revan raised her eyebrows.

"Yes," General Sand acknowledged, voice careful. "Were certain things publicly known, is would be disastrous for the Fleet's image. The Jedi Council too, would suffer. Is that your intention?"

"My intentions are . . . a personal concern."

"A person like you does not have the luxury of personal concerns, Revan." The Trandoshan's cheek ridges pulled back, exposing her sharp heavy teeth in an expression that could be an ironic smile. Or a snarl.

"What is Malachi D'Reev's interest in you, Revan?" Ekkumi's voice was cool.

Revan swallowed. "I killed his son. Perhaps it's revenge."

"I don't think so." The woman's eyes scanned her face. I've underestimated her. "We have new orders," she added, carefully. "Curious orders, all things considered. There's been a change in plan."

'A change?' Oerin Lin pushed forward, HK clanking behind him. 'This is unacceptable. My appointment was set weeks in advance. I demand that the Senate hear my case now. Today. Immediately.' He folded his arms and glared.

'Save your outrage for the media, kid,' the Admiral muttered. 'You have nothing to whine about. The Senate will hear the Mandalorian plea today. You -- " she jerked her head, indicating Oerin. "Ordo, and the old woman are to go to the penitent's chamber and wait your turn. Carth Onasi and she are to proceed to the Senator's Walk. From there, you'll be CoruSec's problem, not mine.'

"Senator's Walk," Revan echoed. She made the puzzled frown she felt knitting her brows vanish.

HK gave a happy sigh. 'Senator's Walk. Oh, Master. I spent some very happy moments citing targets on that lovely verdant path. There is the Street of Winding Sighs, the Path of Falling Stars and the Meadow of Games. Naturally Senator Thomasi was not ranked as high as you, and so we were not accorded full privileges; but still, I enjoyed performing my function there very, very much.' Her droid clanked, 'I presume I will be allowed to accompany my Master, Admiral Meatbag Rensha?'

'Senator's Walk?' Revan tried to shake her head and the collar stopped her again. She tried not to flap her bound hands uselessly. Stay calm. Pretend that you understand and maybe it will all become clear. Or granslugs will fly . . .

There was a long silence, as if the Fleet brass were waiting for more of a response. Revan had none.

'Because of my rank . . .' she offered finally. 'Carth and I are to proceed to Senator's Walk.' My rank? My rank in the Fleet? No, that can't be it. My rank as a Jedi? No . . . then it must be . . . squelch the hope, it can't be this easy, it can't be this easy . . . and if it is this easy, it's only because it's some kind of trap.

'Captain Onasi is granted consort status, unofficially, until such a time as your union is either negated or registered formally under Coruscanti law.' Rew's face was blank. 'As is your other husband, Canderous Ordo. However, General Ordo's presence has been specifically denied by the D'Reev First. Naturally, you must comply with his wishes in this request."

D'Reev First . . . "Senator D'Reev is expecting me?" Keep your voice calm. Make it not a question.

Rew nodded. "Congratulations. We have just received word. Malachi Ignatus Estrichon Anwat D'Reev formally recognizes you as his lawful heir. Your claim is validated by your marriage to his son, Malak Ingatium Qel'Riada Ingatus D'Reev." Her dark eyebrows rose and her voice continued, dulcet and careful as glass. "-- As proven by your living issue, Malachor Vrook Cassus Ulic Lin D'Reev."

"Oh," Revan whispered. The word just slipped out. So you know.

"I'm sure you'll have much to discuss with the Senator, while the Mandalorian sovereignty is being put to the vote,' Admiral Rensha added.

Captain Ekkumi just looked at her. Her face twisted, then resumed its calm exterior. She stepped forward stiffly and unfastened the restraints that bound Carth's hands. Then Canderous' and then finally, Revan's.

Revan tried to remain calm as the woman disabled the plates on her wrist. Rew Ekkumi's voice was cool in her ear.

'I've heard that the view from a Coruscant Senator's box is truly spectacular. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. But a word of caution: try not to fall. And if you hurt Carth in any way, shape, or form, I'll find a way to assassinate you myself.'

Revan jerked her chin in something that would have been a nod, except for the collar. Rew Ekkumi made no move to remove that.

Freed from their false restraints, Carth's hand reached for hers. She didn't need the Force to read his expression. This is a trap.

I knew it would be. I always knew it would be. It's just a different cage than I expected. The more the plan changes . . . the more the game remains the same.

'Give him another injection: two parts adrenal stimulant to three point nine parts cortical sedative.' That had worked before.

Mission cursed her lack of limbs as she watched Millifar Ordo measure the dosages out in the stim gun from the receivers in Mekel's collar. Her own voice crackled over the troop carrier's speakers. This should bring Mekel out of it, but if it was like every other time he'd be a wreck, and not good for much Force-wise for at least a few hours. His pulse jumped on her monitors, and she felt his optical nerves twitching under closed lids through the collar.

Mission didn't think Sith-wannabe knew how much she'd managed to link into his autonomic nervous system. Rulan Prolik's physiology had been too complicated to mimic; but human systems were simple, once she had access to the Mandalorian medical lab. Just a little nanotech and there she was, under his skin.

The nanotech told her a lot; both about him and about their surroundings. In some ways, it was almost like having a vestige of her own body back. But his thoughts, and where ever Mekel's mind went when he had these fits was completely opaque. His thoughts were nothing that she could measure. She suspected this all had something to do with the Force. Possibly some battle his mind imagined that it fought between dark and light, or whatever. Force-users were remarkably susceptible to making star destroyers out of space dust, she'd noticed this before.

Whenever she asked him about it, which was often, he just shut up completely.

-- Time to wake up, Mekel Jin. Come on, we're almost here. --

His muscles twitched at the sound of her voice. 'Dustil,' he muttered. 'Please. Let me go . . . I-I'll talk to him . . . ' His eyes fluttered.

The troop carrier circled in a lazy spiral down to the Fleet hangar bay. It wasn't the only one, although it was the only one full of Mandalorians wearing robes and not Republic soldiers in full kit. Geez, to see all of this mobilization, you'd think the Coruscantis were actually expecting another invasion.

-- Dustil? Are you talking to Dustil? Wake up, Mekk! --

'Blue --' His body twitched. Millifar peered over him -- over them, golden braids falling over his face. Mekel's skin flushed with increased circulatory response in a really annoying predictable way.

'Hello Milli,' he whispered. His mouth registered a distinct lack of moisture.

'Mekel Jin,' the Mandalorian girl said, gravely. 'Can you stand up? We need you to speak with the barbarian soldiers outside. The computer can tell you what to say.'

'Can you tell what Oerin is doing now?' Gwenarius broke in impatiently.

-- Are you talking to Dustil? Did you talk to Dustil? -- Mission added her own question to the Mandalorian's barrage. Something occurred to her. A missed connection, like a skipped synapse or a bad circuit. -- When you have these fits, are they connected with Dustil and that Force-bond thing? --

Mekel didn't answer her, but the resultant turmoil in his systems was answer enough. Was he trying to protect her in some kind of misguided chivalric effort? Yeah, so Sithboy hated her. So what? Mission was over it. Mostly. Getting over things wasn't that hard. You just needed to focus on other things.

And, banthaspit, it wasn't like she didn't have plenty of other things to focus on.

Portside in a hangar bay, one blue disc ship in a row of brightly colored disc ships hummed to life again, bouncing coded transmissions on an FTL frequency across the stars.

If felt good after weeks of hiding herself to finally expand her consciousness across a proper number of bytes and processors again. Mission bounced the signals off Yavin -- after all start with the familiar -- and through that, tapped into several hundred other data depots on the Outer Rim to cover her tracks.

On the Coruscant Exchange floor, shares in I.E., Ltd. split. An unnamed buyer with an Alderaanian account had their net worth double in sixty seconds.

On Deralia, a routine request came through for marriage records. Polla Organa to a Seiran, surname unknown. The response filtered through and spat back. Surname Wen: address, Glory Road Farm, Adaston.

On Glory Road Farm, a commlink rang, but no one was home to answer it.

-- Look, chuba brain, if you're talking to Dustil I need to know about it. He's with D'Reev; he might know something that we can use. --

It was a waste really, all this power for such a simple exercise. Of course she had other stuff to do too.

On Kashyyyk, deep in the forest, the ancient console hummed softly, garlanded with flowers. The area around it had been cleared of trees; and the Wookiees engaged in training exercises in the newly-made field paused for a moment. Then they all knelt, singing the song of devotions to the morning sun -- the symbol of promise and of empire yet to come.

Somewhere in the Coruscant Senate complex, a maintenance mainframe was barraged with a billion nonsensical queries. As a routine safety measure, it shut down for thirty seconds to reboot.

