Reflections of the Orell Legacy

[Orell]

Quarasha closed the door to her Fury, her wry smirk evaporating. An entertaining night, to be sure, but...

She shook her head, and headed off to the cargo bay, slipping around a few crates to the special one, the one in the back. Tapping in the long code for the week, with a little zap as a final signature, and opening it up, the sight bringing a smile to her face...


"You disappoint me, apprentice. The president does have a weakness."

"...my lord, I have been through his files, his records, his secret hiding places-"

"Everyone has a weakness, Quarasha. What do you think his is? Think carefully."


Quarasha sat down on another crate, gazing at the contents. The bracelet, that heartfelt gift, the note of encouragement in the engraving. "Through victory my chains are broken, the Force shall set me free." The last two lines of the Sith Code, her favorites, the truest ones, despised though it was by the man who taught her most.


"We are never free, apprentice. We all have our weaknesses, our chains. Power and Victory can break them, yes, but some will remain, and more will be forged through our life."

A smirk. "You mean you have your own chains?"

"Of course I do. My alliances bind me, just as they grant me power. The demands of biology are chains only the mightiest of Sith can ever break, they will almost certainly always restrain us both."


Her gaze shifted to the holos. Images of her walking, talking, laughing. Gorgeous, beautiful always, even when- no, especially when crying, a woman she couldn't help but-


"The Jedi have one thing right, although for all the wrong reasons. Can you guess what that is, apprentice?"

"That Lightsabers are good weapons?"

"Hm. Two things, then. But they know that love is a weakness. It exposes you, makes you vulnerable. So long as you love someone, it will be a weakness you can never hope to defend against. No true Sith would sully themselves by opening up such a profound weakness in themselves. Find pleasure and companionship if you wish, Apprentice, but always be ready to abandon them, or to strike. Them. Down."


She stared at the holos some more. Darth Necare suspected. Others might as well. She should toss her aside. Break her heart, in front of everyone. Attack her if possible. Shatter this chain.

She knows, it can only end badly. In tears or in corpses, or both, or worse. Do what she was trained to do, what she trained herself to do long ago: Break her chains, free herself of all things, become a slave to nothing.

Become like that other Twi'lek Sith. That Darth, powerful, aged, wise, no doubt having broken her reliance on such petty things. Like happiness, pleasure, possibly even sanity...

What she should do.

Quarasha smiled happily and shook her head, blowing a kiss at the holo and reverently closing the crate. Not today.

[Orell]

The dreamscape was as it always was. Endless, yet confined. Empty for now, but filled the the potential, the chance for more. And through it all, Quarasha drifted, the haze of deep sleep upon her.

She could hear Olle's voice in her mind. Chastizing her, telling her to pray that the ones to judge Quarasha's crimes wouldn't be so harsh. The girl had no idea, Quarasha thought, pushing away the voice. They deserve no mercy,

and I-

"She has every idea, Quarasha," came an all too familiar voice.

Hers.

The figure drifted into sight before Quarasha, the familiar Twi'lek, her eyes closed, her face peaceful, sitting cross-legged in meditation, in her brown, Jedi robes, serenity emanating from the figure.

...who are you?

"You know who. Call me Jedi if you wish. But Olle does know, very well. You know what lays in her past, you've seen it with your own eyes. Trust her council."

"Exactly!" came another voice, just as familiar, but steeped in venom. "She's done worse, and she walks without punishment?"

This second form came into view, another twi'lek, the pale skin, orange, corrupted eyes, pacing in anger in her dark, black robes, the tattoos on her lek seeming all the more vicious.

Let me guess, you're Sith?

The Sith laughed. "No, we are Sith! You know that our enemies deserve no mercy!"

Yes! They-

A sigh came from the Jedi. "They are slavers. They take men, women, children and sell them into service, worrying about naught but their own pockets."

The Sith sneered. "Then we should destroy them! Enact justice at any cost, they won't hurt anyone else!"

"At any cost?"

You know what they do, Jedi! Quarasha sneered at the Jedi as she drifted away.

The Jedi nods, never opening her eyes. "And I know what you do, Quarasha."

A laugh from the Sith. "She grows stronger! She is a slave no longer, she will have ultimate power and none will be able to stop her!"

"At what cost, Sith?"

Who cares about the cost?! Quarasha looked at the Sith that was nearly at her side, sharing a smirk with her.

The Jedi sighs, shaking her head, fading further. "DO you think the slavers care about the cost?"

What?

The Sith scowled. "They hurt her, her and others like her! Who cares about them?!"

"And who cares about the oppressed? Those that toil under the reign of her allies?"

That... that's not nearly the same, Jedi.

The Jedi was coming nearer now, oddly enough. "It is similar. You enslave people, scheme to make them want the ensalvement, plot to keep them oppressed. Is it any different, because you cannot hear the screams?"

"No!" shouted the departing Sith. "It is different! She must grow stronger! A victim never again!"

"Strength through the enslavement of others," the Jedi said, shaking her head. "Slavery breeds weakness, Quarasha, you have said so yourself."

I am strong without them, Jedi!

"Then prove it. Cast them off and prove your own strength. Strength on your own shoulders, no one else's."

Yes!

The Sith hollared as she faded away. "You will fail and die a slave to your weakness!"

I am a slave to nothing! I am-


Quarasha groaned as she woke, the alarm blaring in her ear. ...weird dream...

[Orell]

"...wai', when'd Skavik learn 'owta read minds?" Kyri asked, craining her head at the comic on the datapad.

When all that came from Lien's chair was a unintelligible grunt, she looked over at her brother.

It had been a long day, and then a longer night. Lien hadn't left her side yet, aside from the obvious needs. So, she wasn't too surprised to see him drifting off, but still... "...Li?"

He jerked awake, looking around quickly before focusing on Kyri. "...'orry Ky. Still 'ere, still good, wot'd ya ask?"

"...it ain' 'portan'-" she stopped, seeing the tired look on Lien's face, and just sighed. "...jus' wan'd ta know when Skavik learn'd ta read minds..."

Lien chuckled, rubbing his eyes. "Figure tha's onna his 'Oracle of Telos' powers. Ya know, when 'e got tha Hear' of tha Force an'-"

Kyri groaned, flopping her head onto the pillow. "Ugh, an' he ken pull Force powers outta his ass wit' it? Righ', think I s'ppress'd tha bit."

"Hey, ya know he cannae go too o'erboard wit' it! O'erwise-"

Kyri rolled her eyes, lamenting the terrible, terrible taste of her older brother. "Yah, yah, o'erwise Darth Rendous ken get 'moar powar' an' then hurt Pr'ncess Nila. Ya know i's jus' a dumb lil' excuse ta write 'emselves outta corners."

Lien grinned at Kyri. "Hey! It's na dumb!"

"Is so dumb! Next yer gonna tell me he ken tear 'part starships!"

"Hey, I though' ya hadn't kept up wit' it?"

She giggled this time, smiling at Lien. "Nope, been doin' lotsa 'portan' readin', 'member?"

"Ugh, you and yer textbooks. Betcha know every bone in the hand by heart."

"Yep!" she said, grinning bright and proud.

"I dunno 'bout ya, but I'd rather remember Skavik's stuff than borin' stuff like tha'."

"An' 'ow many manuals on makin' 'splosives have ya read?"

