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.”

The RMC spoiler is just the fact that Ruth, after having finally reconciled with Quinn, is dead, in spite of Quinn's heroic efforts. The Rylon mentioned in passing is Rylon Niral, Ruth and Quinn's son, not any game NPC.

"Wynston! Wynston. Got the perfect thing to wreck Quinn's mind."

The Chiss operative turned to see the big red-haired recruit Pierce Junior, who was at the moment nearly hopping with excitement. "If you succeed in what I've been trying to do for twenty years," said Wynston, "I'll...probably shake your hand, but I may be a little jealous about it."

"Just look at this." Junior tapped the console mounted on his wrist. His appearance shimmered and shrunk, a fine blue line sweeping around him for a moment before his image was replaced by a woman very close to Wynston's height, brown-haired, blue-eyed, scarred on her upper lip, wearing a very impractically cut black dress.

Wynston didn't say anything. He just drew his blaster and fired at the apparition's wrist. There was a small explosion, a spark, and Junior was left to claw the damaged disguise generator off his suddenly-scorched skin.

"What!?" he yelped. "Don't tell me that wouldn't be perfect."

Wynston started breathing again, at least enough to say "It wouldn't be perfect."

"Don't see why the old Wrath isn't in the image database already. Had to construct her from old holo pics. Seems to me the Emperor's Wrath would be the perfect thing to impersonate for some jobs."

"A, I know for a fact there were never holo pics with her dressed that trashily. B, don't call her old where I can hear. And C, she isn't in the disguise database because there is absolutely no healthy application for that particular image."

Junior crossed his arms. "I'll just get a replacement generator, mate. If I get that reaction out of you I can't wait to see what he does."

"Junior, you will never see Agent Quinn's reaction to that because you are going to delete all copies of the file and never attempt to reconstruct it again."

"Says who?" he said defiantly.

Wynston took one step closer. The youth towered over him, but the Chiss didn't appear to care. "Listen to me. I don't get angry, because angry is bad for operations and it's bad for business. Under extreme circumstances I may get a little irritable, then I calm down and fix the problem."

"You want to tell me your yelling matches with Quinn are a little irritability?"

"Yes. Likewise the attempts to abandon him to mortal peril after arguments break out in the field - after the job's done, of course - likewise the time I single-handedly stabbed a full garrison of war criminals to death, and likewise the time I called in an orbital strike on the son of a Hutt crime lord who committed atrocities I don't even want to recite against his people. I did evacuate the environs first, but I've been told that the orbital bombardment might be considered overkill. I get a little irritable, Junior, then I calm down and fix the problem." Wynston leaned closer. "If you ever, ever show him that disguise, I will get angry. And then I will fix the problem. Do I make myself clear?"

A calculating look gleamed in Junior's eyes. "You realize you're protecting Quinn?" he smirked.

"Yes. I am. There is one occasion in my life where I have caught that man doing the right thing for the right reasons, and that was the day she died. It cost him more than you can bloody well comprehend. You will not ever use her against him, or at all. Erase that disguise file. Find something else to do."

"You really have no sense of humor about this."

"Correct. I'm starting to feel some irritability coming on, so if there's any other commentary you want to get out of your system you'd better do it fast."

"You're not nearly as much fun as I thought when I signed on," grumbled Junior.

"Oh, come on. You enjoyed rigging the entire munitions-production complex on Nektar III to cascade-blow off a single sniper shot. The Operation's the only outfit in the galaxy that would've gotten you the intelligence and resources to do that."

"All right," conceded Junior, "that was good. Still. Doesn't make much sense, how you an' Quinn an' Rylon can mess with each other about the old Wrath and I can't."

"You really had to be there," Wynston said flatly.

Junior nudged the broken disguise generator with his toe. "Once this is fixed up, can I still impersonate Rylon doing embarrassing things?"

"Oh, absolutely." Wynston stepped back and relaxed, grinning. "Please, let me know how mad you can get Quinn over his son's terrible behavior. Whatever terrible behavior you can manage that he hasn't already actually done."

This modicum of respect was only earned by the circumstances under which Ruth died. Wynston spent the better part of 18 years fondly wishing to see Quinn lose. And then Quinn lost. And it wasn't a victory. Nowadays Wynston still doesn't like him, but there's a little respect buried in there. Enough to keep Wynston from figuratively or literally stabbing him in the heart, anyway, and enough to prompt him to stop others from stabbing the same.