"Dustil doesn't know anything," Mekel muttered. "Y-you should stop thinking about him, Blue."

-- Are you jealous, Mekk? -- At this point, lost in the dance of bytes and bits, the concept seemed laughably small; but you had to account for organic weakness.

Sith-wannabe didn't answer her. The nanocircuitry registered distress.

The silver troop carrier slipped easily into the hangar bay.

On Manaan, Mission's conversation with the Zabrak who answered the commlink number that Rulan had given her weeks ago was pretty evasive, but when you read between the lines, what Hulas' replacement didn't say was pretty interesting. All in all it was a relief to hear. Having a potential threat to your plans eliminated by another potential threat felt like fate or destiny. And it meant that Mission could continue to focus on more important things.

On Deralia, the commlink rang again. But no one was home to answer it.

The Senate complex's mainframe hummed to life again, and she slipped inside, a bright spark in a dance of circuits. Troops had been rerouted, and there was a startling request from the Chancellor's office. A request for delays in the Mandalorian case, while House D'Reev sorted out its succession.

On the surface it looked like they'd won the battle before even starting.

She had to assume that meant things were worse than she'd thought.

On Deralia, the commlink rang again. But no one was home to answer it.

The Outlier colonies have two hundred different ways to say poo doo. Mission began cycling through them one-by-one.

Seiran, stiff in a formal black suit, got out of the speeder and came around to open her side of the door. Polla juggled the bundle of lilies and her son, and slid out of the speeder. She was getting her balance back finally after months of being a bloated weenka. Her good shoes sank slightly in the mud and she winced. Oh well. Auntie Mita never minded a little mud. And it's not like Ma ever notices. The familiar smells of kissra feed and fertilizer wafted over them. They were late of course, and Ma would probably give her a lecture about that too.

Her husband offered her his arm and she took it. They made their way to the front door. Polla touched her lips to the green funeral wreath, and then stood back while Seiran did the same.

In the living room, there was the plain jekwood box, covered with flowers. Covered with Derran lilies to be exact. The citrus scent was almost overwhelming at such close proximity. Other, more cultivated bouquets were scattered around: splashes of blue and orange and red and lilac; but none as voluminous or overpowering as that blanket of waxen white petals, and their pale, almost translucent stems.

'Oh dear,' Molla Organa sighed, coming over and taking Junior from her. 'You brought more? I can't believe you had the florist deliver this many already . . . I hope he owed you a favor, dear, from your smuggling days--because I don't want to think how much this must have cost, delivering half a freighter bay full of weeds . . . '

'I picked these flowers this morning,' Polla said indignantly. 'What the frack --' she glanced at Auntie Mita's coffin nervously -- in life the old woman had always told her not to say 'frack' -- "say 'feck,' dear, it's much more direct. '-- are you talking about, Ma?'

'I had them load most in the barn,' her mother continued. 'They'll keep for months, and I guess we can scatter them on her grave too. You bought enough to cover the entire cemetery.' Molla' s cool hand felt her daughter's forehead. 'Pollie, are you feeling alright, dear? You seemed so quiet last night when you called. I know I said to get flowers, but there was no need for you to overreact like this . . . what did she say to you?'

'What did who say to me, when?' The guests and family and cousins and various ancient members of Auntie Mita's grange club were in the shearing shed that her parents converted to a dining hall for large family gatherings. She could hear the snatch of a reel through the open window.

'Junior and I are going to find some food,' Seiran interjected hastily, coming forward and taking their son back from Molla's arms. 'I'll leave you two to it, remember, Poll' -- don't throw things at your Ma. Not at a funeral, okay?' He gave her a half-smile that meant he was mostly joking and left them alone.

'Pretty blanket you've swaddled the baby in,' her mother observed, watching them leave. 'Don't you think he'll be hot?'

'It's self-cooling,' Polla said.

'La di dah . . .' Her mother made a face. 'Fancy.' She rolled her eyes.

Polla walked over to Auntie Mita's coffin and began arranging her flowers on top of the ones that someone else had already put there. Those were florist-cut; you could tell by the evenness of the stems and the slight bruising of the petals. But there were a lot of them. Well quality counts, she thought stubbornly, layering her paltry dozen over the pile.

'In your dream last night, what did Auntie Mita say?'

'Huh?'

Molla sighed patiently. 'Pollie, if you don't want to talk about it . . . I'll understand. But when you call me at oh-three-hundred, refuse to link visual, and then overreact like this with the flowers . . . I worry. That's all.' She touched her daughter's arm, tentative. 'You know, it's okay to be sad, dear.'

Polla closed her eyes. 'I was sad,' she admitted. 'Then I went down to the lake and picked these lilies and thought about everything that Auntie Mita ever said to me. And then I felt better. I felt like she was here, somehow. Or something. Anyways . . . I didn't call you, and I didn't order from a florist. Why would I, Ma? Damn things grow wild all over our property. Seiran dredges the lake every spring to stop it from turning into bog because of their roots. But . . . they're pretty. And they do remind me of her. You know, Auntie Mita told me once that Organa women are like Derran lilies?'

Molla Organa smiled sadly. 'I can imagine her saying something like that.' She reached out and touched her daughter's shoulder. 'You really didn't call, dear?'

'I really didn't call. These are probably from some cousin that's gone offworld or something with more credits than sense. And you probably dreamed me calling. Wishful thinking. I'm a big girl now, Ma. I don't call you every time I have a nightmare or can't sleep . . ." Polla shrugged and gave her mother a smile. "I just bug the hell out of Sei instead.'

'Mmm . . ." Molla Organa looked thoughtful.

Polla sighed, impatient. "What is it, Ma? What?" Seriously, sometimes her mother's entire existence seemed to be focused on making her feel guilty for things she hadn't done.

"Nothing, dear. Do you want to help Bolts in the kitchen, or save your father from Mita's grange friends? They've already opened the first cask of ferra grass wine. And you know how they get. Jasp is probably chewing on his own arm at this point."

Polla made a face. "I just want to sit here for a sec with Auntie Mita. Is that okay?"

"Of course." Her mother looked distracted. "I'll be in the kitchen. Come get me when you've finished saying good-bye."

Good night, Auntie Mita, Polla thought to herself, kneeling before the coffin. She rested her head against its surface, breathing in the scent of flowers. Her hands rested lightly on the wooden surface. Most wonderful busybody interfering wisest aunt in the galaxy. . .

Leesa dangled her legs over the side of the Steps of Golden Promise, looking out over the Meadow of Games. Mother would probably kill her if she found out she'd skipped out of the Observatory, but Mother was rather distracted at the moment. And what Mother never finds out, won't kill me.

She tapped the comm on her wrist, and her little sister's face swam into view, tear-stained and splotchy. Leeshy had no dignity at all -- when Leesa had been that age her same face had never looked so undignified. Inwardly, she sniffed in disdain, but on the surface she gave her sib an earnest comforting smile.

"Mummy failed," Leesa said. "Your little friend's still alive."

Leeshy made no attempt at poise, or the appropriate regret suitable when one's House played and lost badly. "R-really?" Her mouth opened in a wide smile, effect somewhat spoiled by her missing teeth. "S-so Korrie's okay?"

"D'Reev requested a one-day ceasefire. If I were you I'd be more concerned about what will happen to me and Mother and Lee'a when it goes off again. The old bastard's going to hit us back, you know. And they were saying in the Amaltine's lounge that he's recognized Revan, now. So, if he doesn't kill her first . . . we're going to have the Dark Lord of the Sith gunning for our blood. It's all very well for you, sib--you're an Eg . . . me and Lee are fair game." Leesa made her voice sound appropriately concerned. Although actually, she was kind of thrilled. Besides, odds are, they'll take out Lee. Which will make me Second.

Once upon a time, there had been five perfect copies of Senator Leeshansintina Evalyn Arabel Racharn I. Now there were only three.

"Maybe Revan will just kill him," her little sib said, darkly. "And she's not the Dark Lord of the Sith! Korrie says -- "

"Korrie says this. Korrie says that. Honestly, Leeshy -- there's no future in D'Reev. You should worry about Racharn's fortune." Leesa swung her legs back and forth over the hundred-meter drop, keeping an eye out for other Ams. Senate session had been delayed due to this D'Reev thing, and if she was any judge, some of the crew would be along shortly to wish her luck. In some ways, the ceasefire was a relief. Now that it was out in the open, no other House could make a move against them for the duration.

Down below, she spied a figure in guest gray, making its way up the winding steps. Still too far off to tell whose colors they wore on their collar, and above her head, the dome's refraction half blinded her anyways. She lowered her visor and upped the resolution.