Lien laughed, standing and leaning over the bed, kissing Kyri on the forehead. "That's differen'. 'splosives ain' borin'. I'mma go see wot sorta excuse fer caf they got inna 'firm'ry, a'righ'? Want any? Won' be gone fer but a tick."

Kyri hesitated, a brief wave of fear passing over her face, before shaking her head. "...jus' some water 's fine." At his concenred look, she put on her very best, brave smile and added "I'mma good, Li. Pr'mise."

After another kiss on the forehead, Lien relucantly left, leaving Kyri... alone. She tried going back to the datapad, to the comic, trying to ignore the from the cuts, no, carvings on her arms and legs. The doctor said they would heal  The presence of the cast on her arm was harder to ignore, and even with the kotlo and the painkillers she could still feel the dull throb of pain coming from it.

She shut her eyes for a moment, only a moment, but when she did she saw him again. Falkc, that cold stare, the cold smile, the cold... everything. That look when he was cutting into her, cutting... no one told her what he had written into her skin, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Her arm throbbed again, and she saw him again, raising that pipe, about to strike, tied down, can't move, can't run can't do anything please please I just want to leave I won't tell anyone why-

Lien was shaking her gently, calling her name. She heard someone screaming, someone thrashing against him. She shook her head, throwing the thought aside. She was safe. Not tied down, just an infirmary, hers, she'll be fine.

She clutched at her brother, sobbing into him. "...L-Li..."

"...'m 'ere, Ky. Ain' goin' nowhere," he said, stroking his little sister's hair, trying to focus on her right here, right now, and not on what Falkc had coming to him.


Author's note: If anyone has concerns about this storyline, particularly as its using that old cliche staple of "Fridging", I assure you, I'm well aware of it. Kyri's attack, in the end, will be about her, not about Lien's quest for revenge. I don't intend to do something like this to a character and have it resolved offscreen.

[Orell]

T7 rolled looked up at the door as Shaantil walked in. "...T7?" she asked, frowning to herself.

"T7 = found comlink frequency // Jedi = sure?"

"Hardly, my friend. But she is owed this much, regardless of her motivations. Perhaps she will continue to do good deeds if-"

"T7 = know speech // Jedi = be careful?"

Shaantil chuckled at the rebellious little droid. "Of course, and thank you." She looked down at her comlink as she walked out of the engine room, frowning again. Intellectually, she knew that the Sith had her own motives for the actions, likely to do with manipulating her beloved's home world, and possibly him as well... but a good deed is a good deed.

----

Quarasha was frowning at her datapad. The proposed headcounts the diplomatic corps had included for the Eresar Embassy were not promising in the least. So much work to be done, they said. Fertile ground for expansion, they said. An extra network engineer would just drag things down.

She pushed it aside. She needed a few more positions that would go unnoticed. Perhaps something in security, or transportation...

*BZZZZZZZ*

She frowned at her comlink. Honestly, if this is another damned reporter asking for an interview, I'll... zap them through the comm or something... "Who is this?" she asked, frustration overwhelming her attempt at a pleasant demeanor.

"Knight Shaantil of the Jedi Order."

Quarasha blinked. "...could you repeat that?"

"I believe you heard me, Lord Quarasha." Shaantil's own annoyance was clear in her tone, something which always earned a grin from the Sith.

"Well, well, well. I believe I did, I'm just not sure if I believe it." She pauses. "If Miller disappeared again-"

A deep sigh from the other end cut the Sith off. "No, Quarasha. I am calling to speak of your public words about mine and Cordae's relationship."

"Ah, you mean how you're polishing his Lightsaber?"

"Quarahsa."

"Cleaning his rifle?" Quarasha said, pulling her datapad to her, bringing up the holonet to a familiar page.

"Quarasha."

"Turning a Jedi Hand Trick? Using the Force? Undergoing deep meditation? Pulling-"

"Enough!" Shaantil interrupted, her voice briefly raised. "If you will not take this seriously, I will hang up."

Quarasha pouted at the comlink. "Awww, but the site had a few hundred more!"

"Quarasha."

"Fine, fine, what is it?"

A sigh came from the other end. "I would like to thank you. You are correct, my relationship with Cordae is not relevant to the Empire's dealings with Erini, and he is an honorable man capable of not allowing his judgement to be swayed by our relationship."

There was a long pause from Quarasha. In truth, her mind had only been on the diplomatic tactics of the situation, saving face and distancing herself from what anyone could tell was an unwarranted attack. If Cordae had acted in a way that could be considered prejudiced against the Sith... but no sense in knocking this back. Besides, it's not like she could stop dealing with Hutts, given Sasmi's job...

Quarasha sighed. "I'm a little surprised, Knight Shaantil. I was half expecting a speech filled with suspicion and mistrust as to my motives. But you are welcome regardless."

"Very well. I won't take up any more of your time, Quarasha."

The Sith chuckles slightly. "Do give Cordae my regards next time you're examining his regalia!" She grinned at Shaantil's groan as the comm signal cut out.

[Orell]

*mutters and drops the poetic framework of the title*

-----

"Doctor Orell?" came the voice from the main hold. It was a kind-sounding voice, but still one that filled Kyri's veins with ice. It's just yer crew, Ky, no need ta fret, jus' no differen' from tha folks in tha 'firmary... ya know, iffen ya 'ad a crew there... A few panic-y, deep breaths later and she stepped out into the hold, smiling at the two in front of her, trying to keep from waving like a little girl.

There was definitely a few differences, though. A gaunt, disinterested looking woman with a duffel bag hung from her shoulder, and a... scary looking rifle slung over her shoulder, and a taller, better built man, smiling gently.

The woman scoffed. "...you're kidding, you're the doc?"

Kyri nodded, swallowing a lump in her throat. "Ya- yeah, I am. Doctor Kyri Orell. Nice ta meetcha both."

The woman gave the man a look, then sighed. "...great, the babysitting patrol. Can't believe you talked me into this, Carth."

Carth grinned. "Hey, it won't be so bad, Cor." He turned to Kyri, walking over and extending a hand. "Sergeant Major Carth Hemdall, Retired, and that ray of sunshine over there is Pilot First Class Cora Wilsaam."

Cora lazily salutes. "Just call me Cor and him Carth and hold the wit, none of it's been funny. Ever."

Kyri nodded dumbly, shaking Carth's hand. "I'm guessin' you're the pilot, then?"

"How'd you guess?" Cora replied, smirking nastily. "And pretty-boy there's your nurse and bodyguard and if you ask really nicely he might even read you a bedtime story."

"Ease up, Cor," Carth said, turning to Kyri with another smile. "Don't worry, she's an ace pilot. She's got a few nice bones in her body, too."

"Liar."

Kyri smiled and nodded. "...well, Seiyd's payin' ya, so... I guess we're co-workers?"

Carth shrugged. "Well, Cor'll take you where you need to go, and I'm mostly here to keep you safe and help you with treatment, so you might as well be the boss."

She nods again, but looks back to Cor, frowning slightly. ...might as well ask now... "...so... why are you two... you know, retired?"

Cora shrugged. "Joined up when I got old enough, couple years before the Treaty. Got dull, figured there'd be better paying jobs outside the military, and never could stand the asshole officers."

