Too Many Justins - Chapter 56

Just a reminder: Usual disclaimer stuff. All characters remain the property of their creators. Additionally, song lyrics remain the property of the lyricist. (In this chapter that would be: Sting; Rob Thomas, Itaal Shur; John Mayer)

Chapter 56 – What's In Your Heart

“Nothing is more terrifying than telling someone you love them, mostly because they may not love you back.”

- Unknown

Tarre and Dustil lay on their backs, basking in the warm sun, the slack tide leaving them a wide stretch of hard packed sand on which to recline.

Tarre sat up. “Dustil,” she said, “did you notice that boat over there?”

“Hmm?” he replied, his eyes still closed. He had no intention of moving.

“Over there,” Tarre said, nudging him with her hand.

“Yup. Boat.”

“You're not looking.”

“Of course I'm not. I'm trying to take a nap.”

The little red-head thought about making a sly crack about his lack of stamina for being so young, but decided against it. “If he wants to rest,” she thought, “let him.”

The boat was a short ways off the beach even with the tide fully out, bobbing atop the waves. A trimaran, a central hull flanked by a pair of smaller hulls, one on each side, it looked like some giant, glossy white bird settling on the rolling surf, its towering mast rocking back and forth.

“Well, I'm going to go have a look.”

Just as she worked back to her feet, Dustil gave off a loud rattling from his stomach. “Hungry much?” she asked, looking down at him. “You know, you look a little pink, my lad. You should put some sunscreen on.”

Dustil opened one eye, the other squeezed shut against the brilliant sky. “You should talk, Peaches.”

Tarre gave him a playful scowl and then set off toward the sailboat, her bare feet leaving shallow impressions in the damp sand.

“Confound her!” Dustil said to himself, “now I am hungry!”

“Tarre,” he called as she walked down into the water, “I'm going to go back to that hotel and get something to eat.”

He saw her look back and her mouth moved, but from where she was he couldn't hear her over the water.

“Get something for me too,” he felt inside his head. He liked the sensation, liked feeling her inside him that way, and he twisted his shoulders and his back, working the feeling around his whole body. “But you'd better put your clothes back on. I don't want anybody seeing you in that condition.” He felt her laugh and he looked down, suddenly embarrassed by the sight of all his own skin. He quickly grabbed his tunic and with a wistful glance up at his underwear fluttering in the breeze, he pulled it on over his head.

Then he noticed Tarre's clothes sitting in a pile next to his and a sly smile crossed his face.

*

Mission looked around, trying to decide what to do.

She didn't really want to go check up on Gwarshawk, not after Tang's assurances that the young Wookie was both safe and well entertained. 'Mother hen' was not an epithet Mission ever wanted applied to her. “Leave that for Bastila,” she thought. Nor did she want to go back inside and see what Juhani or the lady Jedi might be interested in doing. And she certainly didn't want to sit with Carth and Tianna Ression. So she took a walk.

She followed one of the many stone-paved paths away from the pool, away from the house, just walking and admiring the natural beauty of the place. The wind was less here than at the landing pad, the path much more protected by the trees and ground cover, but what little breeze there was was warm and fragrant, myriad flowers and fruits scenting the air. As she walked past a particularly lovely cluster of white flowers she wished she had hair so she could pick one and wear it over her ear, but she plucked one off anyway and carried it with her.

The path led up around the mountain face quite a long ways before she noticed a small sign: 'Stables' with an arrow pointing further along her path. She looked at the sign and then back at the path she'd just walked.

Mission took a breath, looking at the sky and she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.

“Some other time,” she said aloud and then started back to the house. “Besides, I'm not big on animals.”

*

“So...” said Carth, looking around casually as he sipped his cold drink.

“Yes?” replied Tianna, sipping her own.

“This is nice.”

The blonde nodded, both in agreement with Carth and for her beverage. She'd never been much for alcohol, but then she'd never been much for sitting poolside in the middle of a glorious afternoon having a drink with a handsome man she might just be in love with.

“I could get used to this,” Carth added.

“You don't really mean that.”

“Oh, yeah. Granted I could never afford a place like this.”

“Who could?”

“Well, someone, obviously.”

Tianna laughed. Carth joined her. After a moment she shook her head. “No.”

“What do you mean 'no'?”

“No, I can't see you getting used to a place like this.”

“Why not?”

“You're an Admiral for one thing. Admirals can't just sit around by the pool drinking Nitkas.”

“Why not? It's after lunch.”

Tianna laughed. “You really seem serious! Settle down?”

“Why not? Morgana and I always talked about settling down for real, once I was out of the service.” Carth wasn't sure it was a good idea, mentioning his wife to his... “Girlfriend?” he asked himself silently. It was quite possibly a stupid thing to do, but he'd sensed a hesitancy in Tianna develop over the last few weeks and it had occurred to him that she might be reconsidering a relationship with a man of his age.

“Morgana was your first wife, right?”

Carth nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course, at the time it was little more than lip service. I was all for the Fleet. When they said 'jump' I didn't even ask 'how high' I just jumped and hoped it was high enough.”

Tianna smiled and took another sip of her drink. “That I can see. I take it she didn't like it?”

Carth paused a moment. “I don't think she was happy about it, but she lived with it. It was really Dustil that had the problems. Growing up without a father, always wondering if I'd come back from the next tour or if he'd be standing by his mother's side at my grave.”

Tianna looked away, his words striking uncomfortably close to home. Her own childhood had been controlled by a biological father she didn't know and a daily father who abused her mother. And the thought of standing at Carth's graveside bothered her more than Darth Infieda appreciated.

Carth noticed the change. “Hey,” he said reaching his hand across the table to take hers. “I didn't mean to upset you.”

“It isn't that,” Tianna replied, shaking her had slightly. She changed the subject. “Do you think about your wife often?”

