Darth Baras's words hung heavy like a millstone around Pansey's neck. "Find and destroy everyone Jaesa Willsaam cares about," he had ordered. This was unlike his previous directives; Darth Baras had ordered the elimination of his spy network, but since Pansey discovered the first major lead towards Jaesa's identity, Baras had been granting her a greater amount of discretion in her dealings. It had been a source of great pride for Pansey, making her feel her Master was pleased with her service and trusted her judgement. And yet, after sparing Master Yonlach on Tattooine, Darth Baras brought down a stern and simple mandate: "destroy" everyone that Jaesa Willsaam cares about. Not interview. Not coerce. Not detain. Destroy. Leave a trail of broken bodies until Willsaam comes out of hiding to confront her stalkers.

Pansey's spirit was deflated. The enthusiastic, upbeat charm of the young Apprentice replaced with an empty void within her. Part of her sorrowed that her failures had given Baras cause to doubt her, especially after all the great things he had accomplished for the good of the galaxy, and in light of how Pansey had truly believed herself a successful apprentice until this moment. She hated disappointing Baras, and felt an overwhelming desire to make it up to him, to prove herself once again as the type of apprentice he could trust by his side while he rose to the ranks of the Dark Counsel. And yet, there was a second pain within the emptiness, a hint of fear, as Pansey considered what terrible things Baras might ask of her all for the greater good. Her feet felt as though they were filled with all the sand on Tattooine, plodding slowly up the stairs, the dozens of Organa soldiers laying dead or wounded in her wake. But regardless how slow, how reluctant, the door to the Organa inner chambers always drew closer, and no one could stop the pigtailed Sith from fulfilling her Master's demands.

Lady Alde had sworn that Gisselle Organa had previously taken Jaesa Willsaam as a handmaiden, and that in light of Jaesa's departure to train under Jedi Master Noman Karr, Gisselle would be able to find the girl's family, those she cared about.. those Darth Baras had sentenced to death. It was these thoughts which weighed heavily on Pansey's mind as she pushed open the doors to General Organa's inner chambers; not the remotest fear of defeat, but instead a regret for all the lives that had been lost in her pursuit.

"Stand down, men," General Organa directed her officers, a cold resolve in her voice, "Sith, you come here on the behest of House Ulgo."

"No," Pansey said, rolling her eyes at the need to repeat herself, "I've been saying over and over again I just need to know where to find Jaesa Willsaam's family. Seriously, you should hold a meeting or something, because I probably had to kill, like, a hundred of your men just because they couldn't pass a message or let me ask one darn question."

"My former handmaiden?" General Organa marveled, "You decimated my forces... to find the family of my former handmaiden?"

Pansey nodded, relieved that at least somebody was finally managing to connect the dots. "Yes," she said with an exhasperated sigh, "I don't work for that moron, Duke Kendou. I don't even understand Aldaraanian politics, let alone care who sits in what chair. Organa, Ulgo, Alda, it's all the same to me. I just need to find this girl's parents. Can you help me?"

"Then we appear to be at an accord," General Organa offered smugly, "You need information that only I have. And with the men you laid waste to, my front line needs bolstering or my forces risk defeat. Perhaps we can both be of assistance to each other. You fight for me on the front lines, repelling my enemies, and then perhaps I will share with you the location of the Willsaams."

