Lost Part IV

Author's Note: Damn, this chapter turned out long, but I refuse to break it up.

Part IV

Three Months Later

Ankerra was starting to think her brother might be right when the shuttle crashed. It hit just outside Himra's ranch in the dead of night while she was hunting kyral, local canoids that had developed a taste for tralodon and nerf. I have a bad feeling about this,  she thought as she watched the artificial meteor go down behind a ridge.  It could be a routine delivery of equipment that had experienced a malfunction. Could be, but she doubted it.

By the time she got there, any occupants were gone, as were her doubts. The shuttle was of an alien type whose origins she couldn't even guess at, all curves and angles. She made a mental note to drag her brother out here for a look. And more tellingly, parts of the ship had been torn in a way only laser-fire could. The only technical failure here was the engine's inability to function after a direct hit. She didn't dare touch the ship yet- it was still smoldering, for goodness sake. And yet... even as she felt the heat of the shuttle, she felt a cold that chilled her very bones. Cold and hate. She hadn't felt like this since...

Reflexively, she lit a ciggrata and took a drag. She wasn't sure when she picked up the habit, but it always seemed to dull the persistent pains in her head... and the imagined noises that accompanied it. She gave the shuttle a cautious and cursory inspection, then went to wake up Himra (assuming the crash hadn't) and tell him to leave the damn thing alone. She didn't see a single kyral all night- they'd gone to their warrens. Ankerra thought they had the right idea.

Three days passed. Tam was fascinated by the wreck, and dragged part of the weapons array back to his shop. A second shuttle, rather worse for the wear, but of conventional Republic design, arrived. It brought with it a pair of Jedi.  They landed in the same spot as Ankerra had, months before. They were met by the very same woman, in fact- Loril, as she was called, was a notorious gossip, and she made it her business to know everything that went on.

"A shuttle went down not far from here three days ago. Know anything about it?" asked one of them, a dark, lean man. His garb was that of a spacer, not a Jedi, but the lightsaber at his belt was unmistakable.

"Hmph. Not surprised. No other reason for the Repuplic to take an interest here."drawled Loril. "You'll want to talk to the Mandalorians, then."

"Mandalorians?" the other questioned in a clipped accent. She was an interesting change from her partner, short and curvy, dark hair contrasting with ivory skin.

"Brother and sister. Girl saw the ship go down, and the boy's got bits of it at his shop."

"So where can we find them?" inquired the dark one.

"He's usually at his shop- just down the way there, keep walking and you can't missit. As for his sister, who knows?"

"We appreciate your help, madam." said the woman with a polite nod, and theybegan to walk in the indicated direction.

"Just don't you give either of them any trouble." she called after them, handson her hips. "They've never caused anyone any worries, in fact they've solved a few."

"Mandalorians...” The woman, whose name was Bastila, muttered, shaking her head as they walked away. “Stranger and stranger."

"Damn straight." replied Atton.

The shop did prove easy enough to find. It was an open front affair, occupied by a man dissembling what looked like part of a laser turret. A recently painted sign hung over the shop read ‘Tam Skirata- Repairs’. The man looked up as he came near. He was big, with broad features and brown hair cropped short. He eyed the Jedi warily.

"You are the Mandalorian?" Bastila inquired politely, and the man gave a wry smile.

"I'm Tam Skirata." He replied. "Amazing how much trouble some people have with names."

“I am Bastila Shan, and this is Atton Rand.”

"You're here about the crash." It was not a question. "Here's part of it." He added, gesturing to the machine on his worktable, vaguely  recognizable as part of a weapons array. He shook his head. "I've never seen anything like it. The capacitors alone-"

"Where did the shuttle go down?" inquired Atton, heading off the engineer's recitation.

"A few klicks outside of town, near one of the outlying ranches. Really, you should talk to my sister. She was the one who found the crash."

"Where can we find her?"

"She's asleep. She works nights, and just got in a few hours ago."

"Could you wake her?" asked Bastila, and Skirata thought she sounded a bit desparate. "This is a matter of utmost importance."

"No need." came a voice from the doorway, and there stood a young and tired woman clad in lavender pajamas patterned in bright pink lizards.. "I'm up."

She stood around six feet, but didn’t seem unusually tall, being neither hulking nor lanky. She had short, dirty-blonde hair that was heavy on the blonde, and a rather pretty face that was instantly forgettable. She... dissected them with eyes that were hard and gray as duracrete, and her air of mild curiosity acquired something of an edge when shecaught sight of Atton Rand.