Carth squeezed her hand. “Not as much as I used to.” He smiled and Tianna smiled back. “But I have been thinking more about the last twenty-five years. Of all the decisions I've made. And all the things I've missed because of them. A home. Friends. Family.”

“But you have friends.”

“A few, I suppose. But I always wonder how things would have been different if I'd retired earlier. Or if I'd not joined the service at all.”

“The Sith would rule the galaxy.”

Darth Infieda rebelled at the offhand way Tianna said the words, as if she didn't see them as her goal, didn't see the legitimacy of her last twenty years. It was monstrous! Infieda had kept her alive, given her purpose, made her somebody!, and she was ready to throw it all away for some unshaven fly boy!

Without warning, Tianna's drink went down the wrong way and she coughed and sputtered. Carth jumped up and rushed to her side, his hand on her back.

“Are you okay?”

“I'll... be...” she gasped, “... fine... just... give me... a minute.”

“I... Okay. Do you want to go back inside, then?”

“Maybe we should.”

A few minutes later, Tianna's throat feeling well enough, she reopened the conversation.

“Carth, were you serious, back there? About retiring?”

“Maybe.” He looked away. “Although it would sort of put a cramp on us and all.”

“Us?”

Carth didn't respond. “Maybe I've been reading this the wrong way,” he thought. “Maybe this isn't serious to her.”

“You know,” he said standing up, “maybe you're right. I suppose I am a little old for this.”

Carth walked away in silence, leaving Tianna sitting dumbfounded on the sofa.

“Good!” said Infieda, the voice like a the cold creaking of a door inside Tianna's head, “Let him go! He's made you weak.”

“Carth!” she yelled, running after him, ignoring the Sth Lord's words. She caught him by the arm in the hall, heading toward the room they had picked out. “What do you mean 'old' ?”

“Look, Tianna. It was stupid. I really thought... I'm sorry, all right?”

“Sorry? Sorry for what?”

“For being too old. For being old enough, and foolish enough, to think that...”

“Carth, you are the least foolish man I've ever met.”

“But you don't think... You said 'us' like it wasn't something you wanted. Like I was imagining it.”

“Oh, no! No! Carth, I was just... startled. I... I never thought anyone would ever want me. I never thought I'd be part of an 'us'.”

Darth Infieda screamed and howled in rage inside Tianna's head, but she looked into Carth's eyes all the harder for it. “Shut up! Shut up!” she screamed back at Infieda, the lonely little girl inside her finally finding her voice. “I never thought I could be worthy of someone like you.”

Carth pulled her close and kissed her. “I love you.”

Tianna kissed him, unable to say the words back to him, Infieda's shrieks still ringing in her ears. But she was with him, close to him, and she wasn't going to leave.

*

“You look lost.”

“Do I?” asked Mission.

Dustil caught her tone. “Look, Mission... I meant what I said the other night.”

The Twi'lek stopped, wondering at his words before she realized how nasty she'd answered him. She really hadn't been paying attention, thinking more about Carth and Tianna than about what Dustil was saying.

“Dustil, sorry. I was somewhere else.”

“Anywhere interesting?”

“Not really. I was thinking about your dad.”

“Oh.” The padawan wasn't sure what to make of the comment.

“He's... No. No, never mind. It's really not my business.”

“What isn't?”

“Carth... Your dad... and Tianna.”

“Oh. That.”

Now Mission caught his tone. “So you don't approve either?”

Dustil frowned. “I'm not sure what to think about it. I...”

Mission fixed him with a sideways glare. “You what?” She was onto something.

“I... knew her. Before.”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “I was there on Ploo when you said that.”

“No. I mean I knew her before.”

“As in...?”

Dustil nodded.

“Does Rev just have some sort of field around him that makes every Jedi go all hormonal?” she asked herself. “Is Tarre okay with it?”

“What makes you think Tarre and I...?”

Mission shook her head. “Are you serious? Even Bastila knows.” Dustil did a start. “Oh, come on!” Mission scolded, “Tarre told her.”

“She did? Wait! How do you know she told Bastila?”

Mission winked. “Some habits die harder than others. And reading Bastila's diary entries is one of them.” They both laughed.

“So... what's with the clothes?” she added, tweaking Dustil by her change in subject.

Clumsily he tried to shift them in his hands. “Clothes?”

“These,” she added, reaching around him and pulling.

“Hey! Don't...!”

“Don't what?”

Dustil released his grip everything falling to the ground but the one piece the Twi'lek had ahold of. Mission held it up to look. Underwear. Female underwear. A sort of lifeless tan, hardly flattering, but female none the less.

“Why Dustil!” Mission teased, “I never realized!”

The younger Onasi took a half-hearted swipe at the garment, knowing all too well he was in too much trouble to even bother using the Force. “Give those back!”

“Why? They really aren't your color, you know.”

Dustil gave her a pained expression, defeated. “I could make you give them back, you know.”

“On the contrary,” Mission added, guessing exactly what had happened between the two Jedi lovers, “it might be best for you if I brought these back down to the beach. It's just possible Knight Adjura hasn't noticed yet.”

*

“Unidentified vessel, this is Aargau Approach, please identify.”

The technician looked across the darkened control room toward her supervisor. Ships entered the system all the time, it was the financial center of the galaxy after all. Not a minute went by without a ship, or two or even a dozen making their way to the jump point or away from the jump point. But they always, always complied with Republic regulations regarding the use of Identification Transponders.

“Unidentified vessel, this is Aargau Approach, please check your I.T. We are not receiving your code.”

Another minute passed. The tech overheard the muffled conversation of the controller to her left. “Unidentified vessel...”

There were two of them?

“Chief?” she called out, her normally soft and controlled voice raised above the constant murmur of the traffic control deck. Traffic Control and Security Ship 16 was on station to provide traffic control around the busiest of Aargau's three hyperspace jump points. It was routine work. Highly technical and highly demanding to be sure, but routine.