Black and red . . .

Shit, the old man actually has friends? Or is that one of Revan's pet Mandalorians? By the Game, Mother would kill me if she knew I was just sitting here like a granslug on a log. . .

The figure came closer. Dark hair, pretty cute, nice bod under the robes -- her mouth gaped open for a sec and she totally almost screamed in surprise.

"Hey, Dustil!" She scrambled to her feet. Maybe jumping up and down was undignified on the Senator's Walk. Leesa stopped doing it.

"Who are you talking to?" chirped the voice from her wrist. Oops. Leesa flipped off the commlink.

Dustil Onasi cupped his hand up, shading off the glare, peering up at her. "Hello," he called back, voice cautious.

Despite the potential seriousness of the situation -- accidents, after all, were known to happen during a ceasefire and she was standing on the edge of a very long drop -- Leesa giggled.

Dustil came closer, frowning at her, with that cute wrinkle between his dark eyebrows. He looked more tortured than ever. Leesa stepped back from the ledge.

"Leeshansintina," he said, stopping a few steps below her on the stairs.

"We're friends," she reminded him. The fact that he knew her full name was a good sign. Maybe he'd been asking around. "You can just call me Leesa, I told you that the other night. Wow, so -- that night, right after you left the news started coming in about your father and Revan Starfire! I couldn't believe it, I mean there I was talking to you and everything and then -- bam, suddenly, I mean it's like -- your father married Revan -- and so now . . ."

He was sort of glaring at her, and Leesa hastily began to backtrack. "The games won't affect you or anything -- or your father -- it's just a matter between houses -- um, so we're still friends, right?"

His hand moved to his waist. He had something under those robes. And not in a cute joke sort of way. D'Reev lets him run around armed? Wow. Leesa was totally amazed. "Which one are you?" he asked. "Which number?"

"Three -- third." Leesa wondered if that would impress him.

"Safer than Second," he replied. "Leeta is still Second?"

"Leeta's dead. Like, six years ago . . . where'd you hear about her?" Leesa was really confused.

"Malachi mentioned her," Dustil answered. Really casual. 'Malachi.' Like they were friends! "He was uh, talking to me about how close D'Reev and Racharn were, once. Back when Leeta and Malak were Eg's."

Leesa shrugged. "Times change."

"Yes," Dustil nodded. "They do."

"So, are you here with the old man or with her?"

"I was there, in the cruiser when your mother's drones hit D'Reev," he answered. His eyes were sooo dark and brooding. They almost burned. Leesa felt herself blush.

"Oh. Well, you didn't get caught in any crossfire so it's -- "

He cocked his head at her. The way he looked, tense, drawn, pale -- it was so dreamy, and yet, Leesa felt a twinge of caution. "You look like Leeta," he said, almost absently. "Of course you do, bloody clones . . . how did she die?"

"Huh?"

"Nevermind, I -- saw a picture of her once. With Malak. You're older, though. She was eleven. In the picture, I mean." He took a deep breath, clenching his fists and then letting them go. "I don't really like the red hair," he added. "Not on you. Hers was brown."

If a normal person dared say something like that, Leesa would probably kick him; but this was Dustil Onasi, after all, and you know, when you thought about it, it was pretty tragic that their houses were about to be at war -- even if it wasn't his house exactly, since he wasn't a D'Reev -- it was okay. Hell, she'd dye her hair blue if she could get him to smile.

"It's a really plain brown," she answered. "Too ordinary."

He smiled slightly. It was an awkward smile, too wide for his mouth. "You'll never be ordinary."

"True." She felt herself blushing under the intensity of his gaze.

"If you were First, would you let the D'Reev match continue?"

The baldness of the question shocked her to her shoes. If he'd been, like really one of them, the implications of it would be . . . well, pretty interesting.

"I'm not First," she said lightly, after the silence went on too long. His eyes were locked on hers. It was like he was watching her every expression. Like he could read her like a datapad. She was blushing again, and that finally made him look away.

"You like him. You like Malachor." It wasn't quite a question.

"Well, he's just one of Leeshy's friends . . . he's okay I guess, for a natural-born. D'Reevs are weird about that. I mean, diluting the gene pool -- seems to have given them some bad luck, you know?"

"Every House has its traditions," he shrugged. Like he knew anything about it at all.

"Yeah, but . . . their pet Jedi breeding thing kinda backfired, don't you think?"

"I guess it did."

"I heard Malak's mother was this witch-woman from Donovia --"

"Dathomir," he corrected her, turning his head away and looking past her. On the plain below them three more figures, in a grav lift. Leesa adjusted her visor.

"Whoa." She adjusted the resolution a little more. A bright spark of silver flashed off the woman's heavy collar. The man piloting the lift wore a shimmering Republic uniform. Behind them loomed a shap. A very distinctive shap. "Oh my gods, hey Dustil -- that's -- them!"

Okay, if she admitted it to herself, that was really why she'd been hanging out on the steps. When Aramis said that Revan and Carth Onasi were scheduled to make the walk, Leesa had slipped away from the observatory and stealthed her way here a-sap. Because, even if there was this new game and stuff, before that -- Revan had been the coolest. She'd been really little, barely out of Eg-hood when everything went sideways, but before that she remembered hearing things -- rumors about this girl from Hoth made good with the Senator's son. And the Jedi! And then the wars! It was really romantic, when you knew the facts. Almost as romantic as Revan and Carth. The fact that it had been such a huge secret didn't hurt either.

The heroes of the Star Forge were ascending the steps pretty fast. She watched Captain Carth Onasi's face recognize Dustil, watch his lips move as he said something to the woman beside him. Revan's expression was taunt, focused, almost distracted, but as Leesa watched, she pasted a smile on it.

Beside her, Dustil stiffened. "Here goes nothing," he muttered.

"You and your father will have to go to the Observatory," Leesa told him. "The Senators and heirs up to Fourth are allowed in Chambers . . . but I'm not going today. Oberserv's a lot more fun, really. You'll like it . . . maybe you could sit with me and Aramis?"

He glanced at her. "Shouldn't you -- run along now? Isn't this a bit dangerous for you?" He looked almost relieved to be looking at her again and not his father.

Maybe they don't get along? Is that why he's so gloomy?

"Dustil!" The Captain called out. His smile was beautiful. Real shame Dustil hadn't inherited it.

"Cease-fire will hold," Leesa told him. Wow. That was Revan. That was really Revan! She looked -- taller than she did on the vids. And her hair was really that bright natural red color. She tugged at her own dyed locks self-consciously. She was going to meet Revan.

" -- and here, Master, is where Senator Thomasi had me ambush three representatives from Berchest. Upon ascent, many sentients become dizzy. I small vial of nerve toxin in the air increased this sensation, and so they fell to their deaths. They made a very large splat on the green grass below. Rather like a painting, as their squishy insides became part of the organic landscape in a glorious splatter of red against the green -- "

"Shut the hell up, HK," Captain Onasi said. At his side, Revan fidgeted. She looked unarmed, but of course, she was Revan so who knew?

"Objection: I do not take orders from meatbag husbands. Lest you forget, Captain Flyboy, organic spouses may run a high risk of fatality in her company; whereas I persevere --"

"Cease, HK," Revan murmured. "Shut the hell up, like Carth told you." That voice. It was like, so really her. Her shap cut out with a sullen clank

"Dustil." The grav lift hovered and Carth Onasi stepped out of it, and caught his son in a rough hug. Revan followed behind, cupping her hand up to look to the stop of the steps. Beyond that was the Gate of Silver Justice and the entrance to Chambers.

"It's really cool to meet you both," Leesa said. Then she kicked herself a thousand times, because that wasn't the appropriate thing to say. At all. Especially now.

"I should have known you'd end up chatting with a beautiful woman at a time like this," Carth Onasi beamed his son. "Dustil, I was so worried -- are you okay?"

Dustil nodded. His father peered at him, with a slight frown on his face.

Leesa found her professional Third of Racharn voice again. Somehow. She smiled nervously at Revan. "In this time of enforced peace, I welcome you, D'Reev Second. I welcome you to the Game." She bobbed a quick Coruscanti curtsey. "I am Leeshansintina Evalyn Arabel Racharn, Third."

"Racharn. House Racharn." Green eyes examined her. "Did D'Reev send you to provide escort?" She looked like she was trying to say the right thing, but it was of course the totally wrong thing. The woman frowned. "Call me D'Reev First. Malachi's term has expired."

"Well that's something up to the vote . . . not my concern. Um . . . I just really wanted to see you and stuff before the games start again." Leesa cursed herself for being a total idiot. "I'm . . . like, a big fan. Of both of you."

