Jedi Temple, Coruscant. 0 ATC.

Her robe and boots lay in a heap at the base of the tree as Zhara pulled herself up onto the lowest branch. On the other side of the trunk, Caleon had already begun to make his own way up through the ladderlike branches. Some of the padawans had made a game of using the trees as their own path around the outer edge of the garden, with cheers going to whomever could make the quickest circuit without touching the ground. At the wise and settled age of fifteen, Zhara had to admit she was getting a bit too old to compete with younglings, but it was too much fun to seriously contemplate setting aside. So Zhara compromised: she dawdled, letting the scrawny nautolan boy get halfway up the first tree before starting in earnest; no sense discouraging the kids at their own game.

Caleon teetered precariously at the end of a branch, readying himself to make the jump to the next tree, when the air was filled by the sound of screeching metal and crashing stone. A mighty quake shook the Temple, and Caleon fell from his perch. Zhara reached for the Force, calling on its aid to protect her fellow padawan. With a carefully balanced pull and hold, she slowed his fall, settling him to the ground before leaping down from her own branch.

After a few brief aftershocks, tense quiet descended on the garden. “Alright,” Zhara said once she had yanked her boots back on. “I’m going to go find out what happened. Who’s with me?”

“I have a task for you,” came Master Andren’s voice from a few paces away. “For all of you.” He was flanked by three other Knights, all of them armored, with sabers at the ready. “Sweep the dormitories and the creche, see to it that everyone makes it to the evacuation points.”

“Evac... are we under siege, Master?” Zhara asked as the other padawans whispered anxiously to each other. “Take me with you, I can help repel the invaders.”

“You’ll have your chance at battle in due time,” Andren replied. “But right now, your first duty is to the safety of our noncombatants. Do you understand?”

“But I —”

“Do you understand, padawan?” he repeated, his voice steely despite the worry on his face.

He's afraid I'll get in the way, so he's sending me off with the other children... She nodded, reluctantly. “I understand, Master.”

As the Knights continued on toward the great hall, and the padawans ran off for the dorms, Andren stopped and held Zhara in a hug. “I’m sorry, Zhara. I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “May the Force guide and guard you where I cannot.” He squeezed her shoulders tight before letting go, hurrying off after the other Knights.

For a brief, wild moment, Zhara considered running off after Master Andren, to stand at his side and aid in the defense of the Temple against whatever had violated its sanctity. Her feet ran away with her for a few paces before better judgment kicked in and she turned to trudge toward the living quarters. Stupid, Zhara, she scolded herself as she ran. Not even a practice sword, let alone a real lightsaber. What do you really think you could do out there. So stupid.

Jedi Temple, Coruscant. 0 ATC.

Despite the long, low rays of sunlight bathing the window seat Alendar had tucked himself into, the boy found himself shuddering at a sudden chill. He set aside the history text he had been reading and pulled his robe tighter around himself, tucking his hands into the belled sleeves. Looking out the window, he watched as a flattened, leggy triangle cut through the sky, descending toward the Temple with predatory grace. The cold intensified, bringing with it a sense of Dark, patient rage. It seemed, for a moment, that the Force held its breath, and then the Temple shook and the Darkness burst to hungry life, swallowing up the amber light of the setting sun. The bone-deep cold clawed at Alendar as reality screamed out in anguish. He tucked his knees tight to his chest, curling himself up as close as he could. He held himself very still and very, very quiet, wrapping himself up in the concealing safety of the Force.

Some time later — more than five minutes, less than five years, he couldn’t narrow his sense of time any finer than that — Alendar sensed a new presence, a tiny spark of Light flickering at the edge of his awareness, a candle set against the howling Dark. Slowly, carefully, he eased out of the sheltered niche of the window seat. A girl stood in the doorway. A Miraluka girl, one of the older padawans. “Hello?” she called as she peered into the shadows. “Anybody in here?” She took a step into the room, her expression shifting through confusion into concern as she edged closer to where Alendar stood, still silent and still cloaked. “It’s just... the Temple’s being evacuated. Everyone needs to get to the shuttle pads right away.”

“What’s happening?” Alendar whispered as he stepped forward, letting the Force cloak slip away. “What went wrong?”

“Everything’s gonna...” The girl shook her head, reaching out to take hold of Alendar’s hand. “I don’t know all of it. Someone’s attacking the Temple,” she amended as she set off at a run, dragging him along behind. Anger flared from her briefly before turning inward, threatening to smother the Light within her. “My Master is... he’s with the others, seeing to our defense.”