Stationed in the center of the circular room, on a raised platform commanding an unobstructed view of all fifty control stations, was the Officer of the Day, the chief of the entire operation. In a moment she joined the troubled technician.

“What is up, Miore?” the chief asked.

“Unidentified craft. And a big one,” answered the controller, pointing to her scanner display.

“Well, tag them and tell them to turn their transponder on.”

“I have, ma'am,” replied the tech. “No response. And now Louy,” she turned to look at the control station to her left, where the other technician was trying to handle an unidentified ship of his own, “has one too.”

“Louy?” asked the Chief.

Once finished with his most recent command, a command that garnered no more response than the previous one, the Bothan turned to face his shift commander.

“Big. No, huge. And no code.”

The chief felt the hair on the back of her Cathar neck stand on end and she straightened up from hunching down to look at the displays. Her sensitive ears caught the sound of questioning controllers all around her. Two, then five, then a dozen, all asking the same question: “Who are you?”

Before she could react, every sensor display in the control room lit up as a huge mass of ships dropped out of hyperspace. A veteran of the last war, she knew in an instant the danger they were all in, and she made a desperate dash toward the platform, hoping she wasn't too late to warn the bridge in time for the Captain to take evasive action.

As her hand reached for the commlink to call out her warning, the hull of their lightly armored vessel was breached and fire and plasma engulfed the control room. Not that the warning would have helped much; the Captain himself died only a few seconds later as the ship's drive core collapsed, vaporizing everything within a kilometer of the resulting explosion.

*

“That was great, as always.”

Mission wiped her mouth before realizing that there was still one more butter-roll on the plate to her right, in front of Tarre Adjura. In a single movement she put her napkin back in her lap, reached out to take the roll, tore it in half and started eating it.

“I would have expected Dustil to be the bottomless pit,” said Carth. “Didn't you get any breakfast?”

“ 'Course I did,” said Mission around her mouthful of bread. “I just...” She looked around, finally noticing the she'd taken Tarre's roll. “Oh Gods!” She chewed quickly and swallowed in a gulp to empty her mouth. “I am so sorry, Tarre. Would you like the rest?”

Tarre smiled. “No thank you. I'm quite full.”

“Are you finally feeling better?” Dustil asked.

“A bit,” the red-head replied.

“You're not feeling well?” asked Tianna, Dustil's words triggering an irrational panic in the blonde that she was just barely able to keep under control.

“I'm fine,” said Tarre.

Dustil stepped in to explain. “She was a bit sick to her stomach this morning.” He frowned. “In fact, you haven't been feeling well for a few days now, have you?”

Tarre gave him a look so stern Carth almost choked on his ale. “I'm fine. Just a touch of upset stomach, nothing to worry about. Probably from all this rich food.”

She did have a point and everyone cast a quick glance down, wondering how much longer they could go without loosening their belts. For three days and nights it had been a succession of gourmet meals and snacks that had them all considering the end of their accidental stay with a tinge of sadness.

“Well, I don't know about you guys,” said the Twi'lek, “but I could get used to this.”

“What, the food?” asked Carth.

“Well, yeah,” answered Mission, “And the company. I like having meals with you guys.”

“Really?” said Carth.

Mission gave him a glare. “What?! Can't I like having a family meal?”

“Family meal?” interjected Bastila.

“Sure, why not. You guys are like the only family I've ever had. Why shouldn't I like it?” Offended, Mission tossed down the rest of the roll and pushed back from the table.

“Oh dear,” said Bastila with a sigh.

Carth, for his part, was none too pleased with his own performance. He looked over at Tianna, but she seemed terribly distracted by something. “I wouldn't have thought Mission's little tantrum would bother her,” he thought. “Would you like to go outside?” he asked.

“Actually,” Tianna begged off with a particularly hard swallow, “I think I'll go lie down.”

“Are you all right?” Carth asked.

“I'll be fine. I just need to lay down for a bit.”

The old pilot gave her a quick hug. “Okay. I'll check on you in a few minutes.”

Having seen Tianna to the hallway, Carth turned to the others, Bastila standing alone by the large fireplace, Juhani having excused herself to go off after Mission. Tarre and Dustil walked toward one of the large modular sofa sets across the Great Room. He watched as Dustil took the little Knight's hand and without even a second thought, pulled her close and kissed her on the cheek, his other hand reaching around behind her. Tarre jumped and wiggled her bottom, giving Dustil a playful shove and a glare.

“Dustil!” the Admiral called. “Can I see you for a minute?”

The padawan frowned and sighed, rolling his eyes to the ceiling. “Yeah. Okay.” To Tarre he whispered, “Back in a minute.”

Carth waited in silent fury by the long glass wall. As Dustil approached he pushed open the french door.

“Outside?” Dustil asked. The look on Carth's face told him that the question, among other things, had not been appreciated.

As angry as he was, Carth knew better than to open his mouth straightaway, so he walked past his son, heading toward the pool. After following for a few paces, Dustil stopped.

“Where are we going? I thought you wanted to talk?”

Carth rounded on him, his voice filling the open air. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”

Dustil had never seen his father's face so red, the contrast with his white shirt making it look like a talliarni fruit. “Wrong?”

“You and that... that... Adjura woman!”

“That 'Adjura woman' ?!” Dustil's face grew nearly as red as his father's, his voice echoing off the building behind him, off the smooth hard glass of the french doors to several of the bedrooms, including the one Carth shared with Tianna Ression. “That Adjura woman! How dare you!”

“She a Jedi, Dustil. Hell, so are you! What were you thinking?”

Dustil turned away. “Thinking? I'm thinking that I love her. As if that's any of your business.”

“I'm your father! Of course it's my business!”