A faint smile crossed Revan's face and her eyes passed over Leesa, rested on the Onasis. "I got the impression that you were," she murmured absently. "It's good to see you, again, Dustil," she called out. The Dark Lord of the Sith looked almost -- nervous. "We've been so worried. Mekel says he can't reach you . . . there are ysalamiri in D'Reev's apartments, aren't there? Has D'Reev harmed you in any way?"

Leesa looked over at Dustil. He'd extricated himself from his father's embrace and was standing there, looking broody and wary and at anything but Revan. She felt a pang of sympathy. Mother's husbands were a total pita, most of the time. She'd had five, one after the other. The latest one was a real asshole. Leesa felt really uncomfortable being around him. And it must be worse when you like, actually had been made from two parents and were natural-born and stuff.

"Where's my son, Malachor -- where's Korrie?" Revan corrected herself.

"Upstairs in Chambers." Dustil answered so low that you could barely hear him. His voice shifted. Leesa hadn't really noticed before, but now he was slurring his words, soft Telosian burr creeping into the enunciation. He swallowed. "Waiting for you." His hands were white-knuckled and clenched into fists.

"Statement: What a happy meatbag reunion, Master. Your Onasi meatbag husband is happily reunited with his meatbag son and all is, cloyingly, well. However, I would advise that you occupy your distracted and scattered organic thoughts with the House Racharn issue. I have just received word that there is a cease-fire, and I am not to use hostile force for the next twenty-seven hours."

Revan was staring up towards the gate as if none of the rest of them were there. "Huh?"

"Obvious Inference: If there was a cease-fire, there must have recently been an attack. This is why the Senator has recognized you. There is an old Coruscanti proverb: Keep your enemies close and use them to eviscerate your other enemies."

"What?" Revan's eyes widened, and Carth looked confused. Oh shit, they didn't know . . . Leesa edged away, closer to where her shap was stealthed. Accidents, after all, had been known to happen.

"Clarifying Statement: The actual proverb uses the word 'eliminate;' but I find that 'eviscerate' is really more appropriate. It adds the right nuance of metaphor, even when not taken literally. Of course, if you commanded me to take them literally I would be forced to comply. Would you like me to eviscerate this meatbag Racharn clone standing before us now? Please?" The droid paused, and its metallic eyes glinted a dark red. It whirred in something almost like a sigh. "Regrettably I must advise you that the consequence of breaking a ceasefire is total elimination of the House involved."

Leesa backed away. "CH, unstealth." Her shap obeyed. It was standing above her on the steps. She fumbled at her wrist to active her personal shields. Shit, what have I gotten myself into?

"House Racharn tried to assassinate the Senator?" Revan's red eyebrows lifted. She glanced at the droid, and then looked at Leesa. "Is this true?"

"No. Not Malachi. The attack was made against -- against your son, Re -- Revan." Dustil seemed to have a hard time saying her name. He closed his eyes. Game, he looked so noble and tragic. "I was there. I stopped it. "

Her face went white. Drained of color you could see faint lines under the surface of her skin. In the dappled golden light her features seemed etched in silver. Leesa felt a chill. Dark Lord of the Sith. Here I am, standing next to a hundred meter drop with the Dark Lord of the Sith while she learns that my mother tried to kill her son . . .

"He's not old enough to participate in the games!" Revan whirled and glared at her shap. "HK, you told me that!"

"Yes, Master. Normally that would be true. Obvious Conclusion: In order for Senator D'Reev to have a claim to the Mandalorian regency, Malachor must be formally recognized as his heir. By such recognition, his Eglatine status of immunity is dissolved."

"Mission didn't tell me, and you didn't tell me that was possible, HK." Revan's voice was dangerous.

It was like watching a hovercraft accident. Despite the potential risk to her own person, Leesa couldn't pull herself away.

"Objection: Master, in the lower circles of the aristocracy where the late Senator Thomasi traveled, it would not be possible. Such occurrences were rare, since the lesser Senators would lack the resources for protection. However, Senator Malachi D'Reev has an arsenal of defenses at his disposal. Sentimental Reassurance: I am sure that your meatbag father-in-law will let no harm come to your offspring. However, should some harm come to the Senator . . . do you still wish me to carry out the assassination protocols we discussed two point five weeks ago against Malachi D'Reev?"

Dustil made a noise in his throat. It sounded almost like laughter, or a sob. His father looked at him, frowning. "Son, are you all right? You look pale . . ."

He did look pale. Standing next to his father, you could really see it. There was a blue vein that fluttered on his temple, and dark shadows under his eyes like he'd been stimmed for a week.

"I expected them to move against me. Not my son." Revan's eyes settled on Leesa, and her lip curled in snarl that was almost feral. "Your House did this. Your mother tried to kill my son!"

"Don't --" Dustil mumbled. He caught her arm that was curving into a fist, stepping between Leesa and the pissed off insane Dark Lord of the Sith. "Don't," he repeated, voice a little stronger now. "Leesa's just an Amaltine; she's not involved. Malachor's fine now. He's safe in Chambers. He's -- he's waiting for you there. Go. Go to your son, Re-Revan." His hand holding hers was shaking. They were close to the same height and Revan looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Father and I -- " he shot a look at Carth quickly, and then back to her. "Dad and I will wait in the observatory. After the session . . . we'll see you after session." His voice dropped a little, but Leesa heard him just fine. Aural implants were a good thing to have, growing up in a family like hers. "Don't kill Malachi. Not yet. It's not safe for Mal."

"I want him ruined before he dies," she hissed back.

"Still single-minded." Dustil dropped her arm as if it burned. She looked at him, confused, then shook her head as if to clear it. "Go," he repeated. Follow the path, there's an archway. Guards there, they're expecting you. Go."

"Consolation: Master, we can always gut and torture the Amaltine Racharn later. Old Coruscanti proverb: Vengeance is a dish best served as a surprise. Although my programming advises me to accept times of enforced peace, after twenty-seven hours have passed, I will enjoy fulfilling my function for you very, very much. In keeping with the proverb, I recommend that we wait longer than twenty-seven hours to lull Racharn into a false sense of security . . ."

"Shut up, HK." Revan said something else, in a string of consonants that sounded like gibberish. Her shap answered her back with another string of gibberish.

"Nothing changes," Dustil muttered. He looked back at the older Onasi. "Ca -- Father. You can't -- we can't -- we can't come. Do you understand?"

"HK explained that part," said the older Onasi, eyes narrowing. Captain Onasi walked over to Revan and kissed her, lightly. He gave her an encouraging smile. ""Go on, beautiful. Go on, Freckles. We'll be here. Waiting for you."

"Dustil?" Revan shook her head. Her hands tugged at the heavy collar. "Can you -- can you get this off me? It's Force-locked. If you focus . . ."

"They won't let you in there without it. Nothing happens in Chambers. Go." Dustil's eyes dropped. "Malachi told me to tell you that," he added. "That you'll be safe. And -- your son is there. Malachor. He's -- he's there. Go. Don't do anything stupid. Just go." He swallowed hard. "Go see your son."

She cast one more confused glance at them and then the Dark Lord of the Sith got back in the lift followed by her shap, who was still babbling at her in more gibberish. With a whir, the craft started up the steps towards the Gate of Silver Justice.

Leesa's comm beeped. She glanced at her wrist. Aramis was paging her from the Observatory. "I've gotta go . . ." she began, and then realized how dumb it sounded.

Anyways, she might as well have been talking to thin air.

It was really pretty touching; the way Captain Onasi's chin trembled when he looked at his son. Like he was sensitive. A war hero who wasn't afraid to show his emotion. Wow. Dustil turned away from him and sat down on the steps. He put his head in hands. He might have even been crying.

Leesa couldn't wait to tell Aramis the whole thing. She'd totally squwoon.

---

XXX

Two CoruSec guards met her on the other side of the forcefield. The human, a man whose face looked older than his form, ran a scanner gingerly in the air around her and HK. His expression was carefully neutral, but the hands holding the scanner were white-knuckled. His companion, a green Twi'lek, stared at her with more open dislike. Revan noted the rifle he carried, not so casually, in his hands.

'She's clean,' the human admitted grudgingly. "The droid too." Without taking his eyes off of her he backed away to a console by the door of the room. The room itself was sterile and featureless. Revan wasn't sure what she'd expected. Crystal ferraglass, More artificial parks, maybe. But the entrance to Senate Chambers was antiseptic and deliberately bland. The walls were white and the ceilings were vaulted.

'Put this on.' The Twi'lek guard threw something black and folded to her and Revan caught it. A heavy piece of black cloth, slashed with red. Imperial grade eridu, hand-woven, only the best. It had red piping along the sides of it. She stared at it, uncertainly. The cloth was sewn into a loop, but it was too wide to be a belt.