Just don't tell Quinn that Wynston's turned irrationally, unnaturally nice.

Hey Sis," said Mila Stariser as she reached put to hug her sister.

Mira embraced Mila, her shivering visible even through her thick Jedi robes. The frigid winter's of Alderan were quite harsh even on one who was trained to withstand such conditions.."It's fantastic to see you again Mil."

"The sexy beasts unite once again," said Mila happily as she embraced her sister.

"It's actually the sexy twosome," said Mira laughingly as she withdrew from the embrace.

"It's trademarked," said Mila grinning.

"If anyone says otherwise I can show them the blade of my saber," said Mira pointing to one of her lightsabers which hung on one of the buckles of her utility belt.

"Thought Jedi were supposed to be benevolent snobs who meditated all day."

"Joining the Jedi is the most fulfilling thing that has ever happened me," replied Mira.

"Whatever you say," said Mila with a shrug," What do you say we get a drink sis?"

"Great," said Mira following Mila to the small circular building which stood outside house Organa.

Mira and Mila entered the cantina, warmth instantly washing over them in a lovely and cosy way. Mila led Mira over to the stools of the bar and flicked two credit chips at the bartender who then went to bring out two Cassandra Sunrises .

"I appreciate it," said Mira removing her hood letting loose a long brown ponytail.

"Don't mention it sister," replied Mila taking a long sip of the bubbly orange drink," Takes a bite out of the winter chill you know."

"Something everyone needs at this time of year," said Mira with a sigh. "Especially, since Jedi can't celebrate holidays with family."

"Which we aren't doing right now," said Mila with a wink.

"Look I understand the danger of attachment," said Mira looking into her drink as if she was looking for something inside." The Jedi way is the perfect way to live. It keeps from falling into darkness."

"Your telling me you think dating sexy guys and spending time with family is going to make you evil," said Mila mockingly.

"No," Mira stammered.

"What are we doing right now then?"

Mira was silent a moment. She answered with a slight annoyance in her voice," Sometimes people need to spend time with friends is all."

Mila's eyebrows wrinkled and her radiant smile diminished. "You don't consider me family?"

"I do consider you family Mil ,but we don't see each other as often as other siblings do so our bond is more friendly."

Mila took a sip of her drink turning to face the dispenser in front of her." I consider you my BFF you know."

Mira blushed slightly as she stared into her drink. "Same."

"That's why I got you this," said Mila grinning as she reached into her brown jacket to take out a beautifully wrapped gift.

Mira smiled and took the gift, instantly trying to unwrap it. It was in the shape of a rectangle with a shiny blue wrapping and read ribbon. She opened it carefully, unwrapping the present neatly.

Mira put the wrappings to the side in a folded pile and opened the white box which was inside the lovely wrapping. She took off the cover and was in absolute awe at the sight of what was in it.

"Mil," said Mira as she pulled out a beautiful charm bracelet laced in a masterfully crafted row of rainbow gems," This must cost a fortune."

"Yeah," said Mila as she pushed her empty drink to the side," Princess gave em to me for finding a family heirloom in one of the caves on Gallinore."

"Wow," said Mira observing the millions of colors which twinkled brilliantly on the bracelet. But, Mira's smile dissipated as she looked up at her sister," But, I don't have anything to give you."

"Nah, you don't have to give me anything sis. I just like spending time with you."

"I just wish I had something to give you," said Mira with a sigh," This is worth more than me and the most I can offer is some favors."

"Well, is you really feel that bad," said Mila inching her hand towards the glass of Cassandra Sunrise which lay in front of Mira," I wouldn't want your drink to go to waste."

"Sure," said Mira with a grin as she pushed her glass towards Mila.

"Thanks," said Mila taking a swig of the foamy alcoholic beverage.

It was hot, too hot, even in the cantina, Shiloh wiped her brow, and peeled off another layer as Kaliyo reclined in the booth. The slim Ratattaki pointed at another patron, a young and muscular moisture farmer, or more likely son of a moisture farmer.

“Him?” she drawled leaning close, tattooed white skin slick with sweat, she smelled of smoke, whiskey and a spice she could not place, “He’s cute, looks like he could give you a nice tumble.”

Shiloh pushed Kaliyo away, but the alcohol and the heat made her movements unsteady and clumsy, her fingers slipped on Kaliyo’s shoulder who only fell further onto her lap. She was Chiss, from an ice planet, she had thought the heat on Drummond Kaas insufferable, but at least on Drummond Kaas there was the rain, and some short few months where the temperature dipped a handful of degrees. There was no relief on Tatooine, the twin suns mocking her made for cold physiology.