“You aren't my father! Showing up once every five years to chew me out about the choices I make in my life doesn't make you my father! Mom never questioned my choices! But then you haven't been thinking much about Mom lately have you?”

Carth took a step forward, his hands cupped, ready to form fists in an instant. “What does my thinking of your mother have to do with this?”

Dustil shifted his weight, ready for the spring, but he very sternly kept his hand away from his belt. “I don't know. You seem to think it's okay to butt into my life and criticize my relationship with Tarre.”

“Relationship?”

“Did you not hear me just say that I love her?! Force, Dad! Sometime you need to just shut the hell up and listen! You drag me out here to scold me like some little kid about falling in love with the best woman in the whole universe, and you're off playing... whatever it is you play... with Tianna Ression!”

“I do listen! I heard what you said. I wonder if you heard what you said? And why drag Tianna into this?”

“You know, you're right. I shouldn't say anything about you and Tianna. It isn't any more my business than Tarre and I are yours!”

Bastila and Tarre sat in an awkward silence, the men's words coming in most clearly through the open door, forgotten in Carth's irritation.

“So?” asked Tarre as Dustil stomped back into the Great Room, the little Jedi pretending that he had interrupted a running conversation.

“This isn't about that concert again, is it?” Bastila replied.

“At least it will give you something to do other than mope.”

“I am not moping!” said Bastila.

Tarre just rolled her eyes, sitting on a stool by the bar. “You've been moping for days. Ever since we got here, in fact.”

“I'm just concerned for Kashyyyk, that's all.”

“And I've told you eighteen times, Justin went to Kashyyyk. If Czerka is causing trouble I have no doubt that he'll cause them some. So let's just go to this concert, okay?”

Bastila shook her head. “I don't feel much like music. You two go.”

“Oh, come on!”

“From what I heard,” said Dustil a little too loudly, desperately hoping to change the subject and stop his internal recriminations. He turned the volume down when he continued. “... the guy who's playing is pretty famous around Aquaris and the Middle Rim. He's done music for eight of the top twelve Vid serials there.”

He sat alone on one of the big sofas. Minor physical discomfort providing that distraction he so wanted; every few minutes he shook his head violently from side to side, his fingertip pressed to his right ear, wiggling back and forth. Tarre's revenge for his stealing off with her clothes had been swift and to the point and he was still trying to get the water out, his ears the last body cavity that needed such treatment. The sand, on the other hand, was still in a few problematic places that no amount of discrete washing had been able to remove.

At least neither Tarre nor Mission had brought the incident up in the meantime, so he could consider it closed, his punishment taken like a man. He knew he had it coming from his little red-head, but it was just a practical joke. Besides, she'd been the one all gung-ho to go skinny dipping in the first place. He had just wanted to spend some time with her... “Okay,” he admitted to himself for the hundredth time, “I was hoping to get her out of her clothes. Just not for a swim.”

They had done that too, but then he had to go and mess it all up by stealing her clothes. Mission had claimed she was going to return them, but when the young padawan returned to the beach he found Tarre just as he'd left her, sunning herself on the warm sand. And he actually convinced himself that he'd gotten away with it.

“That was stupid,” he scolded in afterthought.

In a few moments he'd let her undress him again, and then, completely at her mercy, all hell broke loose. Dustil realized Tarre Adjura, the love of his life, knew a few things that would have impressed even Uthar Wynn.

“Middle Rim? I wonder if Justin knows him?” Tarre's comment brought the lone padawan back to the present. Bastila frowned.

“Oh, lighten up!” Tarre huffed. “I'm getting tired of you scowling every time I mention his name. At least the show should be good. So? How about it?”

“Fine. Anything to get you to stop badgering me about it.”

The concert was to be held on a different island, so the three Jedi shared one of the smaller transport speeders. The young female Cathar driving it kept up a stream of chit-chat the entire way.

“I am so glad I got picked for this assignment,” she started, once everyone was settled in and they were out over open water.

“How so?” asked Tarre.

“Well, since I'll be there with you, I don't have to worry about getting a few friends there and back.”

“Friends?” asked Bastila. She was amused to hear Juhani's same rolling, purring accent coming from this much younger woman.

“I love them dearly, but they can be a trial sometimes. They work on the production line, so they don't have much free time, not like me, so they have a tendency to over-indulge when they get the chance.”

“Production line?” asked Dustil.

“Sure.” She paused. “You know we process kolto here, right?” inquired the Cathar.

“Kolto?” Bastila and Dustil said together.

“Oh sure, that's the main export. Somehow they got kolto to grow here, so we run two crews to process it. Of course the company has all sorts of other businesses, construction, mining, manufacturing, scattered all around the Rim. I actually applied to help out on Taris, but when they interviewed me they decided I had a bit too much personal baggage for the job. 'Likely be a hindrance to herself and others.' ”

“They showed me the report, “ she said conspiratorially. “I guess I was a bit too gung-ho.”

“How ever would they have noticed?” said Bastila in a whisper, forcing Tarre to choke off a laugh.

“Why Taris?” asked Dustil.

Bastila frowned. “Rebuilding, remember?”

“That's it exactly,” said the feline. “I'm Tigara, by the way. Very nice to meet you. Mister Worthis said I shouldn't talk when I'm acting as a chauffeur because I might get distracted and crash, but I always find that chatting makes my passengers more comfortable. Don't you agree?”

“I suppose,” said Bastila.

“Well it sure makes me more comfortable. It makes me feel more like we're friends and less than I'm the employee and you're the Chairman's guests.”

“You were saying why you wanted to go to Taris?” Dustil asked, trying to steer the conversation back to his point.

“Well, I'm not from Taris or anything. I'm actually from Phindar, but with all the news reports of what happened there, and of the great Jedi Juhani, it being where she grew up and all, well... Once I was old enough I hopped a ship and begged to help.”