Carth smirked at her. "You could never stand asshole superiors at all. Glad you behaved long enough to win over the boss." He looked back down at Kyri, either missing or ignoring Cora's gesture. "Hit a few bad missions here and there. Seemed my luck was bad enough as it was, so I didn't re-up when my time was up. Met your brother on one of those, actually."

Kyri's shoulders slumped. ...great, more time surrounded by folk gushin' over Li... "...no kiddin'. Bettin' you cannae tell which one?"

Cora snorted. "I know the one he's talkin' about. Met Lien there too, during the pickup, bit surprised he remembers me, though."

"Why's tha'?"

Carth shrugged slightly. "...well, pain meds can mess with your head, you know, and he was doped up pretty good given his condition."

Kyri blinked. "...you mean you're-"

He nods. "Yeah, that was one of the nastier fights I've seen. Your brother was the only one still in one piece besides me, if you don't count the eye. Cora and her wing picked up our escape craft once we got off the planetoid, managed to drag us back to friendly territory before the Imps could catch up."

She looked between the pair. "...yer sayin' that you two saved my brother."

Cora shrugged, but nodded, a slightly softer look in her eye. Carth nodded more firmly, though, adding, "I was just doing my job there, I know he'd have done the same for me." He gave the young doctor another winning smile. "Think we can work together?"

Kyri nods, smiling wide. "Definitely!"

[Orell]

Soldin frowned at the ceiling when the ship's door chime sounded, standing up from her meditative stance. "Odd, none of my informants are scheduled to arrive. There are no packages expected. The locals know that this is a Jedi vessel and would not bother me with trifles, and other Jedi would simply use the comm... who would bother me in person?"

She called her Lightsaber to her hand, steeling herself for a fight. There was always the chance this was a Sith making a brazen attack to kill a Jedi Master... "C2, who is at the door?"

A few moments later, the protocol droid spoke up. "Jedi Knight Shaantil, Master. Would you like me to let her in?"

"Oh. That makes much more sense." She sighed, sending her Lightsaber back to its resting place. "Do so, C2, and then return to your alcove to recharge for two hours."

"Understood, Master Soldin. It is an honor to serve."

She was idly musing about how the Sith seemed a more appealing prospect when Shaantil entered the conference room, giving a careful bow to her former master and earning a soft chuckle. "Master," Shaantil said.

"There is no need to stand on cerimony here," she hesitated only a moment, "...Shaantil."

The Knight smiled with a certain measure of relief, sitting down opposite her former Master. "...thank you. Is it... acceptable for me to speak of... all topics?"

Soldin's smile froze briefly, and she nodded. "Of course, Sha- daughter. Please, speak freely."

Shaantil nodded, looking almost exactly as uncomfortable as Soldin. "I... nearly hurt Cordae."

Soldin frowned as her daughter described what happened. It didn't surprise Soldin in the details. The Prince doing something foolish, causing Shaantil to grow scared, and then angry when he ignored the danger, and finally leading to the potential for violence, a wild throw with the Force into a wall or something like it when he would not let her move away, stopped only because he finally did so.

She watched her daughter, her former padawan carefully as the tale was told. Clear remorse in her tones, she wouldn't be faking that, no sign of blame of Cordae for his part, which is good. And she didn't seem to be trying to excuse her instinct to harm her boyfriend, which would have been severely troubling after the incident with Jace and-

It was only until Shaantil finished her story did Soldin notice that... she was still looking at her like a troubled Padawan, not her daughter. "...too late now, push forward." Soldin nodded, putting on her best compassionate face. "...do not worry yourself, my child. You did nothing wrong."

Shaantil nodded, still staring at her lap. "...I know, but I nearly did."

"...yes, you did." Soldin sighed to herself, pausing to collect her thoughts, her gaze focused on the ashamed form of her stu- daughter. "You do not need me to tell you that. But you should remember that you were able to hold your anger in check, child. It is not an easy thing to do at times, but in the end it is what is most important."

Shaantil nodded slightly, earning another puzzled look from the Master. "...and you know that too, I sense. Why did you come here?"

Soldin realized the mistake in the words a moment too late, hurrying out "Not that you need a reason, of course."

Shaantil looked up at her Master, a soft smile crossing her face. "...of course. It is alright, Ma-Mother."

Soldin sighed again, slouching down in her chair. "...no, it is not alright, but that is my failing, not yours... and that was hardly better, was it?"

Her daughter let out a soft chuckle. "No, but I know what you meant, mother."

Soldin let out a wry chuckle of her own. "...wonderful, perhaps you could tell me later. But you did not come here simply to confide in me, Shaantil. What else is there?"

Shaantil looked down again, a slight blush rising on her cheeks. "...did you ever... have that urge with my father?"

A wry remark died in her throat, common sense arriving to the Master a few sentences too late, but a welcome arrival nonetheless. Shaantil rarely asked about Simon, despite the young woman's own search into her father's background. "...perhaps she does not wish to inflame any hurt? Or she feels it is improper to ask of him to another Jedi... or perhaps simple embarassment over my intimacy with anyone..."

Soldin cleared her throat, and shook her head. "...no, Shaantil. There were moments when I wanted to throttle him, yes, but only for his usual attitude."

"His usual attitude?"

Soldin chuckled softly at the memories. "His reputation as a womanizer was not without basis, although he did manage to settle down some once things grew... serious. Not that he would stop flirting with women that might be persuaded to help him..."

"Help him with...?" Shaantil was fighting a smirk, Soldin could tell from that tone.

"With his business, child. Please stay on topic?" At her daughter's chuckling, Soldin pushed on. "But, no, I did not reach the level of anger you did..."

Shaantil's mood fell to the deck, and once again Soldin realized, too late, the real question. "...do not credit me too much, child."

"But..."

Soldin sighed. "Yes, you need to learn to walk away. To be explicit about it, to state, emphatically, that you need to collect yourself. That anger will only build on itself, and you must be quicker in realizing it, and pulling yourself away from him if time allows... or even if it might not allow. That is without question, but it is something you can learn, and it is something that you seem to be learning quite well. You did tell him to let you go, after all."

"Then-"

"I had an advantage, however, with Simon. The simple fact is that Humans, and Erinians as well, do not understand the Force as well as Miraluka."

Shaantil stared at her mother for several seconds, speechless, before finally venturing to open her mouth. "...you do realize that sounds somewhat Speciest, mother."

Soldin sighed. "Very well, average, no Jedi or Sith training, no special insight, etcetera, etcetera, but do try to understand what I mean?"

"What do you mean?"

"We Miraluka see through the Force. We are impacted by its knowledge every moment of every day, even ones that never enter a Temple or pick up a Lightsaber. It, and the presence and threat of the Dark Side, are a basic fact of our existence."

"...you are saying that he could sense when you were getting angry with him?"

Soldin smirked. "One did not need the Force to sense that."

Shaantil returned a weak smirk of her own."Of course. I remember how you could yell at people."

"Quite. But he understood the risk better, understood what the anger would lead to. He knew to walk away once he saw the Dark Side grow around me, that when I raised my voice he should take a calmer tone... no doubt a talent he had learned from more than a few run-ins with law enforcement..."

Shaantil giggled at the last. "I know, I saw a transcript of your first encounter with him."

Soldin winced, but let out a soft laugh of her own. "Force, I doubt I will ever forget that. I was the laughing stock of the entire station for that, and it didn't let up until after I had finally left that planet behind."

"They had never seen someone flirt with a Jedi before?"