Through the haze and sweat, Shiloh considered the youth that had been pointed out. Strong shoulders, a dimpled chin under a moderate layer of scruff, longish brown hair that had started to curl, heart shaped lips, and gentle brown eyes. If she was honest with herself, which she was desperately trying to avoid, Kaliyo was right, she was lonely. She couldn’t remember the last time she had enjoyed being intimate for intimacy sake. Sex was a weapon in her arsenal, but she confessed to herself that the prospect of forgetting herself in those honest eyes and strong arms that knew nothing of her world, was a tantalizing temptation. She brought her drink to her lips only to be met with nothing, she frowned into her glass.

“I’ll go have him buy you a drink!” Kaliyo shimmied her way over Shiloh, straddling her for a moment, grey eyes winking into red.

Before Kaliyo could reach the farmer, a buxom blonde had joined him, an obvious partner by the way they had greeted each other with a kiss. Shiloh pushed herself out of the booth, unsteady on her feet, and grabbed Kaliyo’s arm before she started hitting on him despite being a claimed man.

“Come on, I have a nice Kaas red, and some Corellian whiskey on the ship, and air conditioning. Let them be.” Shiloh, felt the cantina spinning, leaning none to lightly on her wayward companion.

“You know the rules, no leaving until after the fight, give me a minute.” One arm slipped around Shiloh’s waist the other tapped the blonde’s shoulder, whose pretty face connected with a wicked left hook.

They escaped the Cantina into the streets of Mos Ila, peals of laughter escaping Kaliyo’s lips. Despite herself Shiloh was laughing to. They both managed to stumble back to the ship which was mercifully cool.

“You’re terrible!” Shiloh exclaimed as she fell onto the common room couch, the cool air helping to clear her head, Kaliyo only winked and pulled out the Kaas vintage that had been mentioned earlier.

“You wouldn’t have me any other way agent.” She poured the deep red wine into short tumblers, she took a long sip, never taking her grey eyes off of Shiloh. She sauntered over and handed Shiloh her drink. She licked her full dark lips before taking another sip. She hit the console beside the bar and a rough voice supported by angry sounding instruments filled the space.

“Not bad Agent.” A few more swallows had Kaliyo’s glass empty.

“You’re not supposed to gulp it, this is a vintage, from before the war, you need to savor it take your time to appreciate the bouquet. Do you know how hard it was for me to pinch this from Keeper?” She grinned conspiratorially.

“Like this?” Kaliyo was next to her now, her hand over Shiloh’s as she took a sip out of the last glass of wine. Her spice filled the room, filled her head, grey eyes on red. Both women were still grasping the glass of wine when Kaliyo bent forward and pressed her wine and whiskey soaked lips to Shiloh’s.

“What are you doing?” Shiloh breathed; she hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. Kaliyo’s hand guided the glass of wine to Shiloh’s lips, and she drank deeply of the rich and acrid drink, Kaliyo kept the glass pressed to her lips, and Shiloh drank until the glass was empty. The last of the grape and berry notes dancing in her mouth, only to have them met with spice and whiskey again. The glass fell to the ground, forgotten as Shiloh pulled Kaliyo closer. Buckles and clasps opened and fell away, armor and weapons littering the ship, Shiloh was amazed at how soft Kaliyo was, surprised at herself for the way her body was responding to her touch. Shiloh’s head was swimming, her senses and nerves on fire.

“You’ve got it bad agent, and you are wound way too tight. I made you a promise, to get you laid, and the way I figure it, we both need this, so just enjoy the ride, and don’t ask stupid questions.” Her slim white hand was buried in the hair at the back of her head, she grabbed a fistful and pulled Shiloh’s head back, exposing her powder blue neck, Kaliyo’s lips roamed her ears and neck, and Shiloh let go. A gasp escaped her lips as she surrendered to whiskey, sweat, spice and sensation.

Mira Stariser eased her way through the crowd that surrounded the Jedi transport responsible for bringing those trained in the Force. She was hopeful to find a new friend amongst the crowd of kids that would come through the transport as she did every time a new transport came. She was friendless in the academy, mainly because of her unwillingness to stray from the Jedi Code and her “show off” personality which was only her trying her best, not to be rude to her fellow Jedi.