"Ankerra Ordo." she introduced herself curtly. The surname caught Bastila's attention, but she didn't have time to pursue it.

She frowned. "But your brother..."

"Is named Skirata. It's a long story, don't worry about it." she replied in atone that forbid further discussion. She had a slight, rolling accent, and her voice possessed the barest hint of a drawl.

"Master Bastila Shan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance. This is-"

"Atton Rand." She finished coldly. "We’ve met."

Bastila shot a look at Atton that demanded an explanation. He responded with a shug, to which she gave a glare that informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he would tell her the whole story later.

“I assume you know why we are here?”

“Yeah." She sighed heavily, and went back into the house. A short awkward silence later, she was back in full armor, minus helmet, complete with a double vibroblade and a rifle slung over one shoulder. "Follow me, I'll take you out there. Tam, stay here, alright?"

"The ship went down three days ago, around Oh-two-hundred." she continued as they walked. "I got there maybe 15 minutes after it hit. No survivors, no corpses, no tracks. Anything else you needed?” She yawned. Atton noticed that,unless he was much mistaken, this armor had a different chest piece than what she'd worn on Nar Shaada, though still dove-grey with violet markings. It was abbreviated and more fitted, with the midsection being covered by part of a fiber jumpsuit.

“Are you certain there was no one there?” Bastila pressed, and the touch of panic in her voice got Ankerra’s attention.

“Not that I saw.” She raised a blonde eyebrow. “Could be it was a dummy, meant to lead you on a wild goose chase.” She shuddered. “The thing feels wrong.”

“No! The shuttle was manned-“ Bastila started, but Atton cut her off.

“Wrong how?”

“Like...” She hesitated, putting on her helmet. “Like Nar Shaadda wrong.” Atton made a noise like he was about to speak, but she continued. “What makes you so sure someone was in it?”

“There was an assassination attempt recently.” It was Bastila who spoke, some of her composure regained, but still a bit upset. “It was foiled, but the assassins escaped by taking a hostage- the target’s six-year old daughter. We followed them here.”

Ankerra stopped cold, and frowned. “Why did you shoot them down if you knew they had a hostage?”

Bastila scowled. “It was not our doing." she snapped. "The shuttle was fired upon by officials from Commenor, who did not know the full extent of the situation.”

Ankerra swore under her breath, picking up the pace a bit. "Assuming everyone who got on that shuttle got off, how many are we talking?"

"Half a dozen, minus the girl. And they're very, very good." Atton admitted, the last part grudgingly.

A ghost of a smirk passed over the Mandalorian's face. It might have turned into a full blown grin if a kid's life wasn't an issue. Bastila saw the smile, and unsubtly touched her mind, wondering if this too-convenient ally was in league with the kidnappers. The result was explosive.

Ankerra brought up her vibroblade as though she'd been physically attacked. "Talyc haran, stay out of my shabla head!" She whirled on her companions, her grey eyes stormy. "You want to know something, Jetii, try the old fashioned way and ask." She glared viciously at Atton even as he shot a look at Bastila. A sharp-edged silence hung in the air before Ankerra turned and kept walking.

"The site is just over this hill." She told them coldly. She hoped they found these chakaare. She was eager for a bit of blood.

The crashed shuttle had lost none of it's malice in the three days since it's violent landing. If anything, it seemed to have gained the eire aura of a tomb now that the fires had died.

"The shuttle was too hot to touch when I got here, so I couldn’t check inside right away. When I came back and did, nothing."

Nonetheless, the Jedi inspected every inch of the shuttle. Bastila gave a bitten off cry when she found something Ankerra had missed- a blue ribbon, of the sort a little girl might tie her hair with. But no tracks, no hint of where they might have gone.

"Now what?" Atton asked, voicing their collective thoughts.

"Don't you Jedi have any tricks you can use?"

Atton shook his head. "There are some who might be able to find them. Master Shan and I have no such talents. There are ways of hiding from them in any case."

"Oh, kriff you." Ankerra took a deep breath, removing her helmet. There had to be something left. She was a good hunter. She should be able to find it.  She strained her ears and eyes, scanning the clearing. She barely noticed as her breathing fell into a slow, steady pattern.

Suddenly, the world opened up, as though she'd been watching a transmission in black andwhite, and had it suddenly switch to color. She truly didn't know what it was she did- she'd done it many times when hunting. She'd used it to follow the Ubese on Nar Shaadda. She just listened, as she'd been taught when she was very young.