Soldin shook her head, letting out another laugh. "Oh, they had seen that. What they hadn't seen was a Jedi Knight stumbling out of an interrogation room with bright red cheeks, stammering to the warden. I swear, if I had my way there would be a course in the Temple called 'Getting flirted at by handsome spacers'."

"That certainly would have been useful for me!" Shaantil said with a laugh.

"Oh, it would save us countless problems! The only problem is that the damn class would get too popular!"

The pair laughed again, relaxing into their chairs. It was a few moments before Soldin, smiling at her daughter, spoke again. "...but, regardless, you may need to lean on Cordae here, Shaantil. Help him to understand this. And work on your own self control, of course. I cannot stress how important that is."

"I know, mother." Shaantil said, sighing and looking at her datapad. "...I should go."

Soldin nodded sadly. "...I understand, I am not-"

"No!" Shaantil blurted out. "No, it has nothing to do with you. I need to travel to Erini to meet with Cordae..."

"...and you wished a convenient excuse to leave suddenly, in case things went poorly?" Soldin asked, smiling politely as Shaantil looked away.

"There... may be some truth to that."

"I understand, my child. Go ahead," Soldin says as she stands, smiling politely, although not earnestly.

Shaantil nods herself, standing and moving towards the door, but stopping just before leaving. "...would you mind if we spoke again, soon? About Si- ...about my father?"

"...nothing would please me more, Shaantil," she replied, joy filling her heart as her daughter left.

[Orell]

Quarasha frowned as the Rattataki finally arrived. Late, as he tended to be, although always before she could be rightfully offended at the tardiness. Always an excuse with him, one tale after another that amounted to being fifteen, twenty minutes late to a meeting.

As he entered the Fury's conference room, Leiftenant Effet Ornell gave Quarasha a slight bow, and a salute to the other occupant, Lieftenant Brynce Rylar, another of the Sith's miserable finds. "Apologies, my Lord, I was hung up-"

"Save it, Ornell," she said, cutting him off. "Are you prepared?"

The Rattataki nodded. "I've scouted four lookout locations over the city, each with excellent views of the landing pad and bunker. It's at the edge of my rifle's range, but I could still eliminate targets-"

Rylar sighed. "We've been over this, Effet. We'll need the element of surprise."

"And once shots start flying inside? We won't be wasting surprise then, and I'll be able to take a Jedi off your team's hands." Effet smirked, patting his rifle.

"And get yourself killed, more likely. We do not have enought data about the enemy to judge their capabilities effectively, and my team will be able to take care of things without you throwing your life away for petty attempts at glory."

Effet leaned over the table, glaring at the human officer. "I've eliminated Jedi before, at this range they won't have a chan-"

"Enough," Quarasha said, cutting her sniper off and fixing him with a stare. "You will hold fire until ordered to by Rylar or the team's lead. I would rather keep you as a final surprise, in case things go poorly or they retreat too quickly." She turned to Rylar. "And you are to play nice with your team, defer to any Sith that are present and be prepared to leave without them if things go poorly."

Effet gave Quarasha an approving smirk, even as Rylar frowned. "My Lord, I am not accustomed to leaving soldiers to die. Particularly Sith. I would rather hold out until the mission is finished, one way or another."

She shook her head. "You will not. If the Republic holds the base, they will be able to spin whatever story they wish, and I want to minimize my involvement with this operation. That means not allowing yourself to be captured there."

"Then the strike team is to be left in the dark as to your involvement, my lord?"

Quarasha stared at the pilot for a few moments, quickly going the options over in her mind. "...too many variables, too many options..." She shook her head with a sigh. "Your discretion. Tell them if you must in order to get a good team together, and if you think you can trust them to win."

Effet grinned at the Sith. "Want any survivors?"

She sighed again, knowing what the officers were expecting to hear. They had served under too many brutish Sith to expect any less than a bloodbath. "If the team can take prisoners for me to question, then they should feel free to do so. But don't tie their hands, and don't give any Sith orders on the subject. Anything else?"

Effet shrugged and looked over at Rylar, who shook his head. "...only one. Is the party a wise idea, given the attack?"

That earned a glare from Quarasha. "The attack was dealt with, the assassin is now dead, dismantled and melted into the deckplates. If there is a further attack, I doubt it will be done at a foreign party with a few thousand guards on the premises, and I need some element of plausible deniability."

Rylar looked away from her as the glare only grew stronger, sparks dancing between her fingertips. "I am no cowering damsel, and I will not cancel the plans made because of a failed attack. Your concern for my well-being does you justice, but it is not your place to question my strength. Is that clear?"

Effet grinned at his compatriot's clear discomfort, and Rylar could only manage a feeble nod. "Good," Quarasha continued. "Dismissed."

She collapsed in her chair, once the pair of officers had left, glaring at her stack of datapads. She was too cautious, she knew. Too careful. Too willing to let a good opportunity pass by in favor of playing it safe. Her pitiful power base was proof enough of that. Friendships and tentative alliances with others in the Empire, favors owed elsewhere, a few debatably legal bank accounts filled with bribes and kickbacks, and these two officers...

Rylar wasn't a bad officer, at least. Capable, intelligent, diplomatic, good strategic thinking but over-promoted, tossed in over his head by an Admiral who saw potential but had idea of how to cultivate it, and ended up having to demote the man after a few disgraceful operations. 

Effet, on the other hand, was a terrible officer, but made up for it by working alone and being an excellent scout and shooter. Too much arrogance, too must disrespect, too willing to suck up to any Sith around, and far too willing to blame racism from others for his own failures. He deserved better than the guard duty Quarasha rescued him from, but not by much.

The garbage heap, in short. Officers no one else wanted, agents that she could trust, if only because she was their only option for a new start to their careers. The safe option.

Sith don't play things safe. They seize the moment, take what they want, laugh at any that stand in their way. And Quarasha knew that it was high time she took that to heart.

[Orell]

A ping came over the intercom of Master Soldin's ship. "Knight Shaantil to see you, Master. Should I power down again?"

The elder Miraluka chuckled softly, rising and moving to the door. "Yes, C2. I will let you know when to turn back on." She opened the door, smiling at her former student. "Come in, Shaantil. It is good to see you again."

Shaantil stepped inside, waiting for the door to close before giving her mother a brief hug. "And you as well, mother. Have you been well?"

Soldin gave a weak shrug, leading the girl towards the main room. "As well as can be expected. There has been an unfortunate amount of hostility as of late, but I'm working to deal with that."

Shaantil frowned, filling a glass of Vysint from the table and taking a seat. "I did not know you had attracted the Empire's attention. Is it something I can assist with?"

"The Empire?" Soldin laughed. "If only it was the Empire. The Empire I can deal with, I speak of the Council. They think I have spent too long away from Tython and the other core worlds, too far removed from what they think a Jedi should be."

"...ma-, apologies, mother, you told me that I should trust in the Council, to accept their guidance. Surely that means you should not ignore it either."

Soldin shook her head. "Listen, yes, but do not remain ignorant of other possibilities. Their concerns are noted, but unneeded. And that is quite a thing for someone in your position to say, my dear."

The Master smiled slightly as her daughter looked away, clearing her throat. "I listen to their council, I simply have... a different interpretation of their teachings than what they intend."'