Bastila actually laughed out loud.

“What?!” Tigara asked. “What's so funny?”

“Juhani,” replied the lady Knight. “Oh, that's right...” she added, looking down at her 'civilian' clothes and those of the others. “Didn't Mister Worthis tell you who you were taking to the concert?”

“Just that there were three guest for the concert to be picked up at the Chairman's home.”

Bastila laughed again. “I'm Bastila Shan.”

“No way!” Tigara turned to look square at the three and the speeder rolled precariously to the right.

“Watch the water!” shouted Dustil, sitting in the rightmost seat. He had an excellent view of the ocean all along his side of the speeder.

“Sorry!” Once the speeder was steady again, Tigara continued. “You're seriously Bastila Shan?”

Bastila nodded.

“Then you know Jedi Juhani?”

“Certainly. I was her master.”

“That is so... You won't, like, tell Mister Worthis about that little slip, will you?”

“Your secret is safe with us,” said Tarre. “Right Bastila?”

“Of course,” added the Jedi Master, still chuckling.

“So who's playing?” asked Tarre.

“Oh, he's the best. I actually got to see him a Vid of one of his shows from two years ago. And he does this really great song for 'Brand New Day'.”

“What's Brand New Day?” asked Bastila.

“That new show on Channel 6000. You know, the one where the main characters keep meeting each other all throughout history.”

Tarre and Bastila both got wide-eyed. “Oh, you don't think...” whispered the brunette.

“We'd never be lucky enough for it not to be,” answered the red-head.

“What's his name?' asked Dustil.

“I can't believe you guys don't... Oh wait, I guess as a Jedi you don't watch a lot of Vid, do you Knight Shan...”

“Master Shan,” interjected Tarre.

“Oh, Master Shan. Sorry. I can't tell from that really nice dress you're wearing. You know, it looks really familiar, but I don't... Wait! I've got it! Sillia Mc'Martui has one just like it. She's just about your size too.”

“Actually,” said Bastila, “I would venture that this is her dress. There was...”

“An accident,” said Tarre.

“Yes. Yes, an accident, and all our clothes were destroyed. Mister Worthis and Mister Tang arranged to have these clothes borrowed for us.”

“Then you mean, you're all Jedi?!”

“I'm afraid so,” said Tarre.

“Wow. To think I'm driving three Jedi to a concert.” Tigara just shook her head in amazement for a moment. “Ut! We're here!”

“Speaking of the concert,” said Dustil, still trying to get his question answered, “who is playing?”

The speeder slowed to a stop and the doors opened automatically. Tigara turned her body around in her seat to get a good long look at her very special passengers before answering with a huge, toothy smile.

“Justin Blacque.”

*

“Admiral, you're not going to like this.”

Dodonna looked up from her briefings at the datapad the young Ensign held out to her. He was right, she didn't like it, didn't like it one bit.

She paused for a moment, drumming her fingertips on her desk before speaking. “This is one that needs a face-to-face.” The Ensign nodded in agreement, secretly glad it was Dodonna that would need to conduct the meeting and not him. “Contact the Chancellor's office and let them know I'm on my way.”

Twenty minutes later, Forn Dodonna, Grand Admiral of the Republic, sat in a chair across from Chancellor Kenthworth, the datapad still in her hands.

“Chancellor,” she said. Then she looked uncomfortably at the other occupied chairs. “Senators...” She had hoped for a private audience, but the Chancellor had other ideas.

Feliess Tur Quatra was friendly to the Fleet. An old officer himself, many was the bottle he and Forn had shared during their younger days. Koro Murkatis she could tolerate, neutral to the Fleet if not actually a supporter. Two others were neither here nor there, leaving only...

“Why ever did he have to invite Rongo m'Guthto?” she groused silently. She'd been having run-ins with the Sy Myrthian for years, the last begin over the secretly built Provisional Fleet. Aloud she continued, “... I've just received sporadic and garbled reports from Aargau that there has been a major Mandalorian attack.”

“Attack!?” cried m'Gutho.

Kenthworth raised a hand to forestall any further outburst of criticism. “Senator,” he said. “Admiral, please continue.”

Dodonna nodded her thanks. “The reports are sketchy at best, and they are still coming in, but it looks like a full scale invasion; space and ground troops involved.”

“What is your recommendation?” asked the Chancellor.

“We must respond. Immediately.”

“Where will the forces come from?” asked Murkatis, the Republic's tax burden always at the forefront of her mind. She knew from many long committee meetings just how few ships the annual budget provided in the historically peaceful Core.

“Our forces in that area are very thin, I agree Senator,” answered Dodonna. “I intend on moving the Fleet from Coruscant to launch an immediate counter-offensive.”

“What if the Mandalorians simply vanish into the darkness of space again?” quizzed m'Gutho

“I don't believe they will, not with ground forces involved. That tells me they intend on staying.”

“And if you are wrong?” asked Kenthworth, a swallow the only outward sign that he had any personal interest in the strategic and tactical decision being discussed. But everyone around his desk knew that moving the Fleet would leave Coruscant itself defenseless against an attack. What if he simply wanted to draw the Fleet into an extended chase, making them follow while he picked their ships off over time? What if this were just a faint, a diversion, while Mandalore launched the true attack against the capital?

“I have sent word to Admiral Darney to move the First Provisional Fleet to Coruscant.”

“The new Fleet? Why not send them directly to Aargau?” asked Feliess Tur.

“The Capital Fleet can arrive far sooner, before the Mandalorians have a chance to consolidate any gains they may have made. Also, the Provisional Fleet is untested in combat. Using them to defend Coruscant is much less of a risk than sending them against battle hardened forces.”

“But won't that mean that we'll be exposed ourselves until the Provisional Fleet arrives here?” complained m'Gutho.