Mira slid through the crowd to get a good view of the children as the exited the ship in a single file line. A Jedi Master greeted the children as they came out, giving them a small wave and a radiant smile. Mira thought it was nice that the Jedi wanted to make their students comfortable in their new home, after all some of the children’s parents may have been killed by the Empire….

After almost two minutes most of the kids exited out of the transport, frolicking in the large expanse of the spaceport. Mira watched them play a game of tag and wanted to join in, but suddenly the familiar feeling of shyness washed over her and she simply waited next to the Jedi Master which greeted the kids as they exited the transport.

Suddenly, Mira noticed that the Jedi Master’s welcoming spirit had vanished and was instead replaced by a frown as he pressed an earpiece to his ear. Mira wondered what the matter was and tugged on the master’s d****** robe.

“Um, is something wrong,” asked Mira with a hint of worry in her voice.

The master glared at her and replied hastily,” None of your concern youngling.”

Mira stepped back and peered inside the transport wondering what was bothering the Jedi. It wasn’t long until she knew what was bothering him.

One last youngling staggered out of the transport, limping slightly as he made his way down the boarding ramp. He was a Sith. His skin faired a bright crimson and his eyes were a glowing yellow. His tentacles draped from his chin creepily, while thick black hair covered his head like a hood. He also looked wounded, with a black eye on his right side, a small clump of his hair had been torn out ,and his face seemed to be clawed judging by a scar running down his face.

“Hi,” said the Sith, his voice nasally as he spoke to the Jedi Master with a smile.

“Shut up,” hissed the master as he pushed the Sith off he loading ramp and onto the floor.

“I’m sorry,” replied the boy looking down at the floor as he picked himself up.

Mira lent the boy a hand as he got up from the tiled floor. Suddenly, the Jedi Master slapped her hand and pulled her away from the youngling.

Mira was confused and asked curiously,” Why are you being mean to him?”

“His kind will have no respect from me,” snapped the master,” If you know what’s good for you then you won’t associate yourself with that thing.”

Then Mira said something that caused the other kids and some of the masters supervising to look her direction,” What’s the matter with you?”

The room was silent for a moment and the Jedi Master simply glared at her furiously. The outburst even surprised Mira as she covered her mouth in surprise.

“Do you know what that is,” whispered the master emphasizing the word, that.

“It’s a him,” replied Mira as she went to greet the Sith.

A voice shouted from behind her,” Zero has a new friend!”

Mira stopped in her tracks and turned around to face a group of her classmates who were snickering in the corner of the hanger. The name hurt her. It was a name she hated, a legacy of being a loner.

Today she was going to destroy that legacy.

“Hi,” said Mira with a smile as she continued over to the Sith,” What’s your name?”

“Aron,” said the Sith kindly,” What’s your name?”

“Mira,” she replied extending a hand,” Welcome to the Jedi!”

Didn't feel it was as refined as I would like ,but I thought that it was pretty good for my tired state.

Your story—that’s how the “birthday” companion conversation should have gone for male and female agents alike.

Two weeks. Three dead ends. I watched the inhabitants of the small village through the scope on my sniper rifle as they went about their day, their habits forming patterns, tendencies. If I watched them long enough, I would be able to track them anywhere. I smoothed a finger down the trigger and sighed. Not today.

I stood, yawned, stretched out muscles tight from hours of stillness, rubbed a hand over the cold skin on my head. Felt my back protest. When I was younger there were no twinges, but I suppose it was inevitable. Age catches up to all creatures. I looked back down at the silent hamlet - they were completely unaware of how fragile they were, how vulnerable. Like infants with no thought but to be warm, fed, and loved. Tempting, but age was not without its benefits.

The abandoned communication station where the pack had settled while we searched for Akko Nadras in this sleepy backwoods planet looked deserted from the outside. It did not, however, sound deserted.

"Motherf**ker!"

I grinned as I heard my cat roar.

"Don't tell me what to do! I'll do what f**king well needs done!"

"You can't keep pushing yourself like this!" Mako's voice was laced with anger and worry. "Besides, you're a pain in the a** when you don't sleep!"

I turned the handle on the door and stepped inside. The two of them went silent at the sight of me. Mako turned back to her terminal while Skari seethed - her stance beside the entry rigid.

"You really should sleep," I murmured to Skari as I leaned past her to tuck my rifle, cold weather gear, and pack into the corner, "Lack of sleep makes you...vulnerable."