As the pair ran through the maze of dormitory corridors, the girl peeked into each room along the way, searching for more stragglers. Alendar pulled his hand free from hers and began peering into doorways. he took the left side of the hall, she took the right, and still they were alone when they reached the launchpad.

“Come on!” she shouted back to him, straining to be heard over the impatient whine of the shuttle’s engines. “Let’s get you onto the transport.” She put a hand on his shoulder, pushing him on ahead to the uniformed man standing at the bottom of the gangway. “Dorms are clear,” she announced.

“Good timing,” the soldier replied. “Sky’s too damn hot already. We don’t dust off now, we’re not getting out of here.”

“Go on.” The girl nudged him forward. “I’ll find another ride.”

“Look kid,” the soldier snapped, staring her down. “I’ve got my orders.”

“I am a Jedi,” she retorted. “My place is here.”

Alendar put his hand in hers. “I’m going with you.”

“Alright.” The girl’s shoulders sagged as she trudged up the gangway, Alendar once again in tow. “I know when I’ve lost.” Together, they squeezed into the last two seats, and Alendar let her fuss over his safety harness. She had only just barely managed to get the two of them strapped in when the transport lurched into the air. Nightfall on the Temple gave way to the endless dark of space.

Coronet City commercial spaceport, Corellia. 0 ATC.

Maneera sat in the copilot’s seat with her legs hugged up tight to her chest and her hands clenched into fists, trying to hold in the mid-morning shakes. She could feel the spare injectors calling from her pocket, but told herself one more time to leave them there. It was going to be a long haul to Coruscant with no sure way to resupply en route — she’d checked the on-board medkit first thing and found it disappointingly clean — so she’d just have to ration out what she had. She checked the ship’s chronometer again. Had she really only been here five minutes? It felt longer. Where was the owner, anyway? Much more waiting and she’d have to look for another ride. Not that finding this one had been easy. Apparently it took a special kind of crazy for a civilian pilot to fly into an occupied —

“Well hey there.” A cheery male voice from behind her interrupted Maneera’s woolgathering. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” The man sat down in the captain’s chair and offered his hand. “Conor Breslin. Welcome to the Far Horizon.”

Hesitantly, Maneera reached out to put her hand in his. “Ne... Maneera Sindri.” Using her own name to go home (whatever might be left of home by the time she got there) just felt proper.

Conor smiled, giving her hand a short squeeze and shake before letting go. “Nice to meet you, Maneera. Mind if I ask how you got onto my ship?”

Maneera uncoiled herself just enough to reach into the battered shoulder holster she had found and cut down to fit her favorite toy. As steadily as she could manage (which wasn’t very), she pulled out her lock cracker and passed it to Conor. “Cargo bay door,” she said in reply to the captain’s look of attentive curiosity. “Only took a couple search cycles to hit the code, then I let myself in. No one around, but the pre-flight was up.” She gestured to the checklist still displayed on the main console. “Figured someone would be along sooner or later, so I might as well wait it out.”

The captain nodded. “Stands to reason.” He turned the cracker over in his hands, looking it over critically. “Never seen one like this. Med scanner for the base components, yeah?” At Maneera’s nod, he broke into a wide, beaming grin. “Clever. You make this yourself?”

She nodded again. “Hennigan couldn’t get it calibrated right, tossed it. Waste not.”

Something in the captain’s face hardened. “You work for Hennigan?” He watched intently as Maneera curled up tight again, hiding her face behind her knees. Just my luck, finding someone who knows the boss. “Hey... hey, Mans. Don’t sweat it. What brings you to the good ship Far Horizon?”

Here goes nothing. “Gotta get to Coruscant. I’ve got family there, need to see they’re okay. I can’t pay up front, but I’m willing to work off my fare.” Ride to where he’s going anyway, it’s gotta be cheaper than surgery.

“Okay.” Conor nodded. “Far be it from me to turn away a lady in need. Go on and head aft while I run the pre-flight and get us on our way.”

Maneera stared for a moment, not quite sure how things had gone right. Then it sank in... the smile, the easy charm, calling her (of all people!) a lady. At least he looked clean; that was a big step up from Jax and his boys. “Oh,” she said, finally. “Okay. See you when you’re ready.” Conor patted her on the shoulder as she stood, shakily. She made her way back to the captain’s quarters and began the business of preparing for his arrival.