Bastila's unspoken fears, so uncharacteristic of a Jedi Master, seemed deafening. Atton was quiet- not that there was nothing there, but as though he kept his thoughts tucked away in his kit bag. She ignored them both, and above the dull roar of Bastila's panic and her own beating heart, she could have sworn she heard something heart wrenchingly familiar- a child, frightened and lost and alone. Suddenly, a path unfolded in front of her, a partition in the grass she hadn't seen before.

"I think... this way." she announced. The moment she stopped looking, the world reeled, and she developed a splitting headache.

Atton exchanged a significant glance with Bastila. While she was obviously Force Sensitive, someone had to teach her that. The Jedi followed her in the indicated direction, and Bastila took the direct route, demanding:

"Who trained you, Mandalorian?"

"I have a name, Shan." She replied, casually digging a ciggrata and lighter from her pocket and lighting it. Bastila wrinkled her nose at the smell.

"You're evading."

"Yep.  If Ankerra's too long, try Ordo."

"Verywell, Miss Ordo. Someone trained you in the ways of the Force."

"That they did."

"Who-"

"Can't you take a hint, Jedi? I don't want to talk about it."

Along silence ensued where the only sounds were footfalls and the swish of Jedi robes and a Mandalorian kama through the grass. Again, Bastila broke the silence with something she'd been wondering since Ankerra introduced herself.

"Miss Ordo, are you by any chance-"

"Mandalore's Helm, not again!"

"My apologies, but I believe you said that if there was something I wished to know, I should 'try the old fashioned way and ask.'"

"You must be the most infuriating woman I've ever met, you know that?" She sighed. "What do you want?"

"Are you, by any chance related to a man named Canderous Ordo?"

Ankerra's face went very, very still.

"How," she asked. "do you know my father?" Her voice was deadly calm, buther eyes flashed with a metallic intensity.

Now that she knew this was Canderous's daughter, Bastila had no trouble seeing the resemblance. "We... travelled together, years ago." That got her a very peculiar look from both Ankerra and Atton, so she clarified. "Seven years ago, we were both travelling in the company of Revan."

Ankerra, her face still stony, inquired. "Do you know where he went after that?"

Bastila shook her head. "No one does. Except, perhaps, Revan. You don't...?"

"I haven't seen my father since I was six. Probably figures I’m dead by now.”

The blonde woman put out her cigratta by smashing it on the thigh-piece of her armor, shoved on her helmet, and stomped a few meters ahead. She obviously considered the impromptu interrogation over.

They were approaching a small forest, Ankerra still following a path invisible to the others. It would make sense though, Atton thought, for the assassins to flee thee, for the woods weren't nearly as exposed as the prairie. She led them on a winding trek through the trees, and just when the Jedi were almost certain they were lost, Ankerra held up her hand for them to stop. There was a glimmer of firelight visible through the trees.

The predicted six men sat around a fire. All of them sported minor cuts and buises, one had his arm in a sling. They were, she noted, garbed similarly to the man who killed her kin on Nar Shaadda. The girl sat between them, shivering in the cold, her hands tied. Ankerra started to gesture that two of them should go around to the other sides of the camp, but Bastila would have none of it. She charged through the underbrush, freezing one of them with her powers before they had a chance to move. Atton exchanged a beleaguered look with Ankerra- or at least, shot one at her, her expression hidden by her helmet, and they followed her into the clearing.

Almost instantly, Bastila's rash actions were explained- the child's cry of"Mama!" were audible even oven the noise of the fight. The wounded assassin grabbed the little girl, and fled into the woods.

For Ankerra, the assassins seemed to move impossibly slow, and again, her environment opened into a larger world. Half a dozen beating hearts resolved into a staccato rhythm while the hum of lightsabers harmonized with the sharp clanging melody of conventional blades. Ankerra did not consider herself a dancer, but this was just another variation on a song she knew very, very well.

She dispatched one of them almost casually in a single swift motion, and didn't miss a beat as she brought one end of her double blade up to meet that of a second assassin. Their swords entwined like serpents, and Ankerra found herself grinning like a madwoman. His blade trapped, she brought her left foot up to his head in a roundhouse kick, knocking him off balance.

But then, in the distance, she heard Bastila's daughter cry out, and rather than press her advantage, she left the clearing and ran in the direction of the sound. The Jedi, after all, could take care of themselves.