“Yes,” Dodonna admitted. She hated doing it, but having already surprised the Chancellor with the very existence of the fleet at Borleias, she knew it would be occupational suicide to keep the true nature of the threat to Coruscant a secret.

“Yes?!” The Sy Myrthian stood up in a rush.

Kenthworth took the initiative. “Make it so, Admiral.”

m'Gutho's head snapped to look at the Chancellor. “Your Excellency!?”

Kenthworth raised his hand again. “There can be no argument, Senator. We hesitated to respond after Foerost and it led to this. No. We will not let this opportunity pass.” The Chancellor gave a single nod.

Dodonna stood, dismissed to her million-plus things to do.

“But Admiral,” added m'Gutho, as she turned to leave, “should anything happen in that time it will mean your job.”

“Senator, if anything happens, keeping my job will be the least of our concerns.”

*

The concert was outside, a small stage was built at the bottom of a shallow bowl-shaped depression. The crowd, numbering about a thousand Dustil estimated, was already arrayed along the downslopes, sitting in folding chairs or spread out on big blankets. It looked like a number of families had come, children were running around, chasing each other, screaming with joy as only children can.

Tarre held Dustil's hand as they walked among the crowd. She cast a surreptitious glance at Bastila and, to her surprise, found the taller woman smiling as three Selkath children ran past her, forcing her to stop so she wouldn't trip over them. Seeing it, Tarre nudged Dustil.

“Does she seem... different... to you?”

“Well, in that dress...” Dustil stopped, for fear of offending. Bastila looked fabulous, and in love with Tarre or not, Dustil was a human male. “Umm...”

Tarre just frowned, knowing what was running through his head. “Should I get one like it?” she asked across their bond.

“Sure,” he replied, “although I prefer what you wear at the beach.”

“But I don't wear anything to the...” Tarre slapped him on the bottom. “Men!”

Dustil just smiled.

“Are you two quite finished?” asked the lady Knight.

“Oh, we're finished all right,” said Tarre, never taking her eyes off Dustil.

“Where do you think we should...?” Bastila didn't bother completing the question. She caught sight of Tigara, standing quite primly beside three empty folding chairs, a small table set between them covered in food. The Cathar smiled as they approached.

“Enjoy the show,” she said. She bowed and then left them.

They were off to the right-hand side of the stage as they looked at it, not as far to the right as Bastila's box on Ploo IV, but a bit farther from the small stage than she and Juhani had sat. The environment was much different as well. They all noticed it. Being outdoors for a start changed everything. It seemed more like a party than a concert, and Dustil would be watching from the audience as opposed to sitting on stage, quietly hoping not to get caught.

“I wonder when the show will start?” asked Tarre, looking at the still bright afternoon sky. She didn't wait long for an answer.

*

== Sir? There's something you should know. ==

++ Not now, 'Mo! I'm on in five seconds! No thanks to you and your 'just one more appearance, sir' crap. ++

== But sir! ==

++ Later, 'Mo! ++

*

As a group, the crowd went silent and all three Jedi heard a faint sound, a slow plucking strings noise over the top of a low pulse that blended into a quicker string arpeggio. Part of the volume came from near the stage, but only a part, and everyone looked around as the music grew all around them. Suddenly there was a synth-harmonica, clear and clean, wah-wahing over the top. It seemed to be exactly what they were expecting and the crowd loved it.

Tarre could see Tigara across the open field, sitting with some friends, all of them smiling and laughing, clapping in time to the music. She nudged Dustil and pointed. And then, from the center of the crowd, right out on the grass:

How many of you people out there
Been hurt in some kind of love affair?
And how many times do you swear that you'll never love again?

Justin, synthitar held in one hand down by his side, sang to the people right at his feet.

How many lonely, sleepless nights
How many lies, how many fights?
And why would you want to put yourself through all that again?

For the whole verse he walked around, singing, reaching out, taking a hand here or there, even tousling one youngster's hair. When he came to the chorus, everyone, with three exceptions, joined in.

Why don't we turn the clock to zero, honey
I'll sell the stock, we'll spend all the money
We're starting up a brand new day

“I don't believe it,” said Bastila, shaking her head. It was just like Ploo, Justin holding the entire crowd in the palm of his hand. When he pointed, those he pointed to sang louder, when he clapped they clapped with him. The energy, the seer joy around her was infectious. All of them, she and Tarre and Dustil, clapped along in time with the beat. It was almost compulsory. As mad as she still was at him for everything, Bastila just couldn't resist this strange song or the man who sang it.

Justin worked his way onto the stage, joining a few musicians already there.

I'm the rhythm in your tune
I'm the sun and you're the moon
I'm a bat and you're the cave
You're the beach and I'm the wave

Stand up!
all you lovers in the world

By ones and twos, and then whole groups, they stood, singing along.

Stand up and be counted!
Every boy and every girl

What he was going to do for his second number to top that, no one could guess.

Stand up!
Starting up a Brand New Day!

*

Instead of meditating, Padawan Revan's thoughts were elsewhere. Many levels down, in fact, in the Lower City. He never tired of looking at her. The way the light caught the highlights in her fur, the points of her teeth when she smiled, which wasn't as often as Revan could wish. But that wasn't surprising given her circumstance.

“Master,” he asked. “why is love forbidden to the Jedi?”

Kreia sighed, disappointed in the inevitable question. She'd known it would be coming. Every padawan asked. Even she had asked her own master, many, many years before. Even she had loved and wanted to know: why is it forbidden?

“Because your abilities with the Force make it too dangerous.”

“Any Jedi's abilities, or my abilities, master?”

“Does it matter?” the older woman asked. Many years his senior, Kreia looked at her latest padawan with something nearing exasperation. It was another typical question, for Revan if not for others; always placing himself first, before the Order itself in most cases.