"Perhaps I taught you too well, then," Soldin said, sharing a chuckle with Shaantil. "Don't worry about me, child. I volunteered for a change of pace, a little bit of archaeology. Something simple, to ease my mind and soothe their concerns."

"Simple, mother?"

"As simple as it ever is. The actual expedition is being led by a rather eager young man, I simply need to keep track of things, stay on the lookout for trouble and yank on his hood if he does anything too foolish." She smirked at her daughter's expression, remembering a time when a rather different hood was being yanked on.

"...I will note that we arrested him two years later for taking bribes and allowing for the import of contraband. My detection of him was... eventually accurate."

Soldin laughed, finally taking a sip of the imported, and technically illegal, beverage. "You lept at a young man that was intending on showing us to the stationmaster! Hardly a master criminal!"

"...it was my first time off Tython as your Padawan..."

"Yes, and that little jump made me the laughingstock of the rest of the Masters for a good three months, so, no, I will not let you forget it," Soldin said, smiling at the embarrased, but still smiling, Knight.

"...very well, I suppose it is only customary that you persist in teasing your daughter..."

"Of course it is! And there is one other subject that is quite customary to bring up."

Shaantil raised her eyebrow. "...I sense that I do not want to know what that is."

Soldin gave an evil little smile. "Grandchildren."

Shaantil cringed. "...Master, please..."

"That friend of yours is moving forward-"

By now, Shaantil was firmly hiding her face from her mother, or at least trying to. "Seiyd told you?"

Another laugh from the Master. "She wouldn't tell me if my robes were on fire, I figured it out on my own, and long before she did. Come on," she added, searching her memory for the right saying, "it is not as though I am getting younger."

"Mother! I don't even know if Cordae and I are... are..."

Soldin realized she was probably enjoying this far more than a Jedi had any right to, but why stop now? "Biologically compatible? How can you not know that?"

"We are separate species with different biologies! He has two livers, and I have no eyes! It is not-"

"And you haven't run any tests for compatibility? Or checked to see if others have done any studies?"

Shaantil hesitated. ".........not as such. It... has not come up..."

"Never?" Soldin asked, pressing on. "You have never considered your future with him? The impact your relations, in both senses of the word, might have on the two of you, and his world as a whole?"

Shaantil took a deep breath, speaking carefully, as though reciting the words from a script. "I... have considered the possibilities, but as caution is being observed in our... relations, the long term concerns have never been fully... explored."

Soldin gazed at her daughter. "If that is how you always lie, it is a miracle the Order did not find out about you and Jace earlier. What is your REAL concern, Shaantil?"

"I do not-"

"You are afraid of something on some level, and I think you know what it is. Are you worried about your career? That the Order might-"

"No! It is his planet!" Shaantil interrupted, glaring at her mother.

The two stared at each other for several moments, a slight raise of the eyebrow from Soldin prompting Shaantil to sit back with a sigh, briefly meditating. "...I apologize, mother, I-"

"It was nothing. You were saying?"

Shaantil let out a brief sigh. "...he loves his world, and would do whatever he could to protect it, and it loves him as well. The people became... fascinated with me, sight largely unseen, simply because of my relationship with him. That it is neutral, and I am... not does not help matters either. Whether my choice or not, to be with Cordae means to be with his world... something I know next to nothing about..."

Soldin gazed at her daughter, and slowly shook her head. "Then learn. See it yourself, learn about its past, research it... find out what it is like. You will have to deal with this at some point, because either he or the Order will force the question upon you."

"...even if I am sure it is not soon?"

Soldin smiled, reaching out for her daughter's hand. "The future waits for no one, Shaantil. The Jedi least of all."

[Orell]

The sniper's fire pinged off the Defender's hull as Norland scrambled to lift off. The other transports were in the air already, just waiting on the Jedi and any other survivors...

Tears blurred his vision as he pounded the controls. He felt her death in the Force, and he knew that he had no chance against a foe that Master Soldin could not defeat. She was right, he was useless, unable to fight, only suitable to dig and play as a courier...

He drove his ship through the gray sky, trying to escape the world in a hurry, get away from the Sith, give the Master's death at least some meaning. His comm blinked at him, the other ships asking for orders. Wondering what to do, just like he was...

He shook his head, triggering the comm. "This is... Knight Norland, we... we need to leave the system now, plot a course for Carri-" he stopped himself before giving the order. If the Sith wanted to destroy them all, they might set up an ambush on that path, they'd know the first instinct would be to run back to the core...

"Sir? Where's Master Soldin? Where are we going?" The panic was evident in the other pilot's voice, and Norland's training was clear: You have to provide them a source of confidence, strength, authority... everything Norland lacked.

Norland steeled himself, calming down before speaking. "...Master Soldin cannot join us. Set a course for... Tatooine. We need to take the long way home."

There was silence from the other ship, and then, "...yes sir. Course laid in. See you over Tatooine..."

Norland tripped the engines and watched the stars bleed into hyperspace, collapsing into his chair and staring down at the datachip. The reason Master Soldin gave up her life. It was going to be a long, long flight to Republic, having to move slower in order to not outrun the civilian ships... and it didn't make sense. The data from an archaeological dig is... important in a broad sense, but not worth a life...

He stepped away from the controls, walking over to his study, plugging the datachip into his systems. "I have to know what the data is, after all, in order to know who to give it to..." he told himself, looking over the files.

There was a lot there, of course. It looks like Soldin just dumped an entire set of directories into the datachip, not caring about filtering or organizing any of it. "...makes sense, she didn't have time to do much more than copy a lot of data over. But... what sort of data is this?"

He opened up a few of the logs, frowning at the mass of raw data. "...this is a trajectory caluclation... that number... that's the average hyperspace speed for an Imperial Fury, and these are time stamps... and that... that looks like it could be the mass of a Fury..."

His eyes poured over it all, making a few notes, teasing out what he could learn from this... until realization dawned. "...this is hyperspace traffic," he said aloud. "They were... they were using the base to monitor Hyperspace traffic?" He blinked again, bringing up the galaxy map and frowned, glaring at the screen. "...all that death, all that destruction... we invited it? Why... why would Soldin do that?"

He slumped down again. He had friends in that base. Colleagues, so many others simply fascinated in this world that tore itself apart, what it must have been like to be there... "...and we brought more war to it."

Norland leaned forward to remove the datachip, when he spotted one, oddly out of place directory, with an encrypted file and a small note, reading "Norland, deliver this to Knight Shaantil. -Soldin".

There was a part of him that was tempted to try to decrypt the file, out of spite, or curiousity, or something else... but he held himself back. Master Soldin died to get this information, including whatever that file was. He would respect that, if nothing else...

-----

Sometime later, on Dromund Kaas

Quarasha stared at the mangled body of Master Soldin, momentaritly ignoring the nervous posture of her lackey. "...why am I looking at this?" she finally asked.

"My lord, Darth Ephese desired that, as it was your operation, you be given the right to decide what to do with her."

Quarasha glared at Rylar. "THIS body? She was at the base?"

"Yes, my lord, and defended it to the death to allow another Jedi to escape with some data. We do have proof that the Republic was using the base as a listening post, without the permission of the Vorskan government. If you want to take credit for the operation, you would gain significant credit among the other Sith, and blowback from neutral worlds would be minimal."