First things first, she dug a stim out of her pocket and shot up. The captain didn’t seem like the kind who’d turn mean if she got twitchy or passed out on the job, but no sense taking chances. Then the boots came off — nothing alluring about stolen CorSec surplus, best to get those out of the way before the main event — then the threadbare socks, which she tucked neatly inside the boots before stashing the lot under the captain’s bed. She peeled out of her jacket, her shirt, her pants, tossing each piece to the floor in a calculatedly careless trail. Getting the buyer to think he’d gotten her hot and bothered was usually good for a few less bruises. With her “costume” done, she let her hair down from its loosely-knotted bun, finger-combing the stringy yellowy-brown strands to cover the left half of her face. Some scars were rakish, alluring, sexy... and then there were her scars. Best to hide at least some of them. Ready as she’d ever be, she lay back on the bed and waited, fighting to keep her mind off the images of the ruined Temple that had dominated the past days’ news, forcing herself not to think what that meant for the kids, for mom and dad.

“Hey Mans?” He was close, by the sound of it — probably at the galley. “Maneera?” Another few steps and he’d see the end of her jacket sleeve caught in the door to his quarters. “Miss Sindri? You okay?” The door hissed open, and Conor stooped to pick up her jacket.

She watched his eyes follow the trail of her discarded clothing from the door to the bed. “Hello, Captain Breslin. I’m ready to discuss my...” She paused to draw in a breath, letting the last word out in a sultry sigh. “Payment.”

The captain stood up, her jacket still in his hands as he stepped forward. “I’m afraid there’s been a pretty big misunderstanding here. I’m really not interested in taking anything from you.”

Damn the luck. Maneera masked herself with a coy smile as she rolled over onto hands and knees, back arched, twisting back to look over her shoulder at the captain. “Think of me however you want. I can catch anything you feel like pitching.”

Conor let out a long, heavy sigh as he walked to the bed, gathering up Maneera’s clothing along the way. He settled her jacket across her shoulders and her shirt and pants beside her, then sat down at the foot of the bed. “Is this really how you want to play this, Miss Sindri?”

A giddy laugh bubbled up from Maneera as she turned again to sit up. “Not my fault it’s the only game in town. I give you a good tumble, you get me where I need to be. That’s how it plays out, that’s how it always plays out. No use pretending otherwise, so let’s just get to it, hm?” She leaned forward to grab a handful of his shirt and tugged as she lay back, dragging him down on top of her.

The captain peered down at her searchingly, his face so close to hers she could feel his disappointed sigh across her cheeks. “You’re high.”

“Sure am, oh Captain my captain.” She flashed a crooked grin. “So you can just go right on ahead and do whatever you want for as long as you want, and I won’t mind at all.”

After shifting his weight over to one elbow to free up the other hand, the captain pried Maneera’s fingers open, releasing her grip on his shirt. He stood, stepping back out of arm’s reach. “Now look,” he said, the amiable charm in his voice peeled away to reveal unyielding steel beneath. “I don’t trade in people, and I’ve got less than no use for anyone who does. You want to insist on paying your way to Coruscant, fine, I won’t stop you, but we’re gonna do this clean.” He held up one finger. “One, you show me how you made that little skeleton key of yours.” Another finger went up. “Two, you help me secure my locks so the next clever boots has to work harder at inviting herself onto my ship.” A third finger joined the first two. “Three, after we find your folks on Coruscant, you stick around long enough for them or me or both to get you cleaned up and on the wagon.” He lowered his hand, extending it toward Maneera. “We got a deal?”

Maneera stared at the offered hand. “Why?”

“Because I know where you’ve been.” Conor pushed his sleeve up, revealing skin riddled with faded track marks, discolored from long exposure to dodgy transdermals. “Way I see it, that means I owe you.”

Maneera stretched down off the bed to stand before the captain. “Deal.” She took his hand, squeezing it tight.

He rested his free hand lightly on top of hers, letting her decide when to pull away. “Good. Now get dressed and meet me in the galley. You look like you could use a sandwich or twelve.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The grin was back in his voice, though his face kept its stern glare. “Call me ‘sir’ again and I will kick your skinny butt to the Rim and back.”

“Yes... sir.”

Conor threw up his hands with a rich, raucous chuckle as he turned and left his quarters. “See you in the galley, Mans.”