Not that he wasn't worthy of such hubris, he was. Revan was the most powerful Force-user she had ever encountered, making her own power with the Force seem ineffectual at best. In another master this would have fostered fear, or even hatred. But Kreia loved him all the more for it, loved him like a younger brother, perhaps even her own child, grown but not yet master of himself or his power.

Kreia closed her eyes for a moment, letting the Force come to her, flow through her. She saw through his eyes, saw the beautiful Cathar, saw the degradation in which she lived.

“Why do you disapprove of her, master?” he asked suddenly, the quiet voice he used as shocking as the words themselves.

“You are powerful, indeed,” the older woman thought, trying to keep it from their bond. Kreia prided herself on her prowess with the mental powers of the Force and it was a shock to find that he had noticed her entry into his mind. “Perhaps too powerful. I wonder if the Council should be told?”

Revan looked at her. She had not answered, but he could feel words form in her head although she was trying to shield them from him. He clenched his jaw and called the Force, pushing past her defenses and taking the words directly from her mind. Kreia didn't even notice.

The Dark Lord came back to the present, the words inside the young trainee's mind speaking directly to him, telling him of her every move. It was such a simple thing to do, to reach into her mind and take what he wanted. If he could do it to his old master, this young farmer presented no challenge.

“Rush. Faint. Slash.”

As she came at him Revan blocked her attack with a simple flick of his lightsaber, sending her blade skittering across the room. Defenseless, he punched her square in the face with his free hand, knocking her to the floor.

“Again!” he said. “And be glad you'll get another chance.”

The woman, little more than a girl really, scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees to retrieve her weapon. Slightly groggy from the blow, her eyes stung horribly and she could taste blood on her lips, but really, what was the price to be in the first training class of the Emperor's New Order?

Never again would she sit on the porch of her parent's dust-bowl house watching the crops dry up in the bad times, or working until her back gave out helping the droids shift the harvest in the good only to have the Exchange take all the profits. Never again would she or her people be looked down on just because they were farmers. She would be different, she would be Taraka, a warrior, trained by Emperor Revan himself in the thrill of combat, the art of war, and the ways of the Force. Where she went, respect would follow. Respect and obedience.

Already the Mandalorians deferred to her, saluting when she and the others walked past. Veterans of the last war to a person, they bowed and scraped before her and the others. It filled her with pride, making her all the more powerful with the Force. Already, and with only a few weeks training, she could move objects, fight with her lightsaber and control her squad of Sith Warriors with it. It was such an amazing power to control.

So what if she still had things to learn? She would learn them from the best, from the Emperor himself. Besides, the Force would heal her broken nose anyway.

*

== Sir, may I interrupt now? ==

++ No. ++

“Thank you!” Justin called out. “Thank you all.” He laughed. “Before we get going again, let me introduce everyone on stage with me here...”

Marauder tried again while Justin introduced each band member in turn.

== It's very important sir. ==

++ It can wait. ++

== I don't think it can, sir. ==

“On synth-harmonica, Trac'son Paladium.” The crowd clapped, a few people even whistled. “Kayttie Mos Eisley on KeyBed!” A pretty young woman bowed.

== It really is important, sir. ==

“Devon Shallimandur on vioflute!”

++ It can't possibly be, 'Mo. ++

“On percussion...” As Justin turned to point, the musician gave a short improvisation across his instruments. Justin laughed. “On percussion,” he said again, “the Fabulous Milhaus.”

== Justin... ==

Marauder rarely used his given name, but he was having so much fun he ignored the ship completely. He turned back to the audience and walked toward the front of the stage.

== Bastila Shan is here. ==

Justin missed his footing at the edge of the stage and fell backwards as if he'd been shot.

“What?” he said aloud, his words amplified to fill the natural amphitheater. “What did you say?”

The other musicians looked back and forth, wondering if he was okay. And wondering what he was talking about. Justin got back to his feet and he stood looking back and forth, rapidly scanning the crowd. Everyone grew silent in an instant, sensing something odd was happening, something that wasn't part of the show.

== Bastila Shan is here, sir. ==

“Here?” With his full attention now, Marauder dimmed Justin's vision, leaving only a single small circle of brightness centered on the lady Jedi's face. The ship assumed control of a few of his autonomic processes when the readings showed he wasn't breathing. Suddenly he swung to one side and started to hyperventilate. His legs folded up under him and he slipped into sitting on the edge of the low stage, one foot curled up under him.

“That was really, really mean,” he said aloud.

“Are you okay, Mister Blacque?” a soft voice asked from over his shoulder.

Justin looked back and smiled, weakly. “I'm fine, Kayttie. I just saw someone I didn't think I'd ever see again.”

As Justin's words crossed the open air everyone turned to look at their neighbors, wondering who he was talking about. Who among them, these recent friends, many of whom had only known each other for their few short months working on the planet, could possibly know such a big-time star?

“Well, go on!” said Tarre, pushing Bastila in the shoulder.

The Jedi Master looked at her, confused.

“You don't think he's talking about me, do you?” the little red-head asked.

“Second song, Justin?” the KeyBed player asked, trying to get the solider-musician back into the performance.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Justin turned toward them, waving his index finger at Milhaus, giving the drummer the tempo and the first rattling beats echoed in the air, followed seconds later by the wailing strings of Justin's synthitar. Again the crowd went wild.

But they were right, something odd was going on. Justin, his fingers still dancing across the crystal fingerboard, flexing and pulsing, stepped back into the audience.

Man, it's a hot one,
Like seven inches from the mid-day sun

Justin sang, almost moaning the words, as he walked and played.

I hear you whisper,
and the words melt everyone, but you stay so cool.

“Dustil!” Tarre complained, “Help me get this bantha on her feet!”

Bastila sat frozen, her eyes locked to Justin's as he walked directly toward her, stepping around a small group of fan sitting on the soft grass.

Give me your heart, make it real
Or else forget about it.