'I'm sorry,' she began, 'I don't--'

'You're sorry? Hear that, Captain? Revan's sorry.'

'Don't, Lieutenant,' the human said. His lips tightened. 'It's a sash,' he told her. 'Sling it over your shoulder across your chest. Your house colors. D'Reev.' He made the word sound like an expletive.

Revan did as he'd instructed, smoothing the silky fabric against the coarser weave of her Mandalorian robes. She tried to keep her face still, keep calm, let nothing show -- not the strange mixture of fear and anticipation, not the small flower of something like hope. My son's here. Dustil said he was waiting for me. Whatever else, I'll see him, I'll see Malachor.

'On Dxun,' the human captain said suddenly, 'we waded through kilometers of jungle, waiting for fresh reinforcements. The Mandalorians had set up mines along the trail; half my squadron died. But the Jedi with us told us to keep going. Through the mines. We had the numbers, after all. After we set them off with our own bodies, some of us were bound to reach the other side.' His hand was shaking a little, resting on the blaster in his holster. 'I took offense, but she told me they'd had orders. Take a straight-on frontal assault right into the Mandalorian's main line of defense. Knock out their communications grids, disrupt their orbital receivers so that the rest of the Fleet could get through the Mandalorian net between us and Onderon.'

'So we've met,' Revan said. She looked at the floor, imagining a thousand meetings like this. Hello, my name is Revan Starfire. I'm so sorry that I destroyed your life. Let's be friends. 'I'm sorry that I --'

'Sorry, you're sorry. No. The Jedi's name was Pando. Something Pando. Pretty girl, young. Wide-eyed and green as our Cally. She wasn't even supposed to be in charge. She was just there to link us to the Fleet, to our HQ. But she started giving us orders and the CO said we had to obey them. Even if they were suicide. The orders . . . came from above. From the Fleet's little miracle sitting somewhere above the atmo, safe on a flagship. Your orders. They didn't risk you groundside, not then. Didn't make you wade through your squad's guts running up a hill through the mud . . . do you know what happened, when we reached our target?'

Revan didn't remember any of it, but a sinking part of her mind silently supplied the answer. Tactically, it was the only thing that made sense. These were Mandalorians. Lure them into a battle of sand, then blast them from the air and stars. We fired on them, from above. Bombed them all, Republic and Mandalorian alike. Maybe I thought that would make them stop. . . . She shook her head trying to stop rationalizing it. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated out loud.

'It was the same thing you did at Malachor, pretty much. Malachor V. If I hadn't punched out my CO during the Weis assault, I'd have been there too. Almost everyone that was there died. So I'd be dead. Funny worlds.'

Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation. The old man wanted to ask her a question. His eyes were so kind. Malak's hand was a feather touch on her arm and Revan felt like a princess in the white gown . . .

'Erik,' the Twi'lek said. "Don't bother."

'Fate just keeps bringing me back to D'Reev. The old man, the kid, and now you.' The captain's commlink chimed and he glanced at his wrist. 'They're ready now. Expecting you. Go right on in.'

"Do you mind if I ask you a question, Revan Starfire? My son and I play a little game sometimes. I suppose the Jedi have similar games. Scenarios. It's just a little test."

She smiled at the old man. He looked so careworn, with the fate of the galaxy resting on those stooped shoulders. "Go ahead," she murmured, politely.

"The Republic is at peace. With no external threat, all sentients become complacent. And so your empire stagnates. Graft, corruption, civil unrest are inevitable. Systems secede; economic disasters follow. What would you do, little Jedi? How would you stop it?"

'I'm --' In the present, Revan tried to explain, tried to silence the fragment that was less than a memory.

Clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation.

"Give them a cause to believe in," Malak said. His hand tightened on her arm. "Religion, or an ideology. A vision of a united Republic. A utopia worth striving for where all sentients live in peace . . ."

The old man scowled at his son, then turned and smiled at Revan again.

"I know what your answer is, son. I'm curious to hear your friend's response. I've heard so much about you, Revan Starfire."

Revan tried to find words again. "I'm sorr--"

The Captain -- Erik -- let out a bark of laughter. 'Doesn't really matter. You Jedi are all the same. Makes no difference to us peons who fight your wars with our own sweat and guts and blood.'

There was nothing to say. Revan straightened the sash across her chest, keeping her head high and walked through the door that had opened in front of her. Blessedly silent for once, HK clanked on behind her.

In her mind again the clink of glasses and the murmur of soft conversation.

"Give them a cause," her fourteen-year old self's voice was clear and decisive. "But the galaxy is large, and sentients have different goals. Different religions. Different ideologies . . ."

"Indeed," said Malachi D'Reev. He gave her a kindly smile and she felt a flush of pride. Malak was scowling at her and shaking his head. He ran a hand through his brown curls and rolled his eyes.

"Give them a cause," fourteen-year old Revan repeated. "One that everyone can respect. Not religion. Not philosophy." She frowned. "Historically, the Republic has been most united in times of --"

"Do go on," the old man beamed.

" -- war," Revan shrugged. "An external threat. Something that endangers every sentient." She shrugged again. "But the Republic is at peace. There hasn't been anything to challenge it in more than thirty years . . ."

Across the room the Bithan musicians began playing a three-part fugue. Her feet tapped in time with the music. The glass of champa she'd drunk made her head spin in a pleasant haze. She leaned against Malak, smiling at his father, pleasantly. Whatever war was, it was very far away from this.

"Dance with me," her best friend murmured in her ear. "Frell my father, Revvie. Dance with me."

And then she and Malak spun in an old Coruscanti dance, like stars among the other -- lesser -- satellites.

The way this had been supposed to work was, Malachi D'Reev would be greedy or stupid enough to accept Revan, because he'd want Malachor's claim to the Mandalorians. Then they could kill him with impunity. Of course, the old man would have his own resources, and Mission had prided herself on not underestimating that.

She had neglected to account for things Revan hadn't bothered to tell her.

Just because you were practically omnipotent, given enough circuits to hack into, didn't make you fracking omniscient.

She heard the news about the change in plans filtered through the security mainframe. Now, Mekel and the Mandalorians were standing in line to get into the public viewstation on the thirty-third tier of the Senate chambers. On the surface this latest wrinkle was good news -- the old man had caved. Recognized Revan as his heir without any of the fanfare they'd expected.

But as a fourteen-year old Twi'lek growing up in Taris' undercity you learn not to take things at face value. Everyone has their own agenda. Like that schutta Lena Wee used to say: figure out the angles. Do the math.

You don't go from ruining someone's reputation on a galactic scale to welcoming them into the bosom of your family in one easy step. There had to be something going on.

There had to be something that the Senator knew -- or thought he did.

If she had a stomach it would definitely be sinking because there was one really really easy card the Senator could play, if he knew about it.

She had to assume that he did.

On Glory Road Farm, a commlink rang, but no one was home to answer it.

Mekel was still a little unsteady on his feet. Millifar and Kex supported him on either side.

"This Force of yours seems more like a curse than a gift," Canderous' daughter said.

Mekel's skin receptors flushed again. If Mission had feet she would have kicked him.

Another guard waited outside the room. An Echani male, dressed in the CoruSec Senate livery, white on white. His uniform, hair and skin were all so close to the same shade that he almost seemed to melt into the wall.

'The Senate will be hearing the minor docket first,' he told her. 'Senator D'Reev has requested that the Mandalorian issue . . . and related other issues be delayed, to give his House time to deal with some internal . . . matters.'

'Ah,' Revan kept her face neutral. The featureless hallway wound in a spiral and their boots clattered on the cold stone floor. On either side, several arched doorways, all sealed. Two hovering drones, globular and black, trailed their progress.

'The Senator is fortunate that I was already here, to present his terms to you in person. Naturally, my organization has several representatives within the complex; but having a senior member of our . . . Order present his arrangement may stress its importance.' He took her arm in a gesture that was almost familiar. Revan willed herself not to pull away, or flinch, or look confused. 'I do also admit . . . a certain -- pleasure is derived from this opportunity to see you again.'

"Statement: this meatbag is more than he appears, Master." She'd threatened HK with deactivation more than once since his helpful interjections on the stairs. Now, her droid almost sounded hesitant. Respectful.

"Silence until I say otherwise," she snapped at him in Rakatan. Don't frack this up for me, HK.

Her blank smile froze and she turned back to the Echani. 'So, we've met?' Great, another one. Let me guess: did I bomb your planet? Destroy your way of life? Make you a widower? Dark laughter welled from some place inside her soul. It was the only reaction she could have without falling down and giving up completely. Malachor. Think of Malachor. My son. My son is here. Mine. My son . . . and people are trying to kill him. Keep him safe. Take him away from this. Get my son.