"I do sleep," she growled back, arms crossed as I straightened. I didn't move back out of her space. Up close I could smell her scent - a combination of durasteel and something delicate, almost flowery. Delicious.

"Really?" I said lightly, watching her solid red eyes, "when do you sleep, mama?" My lips twitched at the scowl she blasted at me.

"Where were you?" she demanded, stepping around me to head across the room to her kaffa mug. A retreat. Interesting. I let her go. For now.

"Nadras is not in Drollun," I said, leaning back against the wall.

"Is everyone in Drollun still intact?" she asked with a glare.

I laughed at her. "What a strange creature you are. To worry about these strangers. They're nothing to you."

She glanced over at Mako who was sitting quietly at her portable terminal, watching the two of us with a frown. "Check it for me, please."

Mako nodded and pulled up a satellite image. "No bodies. No panic. Looks okay."

"You really should learn to trust me," I said to Skari, "you might sleep better."

"What's the next location?" she asked Mako, her eyes avoiding my gaze.

"Fellinassra." She pulled up an image of a tourist retreat in the high mountains. Inside, I felt myself go still, my breathing and heartrate evening out just as they did before I pulled the trigger on a shot I knew would hit perfectly. It was just right.

"I'll meet you there," I said, grabbing my pack and gear from where I'd just stowed it, slinging my rifle onto my back.

"Crae!" Skari said, exasperation in her voice, "Aren't you going to eat something? Sleep?"

"I'll sleep when you do, mama," I said with a wink, ducking out of the door. Her growl of frustration made me grin as I started to walk down the road.

"Don't kill anyone till we get there!" she yelled at me from the door. I laughed and continued my trek up into the mountains. My cat would sleep tonight. I smiled.

Mila Stariser awoke to the sound of a med monitor and the hum of the ships’ engine. Her head was pounding and she felt groggy and sick to her stomach. Mila could hardly remember what happened the night before, but knew that whatever it was she had drunk a little too much again judging by the familiar feeling that she was experiencing.

Suddenly, Corso walked into the room, flipping on a switch as she came in. Mila shielded her eyes from the bright light above her, wincing in pain as her headache worsened from the light.

“Hey farm boy,” said Mila jokingly,” What happened last night?”

“You and Risha had another drinking contest, the tie breaker,” said Corso with a sigh.

“Did I win,” asked Mila turning to lie flat on her stomach.

“Nope,” said Corso flatly. He crossed his arms,” You got a problem you know.”

“What might that be goody,” groaned Mila as she reached for a kolto pill.

“You and I both know what it is Cap,” said Corso walking to the refresher to get Mila a glass of water.

Mila accepted the glass and swallowed the pill. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Well, according to princess, you consume the most amount of alcohol on the ship,” replied Corso now sitting on the side of her bed.

“Hey I like to have fun,” replied Mila with a half-smile.

“Yeah but too much of anything is bad for you,” said Corso in his familiar lecturing tone.

“Oh not this again,” said Mila with a sigh.

“Well, you ain’t listening,” exclaimed Corso,” I just don’t want you to become a drunk somewhere is all.”

“Do you love me Corso baby,” said Mila with a wink.

Corso shook his head and got up from his seat on Mila’s bedside. “If you aren’t going to take me seriously then you can pass out in some bar on Nal Hutta.”

Corso turned out the light and began to walk out the door of the medical bay. Mila said hoarsely,” Hey Corso thanks for looking out for me. I’ll try to cut back, promise ok.”

Corso turned his head around, giving Mila a small smile. “Thanks Captain.”

Then he walked out shutting the door behind him leaving Mila alone in the dark as she fell asleep.

It was a natural bridge of volcanic rock spanning a deep lava-filled chasm. Mirrigan felt it was as good a place to rest as any and, after trying the sturdiness of the surface with a few stomps of her boot, she walked carefully to the center and spun in a slow circle to take in the stunning contrariness of her surroundings. A ribbon of waterfall danced over a cliff to her left, straight down into the molten fire below. Shimmering wavelets of heat competed with snowflakes, the heat the victor. It didn't seem possible- she'd certainly never seen anything like it before- and her mouth began to twitch up into a smile of delight.

And steadied itself back into neutrality when she noticed Scourge standing several feet away, studying her face with unsettling intensity.

"You like this place?" His gaze slanted down to the roiling lava. "It's hardly conducive to peace," he murmured, that final word tinged with contempt.