Quarasha sighed, rubbing her eyes. "...and if it were any other Jedi, I would agree. Bring me Farworlder, Saxtus, either Nahir and I would gladly do it. But this one... you brought me the former Master of the only Jedi that Erini knows about. A Jedi they LIKE, Force knows why... this would be more trouble than its worth..."

Rylar looked at the fallen Jedi, frowning. "...we could always put it into an incinerator, pretend like nothing happened..."

"...and that would leave a mystery, one the Jedi would insist on solving." She turned to her lackey. "Put her on ice. Or in statis, or whatever will prevent decomposition. I need time to think.about this..."

-----

Elsewhere...

Shaantil's mind drifted in her sleep, the drugs from O'reily still in her system and... be it the Force, Seiyd's influence or merely the sedatives, she began to dream.

Two figures appeared. The first, a woman, one Shaantil had known all her life. Old, but no longer worn down by the years. The second, a man, younger, confident, all smiles, someone Shaantil had never met, but knew all the same.

They embraced tightly, like old lovers too long separated, as they merged together, joining the Force.

[Orell]

Norland sighed, stepping out into the early morning of Tython. SIS had the data, finally, and the Jedi Order's contact seemed far too eager to receive it, given all that happened. Or maybe that made it better, that someone was getting use out of it. Norland didn't know, and at this point didn't care. He had another job to do.

It took some asking, but he eventually found Shaantil, sitting next to Master Yarwin's favorite waterfall, looking deep in meditation, an astromech droid next to her.

It was odd, though. Something about Shaantil reminded him of Master Soldin, aside from the obvious...

He shook his head. "...just imagining things..." "Knight Shaantil?" he said, approaching her.

Shaantil turned her head, nodding at him. "...Norland. You were... with her. On Emaglaha."

"I... yes. I was. She... gave me the time I needed to escape," he managed, looking down at the flowing stream. "...I cannot imagine what you are-"

Shaantil raised her hand. "...thank you, but... it is not needed. It is... good to see that you are well." Her voice cracked slightly, betraying her unwavering Miraluka gaze. "...is there something you need from me?"

Norland nodded. "...she gave me something. A datachip. It had the data from that place, which SIS has. They seem... grateful for the data."

Shaantil took a deep breath, and nodded. "...good. I... hope they are aware of the cost."

"I made sure they were." Norland replied, pulling the datachip out, levitating it over to the Jedi. "...she also left something for you. An encrypted file, possibly a message?"

Shaantil snatched it out of the air, a touch too eagerly, passing it to T7 to decrypt. "Did SIS get a copy of it?"

"No. It was addressed to you, and you alone." He bowed his head, managing to add, "...I will never forget what she did there, I swear to you." It was the truth, at least, although, thinking of all those that died there, Norland wasn't quite sure what he meant by it himself.

It went over Shaantil's head, however, as she watched T7, waiting for the decryption to finish, hardly noticing Norland slink away.

"T7 = decrypted file // File = holo message // T7 = play?"

Shaantil turned to her droid. "...of course, T7... but keep the volume low."

----

Soldin appears in her customary robes, the hologram robbing them of their color, or of any color at all.

"My child, as I speak this, it is my hope that this makes its way safely to you. I am relying far too much on the whims of the Force, but, in the end, what else can we do?"

Soldin's wan smile gave way to a softer one. "The Force has been calling to me, child. For what, for why, I do not know... only that there is a great danger in my path, a danger that would befall others if I deviate from it. If you are receiving this, then I have faced that danger, and I did not defeat it, and for that I am sorry."

"You were an exemplary student, the best I could have ever hoped for. Time after time, as I have heard of your work, of the good you have done in the name of the Jedi and the Republic, it has made me so very proud. As much as your father would have grumbled about his daughter being a Jedi, I know he would have felt the same. My only hope is that you continue to be a light of good in the darkness of the galaxy."

"I know you are afraid of the future, of what may come to be, from one thing or the other. Do not be, child. The future is nothing but what we make of it, but it will not stop and wait for us to be ready for it. Because, if there is one thing that I am sure of, beyond all others, is that you are ready for it. You simply may not yet know it."

"If there is a chance that I am a prisoner of the Empire, then alert the Order as soon as possible, of course. I would ask that you recuse yourself from my rescue, though. We both know that you would not be properly centered for such an attempt, and I would not wish you there if the Sith do manage to turn me to the Dark Side, because we both know what would need to be done."

"I sense that it is far more likely that I will be dead, however. In that case, do not mourn. I went into this battle willingly, knowing what my eventual fate might be. I lived a good life, with you, with Simon, and I rest now in the arms of the Force. I could not have asked for a better life, or a better end to it."

"Goodbye, my daughter. The Force will be with you always, and so shall I."

----

Shaantil stared at the holo, then at T7 once it faded away, who looked at her closely. "...Jedi = want to watch again?"

She shook her head, choking up as she spoke. "...no. No, I- no. Not now. Save it. For later." She took a deep breath, retreating into her meditation, her mother's voice still ringing in her ears.

[Orell]

Quarasha glanced around the table, a soft frown on her face, taking in the Lieftenants once again, trying to keep a measure of her attention on Rylar's droning briefing voice. Various minor lords petitioning her for assistance or favors, despite having nothing to bargain with, updates on the success of the trade packages she had organized, some political upheaval because an idiot King ignored her guidance and there was a budding rebellion forming...

She held up her hand. "Forgive me, Rylar, but when you say Rebels, do you mean armed and dedicated insurgents, or a few civil demonstrations?"

Rylar glanced down as his notes. "Largely civil, my lord. A few hotheads throwing rocks, although the latest had a few improvised firebombs used once the riot police descended."

She nodded. "And the next in line?"

Rylar blinked. "...Prince Torfal. Still somewhat young, rather weak willed in my opinion. Not a fan of the rebels, but less......" he paused, searching for the right word.

"Less of a prideful idiot?" Quarasha finished, waving off his hurried response and turning to the Rattataki. "Ornell, I assume you know the layout of the palace, and the best places for a change in the guard?"

Effet grinned, giving the Sith a cocky wink. "Just say the word, ma'am. It's been a while since I assassinated a King."

Quarasha nodded. "We need to shape the outcome as well, Effet. Get a local rifle and start training." She sighed, ignoring Effet's grimace at the prospect of not using his personal rifles. "And the other little task, Rylar?"

Rylar nodded. "I have spoken to a few old friends of mine that had served with the Admiral, examined records, orders, status reports-"

"What Admiral?" Effet interrupted, frowning at the human. "We're not talking about an Imperial, are we?"

Quarasha raised he hand, cutting off Rylar's response. "We are. Admiral Eldarus Villem has taken a particular interest in Erini, and I would like to know who I am dealing with before he wrecks my plans there."

Effet's eyes narrowed. "And you go to Rylar for info? I thought I was your military advisor."

Rylar's sneer was hardly being hidden now. "She went to the naval officer for information on an Admiral, and not the sniper. A true military advisor would have told advised her to do just that, Ornell."

"And she should have still asked, Navy! I'm not some damn lackey for-"

A crackle of lightning and the sharp scent of ozone interrupted the pair, an annoyed looking coming from the Twi'lek. "Ornell, you will do what I order, and I will go to you for advice and information when I choose to. If this arrangement is unsatisfactory for you, feel free to return to guard duty in the middle of nowhere. I hear there are very few kings to assassinate there." Turning away from the now sulking Effet, she turned, nodding to Rylar. "You were saying?"