"We met rather recently, in the grand scheme of things. On Kashyyyk.'

That was not what she'd expected. Her mind ran through possibilities, faces half-remembered of the Czerka Corporation employees, vendors -- but ---

'You said organization. Your organization . . . Czerka?' No. A part of her mind whispered. Order. He said his order.

His head tilted and those pale eyes blinked. They had stopped in front of an archway with two doors. He touched the security panel set into one of them and it opened. Inside, a plain room, two chairs, a small table. 'Have a seat, Revan.' His thin lips pulled in a smile. 'Would you prefer Lord Revan? Or Fett Lin?'

'Just Revan is fine.' She went into the room and sat down on one of the chairs, folded her hands on her lap to keep them from pulling at the collar, tried to ignore the panic. HK clanked obediently behind her. Revan took a deep breath and hoped her guess was correct. 'Should I call you . . . .Overseer?'

'We're not really much for titles, despite whatever Hulas might have told you. You know it's almost a pity that you didn't uncover my ruse back on Kashyyyk. If I had known, I could have offered you better terms than his . . .'

Her mind searched for a name, and found it. 'You're Rulan. Rulan Prolik.'

'Guilty.' He nodded to her. 'Of many things perhaps in this lifetime, but who can say what will happen in the next? Give my regards to your little ghost; I grew quite fond of her during our journey together.'

Little ghost . . .' Mission told me you couldn't act outside of D'Reev interests,' Revan began cautiously. "But also that you would not interfere."

"Those were our original terms, yes. The Senator contacted me an hour ago and asked for a -- renegotiation of his arrangement. I cautioned him that I'm not entirely sure -- what, with your old memory gone, and the rather clumsy example Hulas set regarding our methods -- that you have the proper respect for our Order. After all, threats only really work if they are threatening, don't you agree?' He gave her a thin-lipped smile.

'D'Reev interests are my interests, does Malachi --' call him Malachi because it's familiar, it implies that you know him, even if you can't remember any fracking thing about it '-- does Malachi expect me to be frightened of you?'

'I should, perhaps, elaborate on the original terms of our agreement, since you may not know." He gave her a thin smile. "That's the variable. You see, no one is really sure what you know and what you do not."

Revan gritted her teeth. "Just tell me, Rulan. Is it okay if I call you Rulan?" She let her voice drop to a threatening growl. "Would you prefer Lord Rulan?"

The Genoharadan ignored her attempt at sarcasm. "There is an abbey on Dathomir whose operating expenses are entirely funded by D'Reev. In return, the Genoharadan do not accept any assignments concerning Malachor D'Reev, a child of eight. Your natural-born son. The nuns at the abbey are lovely people. The Order of the Holy Nebula, they call it.' His pale eyes blinked.

'And this is the clause he wants to change? Is Malachi is threatening my son?' Her voice raised, and the Echani who was no Echani pursed his lips thoughtfully.

'Interesting, your reaction. You should know that the Senator is listening to this conversation. There's a live feed. So sad the way families grow apart, I think he worries that he doesn't really know you. Or your -- motives.' He tapped his hand absently on his knee, and for a moment, his face shifted, and a half-familiar lined visage, hawk-like nose, and hooded eyes stared at her, coldly. The eyes -- now in this light a dark gray -- blinked at her again. 'I should be blunt. Do you truly care for the child?'

Shapeshifer, you knew Rulan was a shapeshifter. Don't panic. 'Malachor is my son.' Keep your voice steady. Don't say more than you have to.

'The Senator asked me to make sure that you are aware, the fact that he is your son is precisely why Malachor's life is in danger now. Again, he is uncertain. We hardly have time to go through the intricacies of the Coruscanti great houses now . . . but you should be aware that House Racharn -- that's another Senate house --'

'I -- met one of the Racharns -- on the Senator's Walk.' Her voice hardened. 'I heard. Racharn tried to kill Malachor. Today.' Keep your voice hard. "And that's why we're here, isn't it?"

'I trust the Racharn caused you no offense?"

"None that was intentional." Her hair was dyed red; I half thought she was going to ask us for autoprints and then have her droid shoot us. She was drooling all over my husband and his son. If Dustil hadn't stopped me, I -- I don't know what I would have done. 'She was a kid -- a -- child. No offense -- but my son is not a pawn for Malachi's games!' Use the scary voice. Sound decisive.

'Hm, interesting.'

Don't try and strangle the shapeshifting Overseer of the Genoharadan unarmed, while wearing a neural disrupter in the middle of the most heavily-guarded complex on Coruscant . . .

Rulan Prolik tapped his ear thoughtfully, and then continued. 'I have been instructed to tell you the terms. There has been one significant alteration to our original contract with Malachi D'Reev. Should the Senator die or any way lose any of his faculties -- before his grandson's twenty-fifth birthday, (at twenty-five Senate heirs graduate from the Amaltine Academy to full adulthood, you understand), our organization has been paid to devote its considerable resources to Malachor's extermination.' He paused. 'The Senator did request that we try for a painless death. You'll find the man is not without some measure of compassion.'

Pale eyes watched her reaction, very, very carefully. Revan tried very hard not to react at all. 'And my death too, I'd assume?' she said finally, as lightly as she could.

It's a bluff. It has to be.

'His original request stipulated this; but your computer's previous negotiation with me covered you, both of the Onasis, and all other survivors of the Ebon Hawk crew. A binding contract of non-interference. The Senator seemed saddened, but I may interject -- also rather impressed -- that you had accounted for this possibility. Even without the non-interference clause, however, I'd give you some measure of odds against our efforts. You did, somewhat remarkably, evade our notice before. I hardly need to point this out to you, Revan, but I believe Malachi is counting on your unwillingness to risk Malachor in the same fashion.'

It has to be a bluff, but he's right. I can't risk it. What if it's not?

'I suppose I'm not Malachi's only enemy. This . . . agreement would force me to protect him too.'

I can't be his only enemy. House Racharn is already moving against him. And he's been a Senator for a very, very long time.

A heavy eyebrow lifted. 'I'm pleased you've retained a level of perceptiveness. Indeed, you are not his only enemy. Although, as an outside observer -- rather like an arbiter, one might say -- I find it fascinating, considering your history, that Malachi expects this to be an effective tactic. In the past sacrifice to achieve your goals was practically a trademark.' He shrugged. 'Then again, he has also asked me to offer the additional terms. You will replace Malachor as the D'Reev Second. The Senator has already registered you as such, as a gesture of good will. In return, you will not challenge D'Reev's right to the Senate seat, and, when Malachor enters the age of reason, Malachi will voluntarily step down in favor of his Third. In return, he offers you the vast resources of D'Reev interests for your own . . . designs, whatever they may be, as long as they do not jeopardize himself, his interests, or his heir.'

And there it is. The thisla treat . . . two thisla treats . . . he'll give me my son, and he'll give me power. So -- where's the stick? Is it Malachor's life or is there something more? This can't have been his original plan . . . what was his original plan? What does he think he has on me?

'His term has expired.' Revan pointed out. 'Why should I wait on him?' Aside from the fact that an eight-year old against the Genoharadan stands less of a chance than the real Polla Organa on the Star Forge. . . She did not bite her lip or look concerned, but it was an effort.

"I admire your efforts to dissemble, but D'Reev has already been informed by one of the Jedi council members that their analysis of your motivation rests entirely on the well-being of your child." Rulan shrugged. "Of course, you've fooled Jedi before, Lord Revan. But it seems to me that D'Reev is offering you power as well, should you choose to take it."

"Don't call me that," she snapped automatically. Think, think. What's the catch. What's in the side deck, where's the stick?

The shapeshifter spread his hands open palms upward in the universal gesture of peace. "My apologies."

"What's to stop me from just taking what I want?" Make your voice cold and hard and don't think of him. Don't think of Malachor. Find out what D'Reev thinks he has on you.

The shapeshifter raised an eyebrow. "Sadly, I do not know. The Senator does not make my organization privy to all of his plans."

"Take me to him." Revan took a deep breath. "Now."

"The terms?"

"Acceptable." Malachor.

"Witnessed." The shapeshifter's form shimmered into a nondescript human form, brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin. He got up from his chair and went to the far wall. Seamlessly it slid open, revealing a larger room.

The first thing she noticed was the shimmer of a blue forcefield.

And behind it, just like that, there he was.

Malachor.

'You're going to get a burn standing so close to the field. Move away, stand up straight, and remember what I told you.'