She caught up with them at the base of a large oak tree. Apparently, the the girl had wrenched his wounded arm, and he had subsequently decided she wasn't worth the trouble. Ankerra was no hero but, someone who threatened little girls with vibroblades was a whole new level of scum. He barely flinched at the press of her sword on the back of his neck.

"Turn around slowly."

"You'd kill me in front of the kid?" He inquired, clearly not believing shewould.

"You're not dealing with the Jedi, scum. Kid, close your eyes.” She obeyed, and the assassin’s eyes widened as he realized he was dead. Ankerra savored the expression and slit his throat. She rolled him over to hide the wound. No child deserved nightmares of blood at that age.

The girl cowered from her against the tree. Ankerra removed her helmet- it was intimidating, that was at least half the point. She went down on one knee putting her at eye level with the kid. She looked to be about six or seven, and had her mother’s dark locks and large grey eyes.

"What's your name, kid?" Ankerra inquired gently.

"Helena." she replied timidly, placing the emphasis on the second syllable.

Ankerra glanced back longingly towards the clearing- she couldn't see the fight, butshe could hear it.  She wanted to go back, but she couldn't leave the girl, and certainly couldn't take her. She made her decision. "Listen, ki- Helena, I'm going to take you home. My home. We’ll wait for your mom there, okay?"

Helena peered around Ankerra, and she followed her gaze to the dead assassin.

"I hit him over the head." she lied. "Pretty funny, that he thought I'd kill him. Let's go, okay?"

Helena Shan nodded mutely, and Ankerra gathered her up in her arms. Now that she was out of the fight, her skull throbbed with renewed intensity. Helena was mercifully silent until they came within sight of the settlement, when suddenly she started to cry.

"No-what's wrong, kid? C'mon, you're safe now."

"What if she don't come?"

"Your mom?" Ankerra took the sniffle as an affirmative. "She'll come, don't worry. You should have seen how upset she was that you were gone, kid."

"What if she can't? What if she's hurted?"

Ankerra experienced a sudden wave of deja vu. She knew that particular terror all too well.

"She'll be fine, Helena. She's tough. Besides, she's got Atton- you know Atton? He's helping her too. Just don't worry about it."

It was a very long wait, during which Helena learned the basics of both pazaak andthe Mandalorian game of cu'bikad, which involved more sharp objects than the child's mother would probably been comfortable with, heard an abundance of stories from Ankerra and her brother (most of which were made up on her spot), and learned a lullaby. Ankerra was fond of children, having many adopted nieces, nephews, and cousins, but was nonetheless thankful when her mother returned. Atton and Bastila, intact as Ankerra had predicted, found the two sitting in Tam's shop, Helena clutching a rather bedraggled stuffed bantha toy and listening avidly as Ankerra related a Mandalorian children's tale.

"...And Mandalore took his sword, and with a single swipe, cut off the dragon's head!"

"Mama!" Helena practically leapt up to embrace her mother. Ankerra looked away, feeling as though she intruded. Her gaze fell on Atton. The two locked gazes for a long moment before Atton spoke.

"My offer still stands." he told her. "The Order needs everyone it can get."

"Goto hell, Rand." She told him gruffly, but the statement lacked venom. Someone tugged on her kama, and she looked down to Helena, attempting to return Eluis.

"Keep it, little one." she said with a crooked smile. "It's lucky."

Life on Concord Dawn returned to it's normal monotony afterwards, but Ankerra found no peace. She was plagued by splitting headaches, fleeting glimpses of voices and sounds that weren't there. It was as though she had opened a door in her mind and found herself wholly unable to close it.

Her brother thought she should take Atton up on his offer, if this it was this Jetii nonsense that was causing this. Ankerra refused out of hand, and in the mean time she got worse and worse. All this came to a peak when she woke up in a bunk on a ship with a headache that was equal parts hangover and delerium.She found a note taped to the bunk above, written in her brother's scrawl.

Ankerra-

You're being stupid. Or maybe just a good Mandalorian, I never could tell the difference. Since you won't admit you need help, I've taken matters into my own hands. I drugged your drink, and now you're on the Scarlet, on route to Coruscant. Kaycee is piloting, and he's been ordered not to take you anywhere else until you go there. He has the usual commands set up, and your codes haven't changed. I can't make you go to the Temple, but I think you should. Losing your mind would be a waste of a good fighter. Whatever you decide, keep Scarlet. She's wasted on Concord Dawn.

-Tam

P.S.There's painkillers in the footlocker.

Ankerra cursed at the deaf and unsympathetic bulkheads.

EndPart IV