Rylar cleared his throat, giving Effet a brief, if smug, look. "The Admiral is a good one, ma'am. A good leader and strategist, respect of his men, loyal to the Empire... with respect, ma'am, the tone by many of those I spoke with was that if he asked the to transfer to his command, they would agree without quesiton."

Quarasha smirked briefly. "And you?"

A pause. "He would not ask me, my lord." At Effet's snort, Rylar frowned, fixing the Rattataki with a glare of his own. "Do you have something to add?"

Effet shrugged, smirking at the glare. "Sure. What Sith's ass are his lips glued to?"

Rylar's eyes narrowed. "I don't follow your meaning, Ornell."

"Oh, come off it, Rylar. You don't get that high in the Empire without a Sith's favor. Especially in the Navy. Someone's watching his back."

"He no doubt takes assignments from powerful Sith, but if he is a simple minion for a Sith Lord, it is disguised quite well. And you clearly know nothing about the Navy's heirarchy."

"And you clearly know nothing about sucking-"

Quarasha sighed. "Enough. I can sense that there is more to him. He would not be moving on Erini like this if he did not think that he could withstand retaliation from the Necares." She looked up. "Keep your ears and eyes open, both of you, and find me something that I can use in case-"

Rylar raised a finger. "He does have a son, Lieftenant Paskr Villem, recently transferred into the Admiral's command. A good officer in his own right, although I do not know how much off a weakness it may be."

Quarasha gave her minion a tight smirk. "It's a start, at least..."

[Orell]

Chief Medical Officer's Log #140609-1 - Doctor Kyri Orell Reporting

Kyri appears on screen, staring at a datapad down on her desk. Her shirt is off, her shoulder covered by a heavy bandage, a sports bra preserving her modesty.

She stares at the datapad, a distant look in her eyes, her face drained of color.

The console beeps softly, startling Kyri into looking at the camera. "...righ'... um... so... kriff...."

She takes a deep breath, not looking at the camera. "...I... yesterday, I killed four people. They were slavers. They were hurtin' folk, hurtin' my friends, or would've, given a chance. Shot three others, made sure ta go for woundin' shots with those. Coulda done tha same with tha other four..."

She shakes her head. "...na, that's... I din't even think 'bout it. I mean... kriff, they were slavers an' all, i's just..."

She looks down at her hands. "...supposed to be a doctor. Li's tha soldier. Don' matter how good a shot I am an' all. I mean... I ken feel it, I'm gettin' better at all this. Think I missed alla once last night. Wasna hesitatin' either. Iffen I needed ta shoot... then I'd shoot."

"...rescued a lot of folk. Think it was 'round thirty people... slaves... they're gonna get better lives 'cos of us... an' tha people we killed... slavers, real bad folk... that make it okay? That make it... good?"

Kyri sighed, leaning over to turn off the camera. "...an' I din't even care 'til now..."

---END LOG---

[Orell]

Tython, during the Council's deliberations

The river flowed.

Of course, there was little else for it to do. Principals of gravity pushed it along, the waterfall not far away feeding its banks. It twisted around a rock here, carried a tiny pebble away, depositing it only scant meters downstream.

There was little life in the stream for Shaantil to percieve. The Force flowed through all things, the water and the rocks and the countless microscopic organisms that clinged to a brief life in the rushing waters.

Her words to Yarwin, the other day on Kwenn, rung clear in her head. The river is a river. People use words to classify it further, but the river knows what it is. This may be no rushing rapid, or bubbling brook. Perhaps too small to be a true river. Downstream lay another river, much larger. Does that make this one a tributary? Or perhaps just a creek. Does it matter what others call it? Does the river truly care what name it is given? It simply acts. It simply is what it is...

...but nor does it insist on what it is, either...

"...Knight Shaantil."

If she had eyes, she would have blinked, but her thoughts scattered regardless, looking over towards the voice. A man stood there, Zabrak by species, anxiousness in his voice and stance, his aura... there was darkness, but tempered. There was light, firmly trying to push through. "I am Shaantil, at least," she said, nodding politely. "And you are?"

The Zabrak nodded. "...Merrant. May I sit down?"

Shaantil nodded, gesturing at the bank. "Of course. Your name sounds... familiar."

"...maybe your former Master, Soldin, told you about me?" he said hopefully, sitting down on the bank, carefully positioned out of Shaantil's immediate Lightsaber range.

She shook her head. "No, I do not believe she did... no, it was an intelligence report some time ago, of a Lord Merrant in the Empire."

There was no humor in Merrant's laugh, just as much a resigned sigh as anything. "Didn't realize I got SIS's attention. Should I be honored?"

"That is one possibility." She gazed over at Merrant, studying him carefully. "How did you know Master Soldin?"

Merrant frowned softly. "...a long story. Short version is that she brought me back here." He glanced at the Miraluka, not trying to hide his sorrow. "...my condolences."

"...she has rejoined the Force, and left this world defending civilians. My thanks, Merrant, but I doubt there are many other ways she would rather have died."

He nodded. "...been avoiding you. Not good at this part." He smirked briefly. "Thought you might attack me. Guess I was wrong."

"The day is young." Shaantil joked, a soft smile on her face easing the former Sith's nerves. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Not really. Wanted to talk to someone that knew her. And you didn't seem busy."

She shook her head. "I am waiting for the Council, in truth, and meditating on a question."

Merrant shrugged. "What question?"

"What do you see before you, Merrant?"

The Zabrak blinked and looked around, before returning his eyes to Shaantil, a smirk on his face. "A Jedi not nearly old enough to pull off cryptic questions."

"Not me, Merrant. That," she said, gesturing at the river.

He shrugged. "A continuous liquid made primarily of hydrogen hydroxide. I heard it's deadly."

Shaantil couldn't help but smirk. "...Master Soldin must have adored you."

"Use your ey- um, vision. Its water. A stream."

"A stream? Not a creek?"

Merrant shrugged again. "Does it matter?"

"No. Or perhaps yes. We treat what we call streams as streams, creeks as creeks, rivers as rivers, regardless of what they actually are. Mislabel a rapid as a stream, and danger might come in its wake."

"...Soldin wasn't this abstract," Merrant muttered to himself, earning another bemused smirk from the Miraluka.

"I take it you have yet to meet Master Yarwin."

"No, but heard enough stories to be terrified of the man," Merrant joked, laying back against the bank and staring up into the sky. "What's the real question?"

"What am I?"

Merrant shrugged easily. "A Jedi Knight? Woman? Miraluka? Better armed than me?"

"Not everything is a joke, Merrant."

He shrugged again. "Feels like I have three modes these days, joking, moping or pissed. I like the first one best. Best answer from what I can see? Jedi."

"The ring I was given recently implies otherwise."

"Ah. Heard about that. Not sure myself. Romance isn't too popular on the other side."

Shaantil raised an eyebrow at Merrant. "Are you certain about that?"

He smirked back at the Miraluka. "Oh, sex is popular, sure. Passion and all that. Only part of the other side I miss... well, sort of. But there's a lot of them over there that think of Romance as breeding in weakness. If you can make it work, then great, but it's a bit like telling all the other Sith after your power base who they can kill to cut your knees out from under you."

Shaantil frowned thoughtfully, her mind flashing back to the wedding, Aylaa and Ilireth's taunts... and idly wondering which of the two is the least dangerous. "Perhaps."