Grandfather was using that I'm-in-charge voice that once upon a time would have made Korrie do exactly what Grandfather wanted. Only now . . . things were different. Grandfather just didn't know it yet. Now . . . Mother was coming, and Father was here and they'd be together again for always, maybe -- even though when Korrie tried to get Father to promise that, Father just looked away and said that he was only trying to keep Korrie safe. No matter what, Korrie was not allowed to tell anyone that Dustil wasn't Dustil anymore. Korrie had wondered if Dustil was dead; but Father said no, Dustil was still there -- just sort of locked up in a faraway place.

Dustil had been mean, he'd destroyed Korrie's dolls and he'd said they weren't going to be brothers after all.

When Korrie was bad, grandfather sent him to his room -- so really, it was only fair. Dustil needed a timeout and Father needed a body to keep Korrie safe. It had all worked out perfect.

And if Father hadn't done what he'd done, Korrie would be dead. For real and for true. He looked at the faint pink mark on his arm again, where the dart had gone in. It had hurt alot, and then it had stopped hurting and all he'd seen was white light and warm and safe like feathers. For a second, he'd even thought he'd heard her singing to him again, but that must have been his maginashun; because even though she was coming and he knew this because Grandfather said so, Korrie couldn't feel her at all. He pressed his hand experimentally against the blue sparkly forcefield again. It tingled.

'Stop that,' Grandfather sighed. 'Sit in the chair, Malachor.'

'You said if I was good you'd let me hug her.'

'I said, possibly. Sit in the chair now.' Korrie glanced back. Grandfather had the thoughtful expression on his face again. He wasn't really listening to Korrie at all. He tapped the receiver strapped to his ear again and smiled. Grandfather's scary I'm-in-charge smile.

'No,' Korrie said. He'd figured it out himself, all by himself, and he didn't even need to ask Father if he was right. Grandfather needed him to be there to convince Mother of something. So really, no matter how terrible and bad Korrie was, Grandfather wasn't going to do anything about it.

'You're growing up.' Grandfather almost looked proud.

'I'll be nine soon,' Korrie reminded him. This would probably be the best birthday ever, because Father and Mother would both be here maybe -- except for Leeshy probably wouldn't be allowed to come. 'Can you make up with House Racharn? Please? I want Leeshy to come to my party.'

Grandfather made a rude noise through his nose. 'Her mother tried to kill you. Don't you feel anger, fear, some desire to pay them back in kind?'

'It's important not to let anger cloud your desishuns,' Korrie told him. That was what Father said, after Korrie got mad at Dustil for blowing up the dolls. 'Anger leads to bad things.'

Grandfather looked mean. 'Who told you that?'

'Sidona,' Korrie lied.

Grandfather frowned. 'A year of Padawan training and my butler thinks she's a Jedi councilmember. Anger is just another thing to be controlled, Korrie. It's another tool, nothing more and nothing less.'

Korrie grinned back. 'Well maybe there are better tools then? Different ones?'

'Maybe,' said a voice from the doorway on the other side of the forcefield.

And justlikethat there she was.

Mother.

Just stay calm, Onasi. It's a very long drop down. Revan was out of sight now. She couldn't be walking into a trap -- or at least she couldn't be walking into a trap that they didn't already expect and, regardless, there was nothing he could do. The CoruSec had explained the rules very thoroughly at the entrance to Senator's Walk. They'd taken a swab from Revan's cheek. Anyone who wasn't genetically cleared to pass through to Chambers would be fried by the force field at the gate. Pretty basic security. You're either in or you're out.

This is what you fought all those battles for, Onasi. A bunch of elitist aristos who treat assassination like a game.

The Racharn tweener and her droid were almost down the steps now, disappearing into the mists of the artificial meadow. This compound, or park, or whatever it was, was hung like a ring at the top of the Senate chambers.

He and the boy were finally alone.

Carth reached into his pocket and pulled out the Mandalorian repeater that Canderous had given him. It was small and primitive and used metal slugs. The repeater had passed through the gamut of security scans undetected.

You just let your wife walk into a trap unarmed and defenseless.

Maybe, but the real question is . . . where's the real trap?

The boy was sitting on the steps not looking at him, with his head buried in his hands. He didn't even flinch when Carth stuck the pistol in the back of his head.

"Don't move," Carth said. "Who -- or what are you and what have you done with my son?"

The boy's shoulders shook. It took Carth a moment to realize he was laughing.

"Where's my son?" Carth repeated, trying to keep his voice even. His finger tightened on the trigger.

"Your son is here, Captain." It wasn't Dustil's voice. Not even the bad imitation of Dustil's voice he'd used before. This voice was older, deeper -- and, almost familiar. The voice made his skin crawl. "How did you know?'

Carth swallowed. Your son is here. How? What? Did D'Reev brainwash him like he did me?

"The way that you moved, the way you talked, the way you let me hug you instead of trying to pull away. What are you? One of D'Reev's tricks? Holomask? Android?" My son? Twisted like D'Reev tried to twist me?

"No. Dustil is here. This is his body. Harm me, and you harm your son." The boy turned around to face him, ignoring the weapon leveled at his head. His familiar black eyes stared at Carth and he started to get to his feet. One side of his mouth pulled into an expression Carth had never seen on Dustil's face. It could be a smile, or it could be a snarl. Carth kept the repeater trained on him, backing away, uncomfortably aware that they were standing on the edge of a very high drop.

"Dustil. Did D'Reev do something to you? Talk, talk fast."

"Red notices nothing. My own father remains oblivious. But you . . . a father's love for his son, I should have realized that I couldn't fool you, Captain. I haven't harmed your son. You have my word on that." He closed his eyes and spread out his hands in a gesture of peace. "When my son is safe, I'll leave Dustil to his body. But not before."

"Your son . . ." That voice.

Frozen on the Leviathan and listening to that voice. Almost the same, but synthesized through a metal prosthesis attached to the Sith Lord's jaw.

"Tell me, is it vengeance you seek at this reunion?"

"Reunion? What do you mean, reunion?"

The Dark Lord of the Sith laughed at them all. Horrible metallic laughter that echoed in the blast chamber. Carth watched the woman he'd thought was Polla Organa's face change, crumple then harden with a terrible resolve under the assault of it. Her lips moved and she whispered a name.

"Malak."

"Can this be true? You still haven't realized, you still don't know who you really are?"

Too quickly, she shook her head. "No. This is a trick. This is a lie."

Only it wasn't. Carth knew. Saul's dying words to him hadn't been a lie.

"You must have seen flashes of your old life in your dreams, Red; memories bubbling up to the surface?"

Carth couldn't move. Bastila just stood there, white-faced and trembling. The bastard had him frozen with the Force and the woman he thought he'd loved was someone else entirely.

Polla, who was not Polla at all, stared at Darth Malak with an expression that he couldn't understand. There were too many things in it. Frozen by Force stasis all Carth could do was replay Saul Karath's dying words in his mind again and again.

"Think upon this, when you look at those who you thought were your friends . . . "

"Mal --" Polla whispered. "No! I'm Polla! Polla Organa!"

The man's dark laughter echoed through the room.

Carth's head jerked back to the present. It was his son's mouth making these words; but his son had never sounded like this.

The black eyes that should have been Dustil's stared at him, unblinking. "Congratulations on your -- marriage. This . . . is awkward, but I am very happy for you. You -- you make Red happy. That's . . . good." Dustil's lips whitened. "I wanted her to be happy."

You want to save your son. You want us to be happy. Right. And I have an ocean on Tatooine to sell you for a very reasonable price.

"Get out of his body. Now." Carth tried to imbue some authority in his words. Sound not terrified. Sound threatening. Enraged. "How dare you? Dustil? Can you hear me, Dustil?"

The laughter was too bitter to be Dustil's. Too sharp.

"My son won't survive the games Malachi and Revan play. Not on his own. My father thinks he can keep him safe by sending him away. Like he did me. But the Jedi Order is more secure than a fortified moon in the Corellian sector. The Order was outside of the game; the fortress would only be a challenge to the other Houses. Racharn will not be the only one to move. Between the two of them, Revan and my father have collected more enemies than allies. And sensing weakness, scavengers circle. My father . . . trusts Dustil now. I saved his heir's life. Left in his own body, would your son have done the same?"

Carth swallowed. "How dare you -- how did you -- you're dead!" Inside a part of his brain that was usually rational was gibbering. Just one word, just one name.

Malak. Malak is . . . Malak.

Dustil's head nodded. "There is much good in your son -- although, circumstances are not kind in bringing it out. I keep both of them safe, Captain Onasi. Both of them. And I understand this world. I was born to it. You and Revan were not. These steps . . . are one of the few places in the complex not monitored by one surveillance system or another. One of the few places we can speak freely." His son's lip curled in an unfamiliar sneer. "You need me. However . . . uncomfortable that may be for us both."