"I find it peaceful in its own way." She crouched, peered into the liquid flame. "Peace can be found amidst tumult. Sometimes it must be."

"Spare me the Jedi dogma." He was beside her then, mirroring her crouch. "What do you see? You, not the being cultivated by the Order."

"But that's...it's...who I am." She squinted up at him, shaking her head. Her words tasted wrong, like sour ashes. Like a lie.

"Try harder. That was pathetic." He found a flake of rock and cast it into the chasm. "This isn't serenity. This isn't the sort of controlled grace found in the grounds of your temple on Tython. This is-"

"A different kind of grace. It's power. It's raw and an entity unto itself. And it's balance." Was he smiling? She stopped squinting and stared at him full-on, not an easy feat since her eyes had begun watering due to the excessive warmth and sulfurous fumes.

He stood, abruptly, and brushed his hands together as if they'd collected too much dust. Or blood. "The Force understands passions. Nature understands passions. Feels passions. And so do you. You hurl yourself into battle whenever the opportunity presents itself. You show no remorse over the lives you've snuffed out. You don't chant tired old mantras about peace as you engage a foe," oh, yes, he was smiling- and laughing, "you growl. When you retire for the day on the ship you retreat to the quarters you share with your husband-"

"You know this for fact- how?!" She sprang to her feet, hands automatically closing in on the hilts of her lightsabers. She didn't care about her lips curling into a furious grimace. She didn't care that her sudden careless movement hadn't been so much up as sideways, that she was poised on the very lip of the precipice. That maddening bemused expression on his face...something was burning icy in her veins. Worry. Guilt.

Anger.

"A bottle of Tarul wine. Or was it two?" Scourge mimed deep thought, fingers drumming pensively at his chin. "Yes, it was two. Kimble might claim to be a connoisseur of fine wines. He doesn't drink like one." The drumming ceased. An eyebrow arched. "My, my. Such fear. So delicious. So unwarranted. Only I know how deep your attachment goes. How deep all of your attachments go." Too fast for her to register, he clasped her shoulders and dragged her away from the edge. "The one I foresaw was a means to an end. A warrior. Warriors need balance. Where's your balance now?"

It was the touch. All the lengthy philosophical debates they'd had- and Scourge had never touched her, nor she him. They'd maintained a respectful distance from each other at all times except during battle. And- her interior voice both insisted and confirmed- isn't that when you feel most alive? Her right hand left the saber hilt and raised unbidden.

It almost reached his jawline before he caught her wrist.

"No. Even if I could feel, if I could care in that manner, would you be able to bear the censure of your Council? Your entire Order? Your crew, your friends...your husband? I paid my price. How immense would yours be in comparison to mine? I wonder. I've been wondering. You're no Jedi. The shadow is too dark in you. The radiant shadow. You could be so much more than the Council's puppet and poster girl. So much." Scourge released her, not without peculiar gentleness. "We should move on or else the local fauna might take an unexpected interest in this spot."

A mute nod from her. They trudged across the remainder of the bridge, back into the Belsavis wilds, side by side. Silence seemed a necessity for the first few meters, at least until her tongue couldn't be bitten any harder.

"I saw beauty in the tumult. Not peace. I saw perfection."

"As I thought."

"My mother told me about a place on the planet Voss. The Shrine of Healing. She said it could undo what had been done although she wasn't sure how-" all too aware that she was close to rambling- "or at least she couldn't tell me how. She's Sith, my mother. Her life has been devoted to rooting out and dissecting the arcane. If she couldn't tell me specifics then...what if it could undo what the Emperor did? If...would you..." her voice trailed off, her thoughts in a whirlpool blur even as her feet kept moving.

"Mortal again? Able to feel? Assuming I wouldn't immediately crumble into dust? We'll see what this shrine has to offer. I have profound doubts that anything could undo what was done to me." He halted and pointed ahead. "Kintan. An ancient by the looks of it. Kill with me, Mirrigan."

It was the first time he'd addressed her by name instead of simply 'Jedi'.

"Yes," her breath hitched as she grinned through a snarl, "yes."

That particular bridge is on the path to The Burning Way, final bit of the World Razer (Belsavis) non-class quest. And I did hang out there for a good long while just admiring the scenery. I had to really think about how a JK + Scourge romance would develop and came up with nothing except, perhaps, post-Voss and the Shrine- and only if the power of the Voss Mystics surpasses that of even the Emperor.

I have a sinking sensation that this won't be limited to a single short fic....