"Not sure what makes up a Jedi Knight anymore. Know I had it wrong before. Obvious answers are too simple. Protect people, guard the Republic, smite Sith, ask cryptic questions... probably something in there about protecting the Order too, although that might get a bit circular."

She shook her head at the Zabrak. "There were Jedi before the Jedi Order, and during times when the Order had to go to ground and hide."

"Maybe. Don't know. Just feels like an important part. Besides, they went to ground for the Order, right? Get through the dark times, wait until they could come back and start it back up again." Merrant shrugged again. "Bet that was hard on them."

"...hiding as they did is not so difficult," she said, a frown forming on her face.

Merrant looked over at her. "Try not helping when you want to. Because you know you could, but you know you can't. Because you can't trust yourself, not ready yet, too dangerous. Seeing the killing blow right there, but not ready to kill yet, so have to keep defending, wait for a different opening and hope you don't get gutted..." he shut his eyes, breathing slowly. "Sorry. Moping. Still better than pissed."

"If not helping others troubles you, then perhaps you should start doing so."

Merrant frowned, looking down at the river. "Can't yet. Keep snapping. Need to do it Soresu style, hold back, wait until the moment is right, patience. Strike too soon and you lose more than the fight. Better for everyone, better in the long run, just hurts for now. Won't hurt forever. Getting better. Do what's right, no matter how much you hate it," he says, speaking it like the mantra he no doubt believes.

Shaantil's gaze remained on the Zabrak, her face not twitching so much as a muscle, digesting the Zabrak's words. "...perhaps there is some wisdom to that."

"...you don't have to sound so shocked." He glanced at the Miraluka, giving her a faint, false smile. "...I answered yours, you answer mine. What do you see? What am I?"

Shaantil's gaze remained on the former Sith for several moments, before finally standing, stepping away from the stream. "A good question. I see a man weighed down by his past, but only bent, not broken, and certainly not beaten by it. As for what you are... a good question. One I cannot answer. But I think I know where you are going..."

She gazed at the stream again, and sighed, slipping off her outer robe, the weathered, white and gray fabric, patched countless times before thanks to holes from blades, Lightsabers and blasters, so familiar in her hands, carefully gripping it as  she strolled over to Merrant, seeing the initiate waving for her from the temple. "...and I think you will need this when you get there."

The Zabrak blinked as Shaantil dropped the robe into his lap. "...white's not exactly my color..." he said, tongue desperately trying to fill space while his mind tried to process what just happened.

"...then make it yours," she said, striding off back to the Custodum Council's chambers, a new question in her mind... one that she wished she had thought of a long time ago.

[Orell]

Originally posted 11/27/2013: /threads/1872-0.html

Lien's intercom buzzed, a protocol's voice speaking up. "Captain, your sister wishes to speak to you. Shall I connect her?"

"Go ahead... C-Something..." he winced, still struggling to recognize all the protocol droid names.

"'ey, Li, wot's this I'm hearin' 'bout you hostin' the family dinner?" Kyri said over the comm, a... suspicious sound in her voice. "Don' we always do it back 'ome?"

He let out a laugh. "Come on, Ky! It's just a place, and way better than doin' it down in tha dark. Bigger, too."

"Yah, but does tha' mean yer gonna cook?"

"Hey! I'm a damn good cook!" he said, grinning at the comm. "At least as good as ma an' pa!"

"Uh huh," she said, suspiciously. "So, it ain' so you ken order stuff in secret?"

"Ky."

"Or so we gotta feel nice an' not complain?"

"...when has that sorta thing stopped ya in the past?"

He could HEAR her roll her eyes. "Hones'ly, Li, I KNOW ya don' really live there. Ya work on Carrick, way too long a c'mmute. You hostin' on yer hunk o' junk?"

Lien sighed. His sister wasn't wrong, exactly, but... "It's important to have a real flat, Ky. A place you don' gotta worry 'bout bein' stolen away, ya know? Or get shot down? And I'd rather host on a place without exposed wiring. And carpets."

"...uh huh. But... ya are cookin'?"

He sighed. "Yes! I'm sure ma will help out, and you can if ya want-" He sighed as he waited for Kyri's laughter to quiet down, "And I'm gonna be invitin' Az along too... and she'll prolly force her way into the kitchen, whether I like it or not."

Kyri snickered at the last. "She's a better cook than ya, righ'?" Once it became clear an answer wasn't coming, she continued. "Alrigh', alrigh', I'll be there, jus' migh' be a bit late? Keep gettin' confused 'bout tha time differences..."

He chuckled. "I'll forward you an app for that, Ky. See ya there."

[Orell]

Originally posted 11/29/2013: /threads/1872-0.html

"Feel the Force around you, Shaantil. It is in everything, the people around you, the unliving steel, the droid, the air... the Force is eternal, unending, unyielding. Take comfort in that, if you can. You will never be alone."

Shaantil sighed softly in her meditation. A small comfort, perhaps, given to the Jedi after an unexpected and extended stay on a frozen pit of a world... but a comfort regardless. Master Soldin would always be with Shaantil, through her memories and through the Force...

"T7 = sorry..."

The Jedi turned her head, looking at the small droid, rolling into her quarters. "...what are you sorry for?" she asked, mentally kicking herself for not keeping more aware of her surroundings.

"T7 = had small accident // Jedi = angry?"

"What happened?"

The droid looked around, almost acting bashful. "T7 = know Jedi = sad // T7 = know Cordae = busy + Soldin = ... // T7 = wanted to cheer Jedi up"

That earned a slight smile from the Jedi. "Thank you, T7, but what happened?" she said, restraining herself from making a joke at the poor droid's expense.

"T7 = find holonet article on food = good at cheering up // T7 = found recipes // T7 = tried cooking!" She stared at the droid for a few moments, before motioning him to continue. "T7 = read roast birds = good food // T7 = read recently killed birds = best food..."

"...so, you are sorry that you killed a bird, T7?"

"T7 = not done yet... // T7 = found + killed local avian species..."

She frowned. "...T7, we are on Nar Shaddaa. What avian species..." She winced, knowing the answer.

"Bird = Mynock"

Mynocks. The womp rats of the sky. And... "...I thought they were silicon based life forms?"

"Jedi = not like Silicon?"

She shook her head. "At least, not to eat."

"T7 = sorry..." T7 seemed to slump down even lower, but continued. T7 = had trouble preparing Mynock // Skin = tough // wings = little meat // T7 = may have made mess"

"...well, that is understandable... is that all?"

T7 shook its head. "T7 = cooked Mynock // T7 = think Oven = had malfunction?"

"Why is that?"

"Recipe = said to roast at 350 degrees // Mynock = overcooked + burst into flame + exploded..."

Shaantil gazed at T7 for several moments. "...350 degrees what?"

T7 looked around a few times, before reluctantly answering. "...recipe = did not say?"

The Jedi winced, although there was a slight smile on her face. "...please, T7, clean up the mess and... see to repairing the oven, if it is needed?"

"T7 = understand // T7 = sorry // Jedi = mad?"

Over twenty years of Jedi training was thankfully enough to prevent her from breaking out into laughter. "No, T7, and thank you for the thought of it..."

She managed to hold her expression for a good ten seconds after T7 left the room, before dissolving into muffled laughter.