"We're fine! We don't need your help." Carth waved the repeater. "Get out of my son's body now!"

The . . . the thing gave a low chuckle and crossed its arms, eerily mimicking the dead Sith Lord's stance. "Do you really think you can stand against me, Carth Onasi? What are you going to do, shoot your own son?"

"I haven't forgotten the things you've done!"

"Nor have I." The black eyes hardened and the mouth pulled down, sketching unfamiliar lines of pain on Dustil's face. "Red doesn't know how lucky she is. Sometimes, I wonder . . . if you would have loved Revan as much as you love what she has become."

"She doesn't like that name," Carth snapped

"It's hers. Her name is Revan."

"I know that." The false panorama, the small artificial sun above them, the impossibly green lawn below, these wide golden stairs, all gave the setting the appearance of a dream. Carth wondered suddenly if everything leading up to this had even been real. Stubbornly he continued on, even as his mind tried to make sense of this, think of a way to get to Dustil through this stranger's dark gaze. "I meant Red. Don't call her that, she hates it."

The ghost looking out at him with his son's face turned away, his shoulders tightened. "Does she?"

Carth's laughter sounded ugly in his own ears. A part of him inside snapped. This was -- this was too much, too much to handle. Too much to accept. "And now you're back? You think you can waltz in here and reclaim your-- your --"

"My wife?" It was so wrong so wrong, that voice coming out of Dustil's mouth. "Don't be disgusting. I'm dead. I want my son to be safe. That is all."

"Why should I believe that?" Carth kept a firm grip on the repeater. Cold metal grip, keep the barrel pointed. If he goes for you, shoot. Shoot your son. Kill Dustil, but Malak's already dead so what can you do to him?

It was impossible. Untenable. There was no way out of this. No way at all. Outgunned, outmaneuvered. Stall, stall for time.

"It's the truth. I could make you believe it." Dustil's eyes looked thoughtful. "But I'd prefer not to. You've suffered, Captain. You aren't entirely . . . yourself."

His son's body crossed its arms. The gesture wasn't Dustil's. His feet shifted slightly, he stood like a soldier, like a fighter. Like a Sith Lord. "You have to understand, Captain. My son -- my son would be dead if I had done nothing. I could shield him from the Force, dead. Against the games the great Coruscanti houses play, I could do nothing. If Revan hadn't played this particular card, none of this --"

"What was she supposed to do?" Carth heard his voice crack, as if it was coming out of a stranger's ears. "The Fleet, the Council and the Senate would be standing in line to detain her if she hadn't --"

"Proclaimed herself Mandalore and heir to the D'Reev senate seat?" The boy--the man -- the ghost inside his son's body rubbed his temples. "I was working with Malachor. With our son. Weakening my father's defenses. A quick strike, surgical, clean, precise . . ."

"Like Telos? Or Taris?"

The ghost ignored that. "Does she -- "

"It's none of your business what she does!" His voice cracked. "How do I know you're not in league with D'Reev? How do I know that you're not controlling D'Reev?"

"I wish I could." It was wrong, so wrong to hear that much bitterness coming out of his son's mouth. "Extreme Force-resistance and high Force-sensitivity run in families. Malachi is a good example of the former. I can't reach his mind, I can barely glimpse pieces of it . . . but what I see there . . . worries me. Your mind, Carth Onasi, is much easier to see. Love for your son. Love for your wife." His mouth twisted. "Are we really that different?"

"You had no right -- no right at all -- to do this to Dustil!"

"My son would be dead. And . . . you -- you do care for him." Morgana's black eyes scanned his face. "He reminds you of Revan, and you love her. Believe me. Your son is unharmed."

"Where is he then? If it's like you say, let me talk to him." Carth's mind frantically ran through the angles, trying to find something -- anything. Dustil, oh gods, Dustil . . .

"He came to me. He asked me what to do about the Sith. He wanted to know how not to fall. He was frightened and confused." Mercilessly, the man continued. "He came to me because he'd felt that sweetness so close to madness, because he'd brought death. He came to me because he had no where else to go. And then he offered to help us."

"And then he let you do this to him? Is he even there? Can he hear me? Dustil?" There was nothing of Dustil. Not in the expression, the stance, or the voice.

"No, then I betrayed him." For an odd moment Carth wondered which one of them he was trying to punish with his words The voice was flat. "Because I had to. Revan would have done the same."

"No. Not the Revan that I know." Carth clenched his fists. "When I tell her about this --" he tried to make the words sound menacing. The ghost twitched his son's brows in an expression that made him realize how futile an effort it was. The ghost knew the truth.

I can't tell her. I won't tell her. The reasons why. . . The reasons why were more than he could articulate, even to himself. My son. My wife. But what if she . . . doesn't see it that way? What if she sees Dustil as a threat? What if she tries to kill Malak again . . . in my son's body? Or what if . . . Carth closed his eyes, willing the rest of that thought to vanish before the Sith Lord plucked it from his mind.

The -- thing -- pulled his son's mouth into tight line. "Red must not know. I think we can reach an understanding on that issue, Captain." The -- monster -- in Dustil's body glanced at the chronometer on his wrist. "Senate debates begin soon." The -- the fiend from hell -- gave him a ghost of a smile. "Allow me to escort you to the Observatory. We'll have a good view from there and . . . perhaps the opportunity to talk more. There's much -- too much that I don't understand. What is she doing with the Mandalorians? And the Sith? Dustil told me about Arca Trinii." His lips twisted on the word 'Mandalorian,' and for a surreal moment Carth was reminded of the war, and a simpler time when all he'd had to worry about was stopping the Mandalorian threat.

Only things are never that simple, are they, Onasi?

Old enemies . . . He thought of Canderous and for an insane moment tried to imagine trusting Malak the same way. An insane moment. Just one.

No.

"Get out. Get out of my son's body. Now."

"Would you trade your son's life for my son's? No. I explained to you why I cannot." The unfamiliar voice, the too familiar voice -- he'd heard it in his nightmares ever since the Leviathan -- slipped into a mockery of a Telosian accent again. "Your son is safe. Furious, but safe. I -- I will try and help him too, Captain. Perhaps he was right, coming to me. I do understand the darkness he faces. More than you ever can. Power . . . is not an easy thing to put aside. Dustil is strong with the Force. And trained on Korriban -- we -- we did not train them well on Korriban. Not for peace."

I'll find someone who can explain this to me. I'll find someone to help me rip this creature out of Dustil's head. Maybe the Jedi. Maybe one of the Jedi. . . or Oerin Lin, whom I trust about as much as a Rodian with spice fever. Whatever. It -- it doesn't matter. I'll find someone. I'll save you, Dustil.

Dustil's face just looked at him, as if the thing could read every thought in his head.

He probably can, Carth thought, bleakly.

The thing shook his head. "Not every thought. There's much in your mind that I'd rather not see." It closed Dustil's eyes and took a deep breath. "Trust," the fiend from hell said, "begins with an equal playing field. There are . . . techniques I can teach you. To shield your thoughts from Force-users. Force blindness can be an asset too, as my father well knows. I can teach you. I can teach your son. And I will." It folded Dustil's hands and bowed slightly to him, in an old gesture. One Carth hadn't seen since Dantooine. "You have my word. The word of the man I was. The word of Jedi Knight Malak D'Reev."

"Jedi lie!" Carth shot back.

"All the time," the thing replied. "But always for the greater good." Its mouth twisted. "Look. I don't give a bantha's ass about the greater good. Not anymore. I care about my son. Above all things. So perhaps I -- misspoke. I give you my word. As a father, Captain. As one father to another."

"And Revan?"

The ghost laughed, short and bitter. "Is there any response I can give that . . . encompasses . . . For a time it was easy to reach her. She called for me, even when she didn't realize she was doing it. But once she learned of Malachor's existence, she shut me out. Almost completely. If she'd listened to me . . . I would have never bothered your son. I could have helped her steal Malachor away before the world knew he existed. But they will know now, and they will try and kill him." The ghost bowed Dustil's dark head and stared at the ground. "Because of us," the fiend from hell whispered. "Because of who we were and what we did."

The yellow light filtered down, glinting on the wide golden steps. The artificially blue sky of the dome was so bright that it made Carth's eyes ache. His hand holding the repeater trembled.

Dustil. I'll find a way to get you out of this, son. I promise.

"And now, here we are," the ghost said.

"And now here we are," Carth echoed emptily. Dustil, I'll find a way to get you out of this. I promise.

"I am sorry," the thing added, softly.

XXX