Justin's words flowed around her and through her, wiping away all the anger she had for him. Everyone and everything else simply faded. It was just the two of them standing in the cool evening breeze.

With Dustil pulling and Tarre pushing, they managed to get the brunette to her feet just as the song ended. Justin swung his synthitar out of the way, behind his back, and he stepped right to her.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hello,” Bastila said, her voice flat, as if she were dreaming. Tarre rolled her eyes and gave her a strong shove, right into Justin's arms.

“At least she had the good sense to close her eyes when she kissed him,” Tarre said to Dustil across their bond.

*

As the evening birdsongs gave way to the chirping of the frogs, Carth looked over at Tianna, her hair splayed across the pillow in the silvery blue moonlight. They listened for a moment as the cool soft night breeze brought the sounds into their room.

“How long were you married?” Tianna asked, continuing the thread of their long-running conversation.

“Fourteen years when she died. But I really shouldn't count them that way, not when I spent so much time away.”

“I'm sorry, Carth. I just keep...”

“No,” he said, taking her hand an squeezing it. “It's okay. I want to talk about it. For so long I've kept it locked up inside, like it was some terrible, terrible secret.”

Darth Infieda heard the word 'secret' and she prepared for the worst, feeling Tianna's emotions shift once again, softening, weakening. The Dark Lord raged, but the blonde stayed silent.

“But it wasn't a secret,” he continued. “Not to her. Not to Dustil. Not to anybody else. I was a bad husband and a bad father. I put the needs of others above the needs of my own family. And I was too blind to see it.”

“You did what you needed to do, Carth.”

“That's what I kept telling myself for all those years, that I needed to do it, that I needed to be off fighting the Mandalorians and Revan and Malak... All those years I kept telling myself that I'd find Dustil and I'd make it up to him, somehow.” He snorted in derision. “And then when I did find him, all I could do was scold him for going to Korriban and joining the Sith.”

“It hurt?”

Carth rolled toward her. “Of course it hurt. All those years spent away, fighting them, and then to find my own son had run off and joined them.” Suddenly he rolled away from her, onto his back with a flop. “No. I was mad at me. I was mad because he ran to the Sith to get away from me. I was so mad at myself for how much I'd let everyone down. My own son hated me so much he joined my enemy, just to try to hurt me.”

Tianna rolled on top of him, her long hair falling over them both, blocking most of the soft moonlight. “He doesn't hate you.”

The extra darkness took Carth's mood down another notch. “I'd like to believe that, but I have so little experience being a father that I can't tell.”

“He doesn't, Carth. Trust me. He doesn't hate you. He loves you. Just like I love you.”

And then she kissed him, long and soft.

*

The sun had long faded from the sky, the breeze turning just a bit cooler, the moisture in the air giving it the slightest chill. Tarre snuggled close to Dustil, bringing a small frown to Bastila's face. But then she looked back at Justin, just stepping off the stage for the last time that day and she softened, actually smiling at the lovers as they sat just off to one side.

Justin had brought the three of them right down front, so they would “have the best view” he'd claimed, although from how much he had looked at her throughout the show, Bastila wasn't sure if he meant the best view of him playing, of the best view for him to have of her. Not that she cared.

The song was slow, just the drums to start, almost a lullaby as he began playing, his synthitar practically singing the notes in that way he so preferred.

Gravity
Is working against me
Gravity
Wants to bring me down

I'll never know
what makes this man
with all the love that his heart can stand
dream of ways
to throw it all away

Bastila heard the words inside her. They spoke to her, they were about her. Again and again she had taken his love and thrown it away. First on Manaan, their kiss cut short by her training and her fear. Then on the Leviathan, her pride and ego driving her to sacrifice herself while he and Carth ran. Then in Malak's torture chamber, turning her love for him to spite and hate, blaming him for her plight while the vicious Dark Lord pushed all her emotional buttons. On top of the Rakatan temple she hated him for spurning her, for turning away from the Dark side and from her. On the Star Forge she hated him for not killing her when he had the chance, and for putting his life into her hands, her shaking, trembling hands.

And then at Malastare. Her hatred came back because of five seconds of video with Tarre Adjura. Why? Why was she so weak?

Oh gravity,
stay the hell away from me.
And gravity
has taken better men than me
Now how can that be?

Gravity. Or hate. Or fear. Or the Darkside. By whatever name, 'gravity' had taken better men, and women, than her. And it had taken so many. Jolee's wife. Malak. Friends from her padawan's class; Hurst had gone off to fight the Mandalorians, dying at Malachor V. Carth's son Dustil. Yuthura Ban.

And Revan.

She wanted so much to love, and to feel Justin's love come back to her, but how could she withstand 'gravity' when so many had fallen before, most never to return?

Just keep me where the light is
Just keep me where the light is

“How could it be that simple?” she asked herself. “To stay in the Light?”

Just keep us
keep us
keep us
all where the light is.

*

The lovers lay apart again, Carth staring at the ceiling, Tianna on her side, looking at him, running her hand through the hair on his chest.

“Credit for your thoughts?” she asked playfully.

The old pilot smiled and turned, rolling on top of her this time. He kissed her, but not as lustily as Tianna had expected. And not for very long.

“I know I'm not a young man anymore, Tianna. Not like Dustil, or even Justin, but...”

At the mention of his son's name, the blonde stopped him, putting her fingertips to his lips. She couldn't let him find out some other way. It was bad enough he and Dustil arguing about her after lunch, their venomous shouts bringing her to the french doors. Hidden behind the sheers, she had heard the two stab at each other for all the years they'd been apart, stab at each other over the woman they had shared, stab at each other over the woman who had betrayed them both.

“Wait, Carth, before you say anything else,” (“Before you say what I think you're going to say,” she added to herself. “What I hope you'll say...”) “there's something I need to explain about Dustil.”