Pansey fumed. The politics of Alderaan had become increasingly annoying every hour she spent on this planet, and nobody on this world from the lowest worker to the wisest noble seemed to ever do the right thing, not unless it somehow profited them. "I really hate politicians," Pansey sulked, "This is really not a negociation. You are going to tell me what I need to know. Either you can tell me now, and I can leave you alone to fight your little political-peacekeeping-whatevers. Or you can tell me no. And if you do that... I'll be sad. And then I'll go back to Darth Baras and tell him that I failed. And he'll get really mad, because this Willsaam girl is really important to him. He'll get so mad that both of us will be in trouble. You? Well, Darth Baras's AP-PREN-TICE just marched through your headquarters alone, and defeated dozens of your best men without breaking a sweat. So Darth Baras himself... well, it is unlikely that there will be any living person left on Alderaan with the name Organa. And last, after he has killed anyone you've ever even stood in the same room with, he's going to take you, and drag you back to Drommand Kaas, and he is going to do this really ugly torture stuff I watched him do to a Republic Spy. And you will tell him everything. Not just where to find Jaesa's family, but everything. You'll tell him about every shadey thing you've ever done for House Organa. You'll tell him about every time you told your mom and dad a fib, or snuck out after curfew." Pansey felt the force, *****ling up the back of her neck, giving her insight into one of the men nervously standing behind General Organa. "You'll tell him about your boyfriend here, and how sad you were when you watched Darth Baras cut him into thirty-seven pieces. You will tell him everything. And then you will still die in excruciating pain." Pansey looked General Organa squarely in the eyes, giving a resigned sigh. "And then, after all of that, Darth Baras... he'll probably even chew me out. And I REALLY don't want that to happen. So why don't we both do what's best for both of us."

General Organa looked shaken, especially upon the Sith's revelation of her secret lover, but swallowing hard, General Organa stood her ground, playing her cards with one final bluff. "If you do not bolster my front lines," she repeated, "Then House Ulgo will overrun my men, and by the time you return with your master, I shall already be dead. And the location of Jaesa Willsaam's family dies with me."

That moron, Duke Kendou, was already piggybacking his assault on House Organa in the aftermath of Pansey's assault. For a second time he had tried to leverage her as a part of his political squabblings, using her, manipulating her, providing her with half-truths and misleading intel. Pansey chewed on her bottom lip bitterly, imagining Kendou's smug face laughing from his chambers. In that moment, she felt an overwhelming desire to punch him in the crotch. And since his crotch was located nowhere near House Organa, his blustering military movement was the best she could do. "Fine," Pansey relented, "I'll do it. I'll defend you from House Ulgo. But I swear on the Emporer's best sandals, if you don't deliver on this when I'm done, you... I... We won't be friends anymore."

General Organa looked stunned, surprised her gambit had worked. The Sith Warrior had agreed to fight on her behalf, fighting against the very people who had sent her here. For a moment, General Organa considered the merits of betraying their arrangement, of continuing to manipulate the Sith and coerce her into battling on behalf of House Organa. But then General Organa witnessed the fury with which Pansey defended House Organa's front line, and the wave after wave of Ulgo troops who fell to her overly short pink lightsaber, and General Organa decided 'not being friends' was a threat worth fearing. General Organa surrendered the location of the Willsaams, and Pansey trudged off reluctantly on her assignment from Darth Baras to destroy all that Jaesa Willsaam loved.

When Pansey returned to House Ulgo to report back to Darth Baras, she was intercepted by the blustering Duke Kendou, pushing her buttons for the last time. "You fought against my men," he accused, "You defended my enemies. You.. you.. you didn't help me win!"

Pansey glowered back at him dubiously. "You lied to me," she responded flatly, "Darth Baras gave you an assignment here. You are his agent. When you lie to me, you lie to him. And you lied to me. Lied to me, to use me to fight your petty squabbles. You want to beat down House Organa; you do it on your own. I killed just as many of their men as I did yours. But you'll earn it for yourself, because I came here to find a handmaiden, not to BE one."

"Apprentice!" the cold, commanding voice of Darth Baras came from Pansey's communicator, and she ignored Duke Kendou's continued blustering, providing her master her full attention. "Tell me. Have you destroyed the Willsaam girl's family?"

Pansey swallowed hard, looking into the chubby hologram nervously. "No, my Master," she confessed, "I found them. They told me all they could of their daughter. But even they did not know her whereabouts since she was abducted by Noman Karr."

"I ordered you to destroy them!" Baras cried out in anger, "The ripples in the force may have drawn Jaesa Willsaam out from hiding. Now we have nothing. You have failed me, Apprentice."

Pansey's heart dropped into her stomach. It was the pain of a thousand daggers. She blinked several times to avoid crying. "What of my agent, Duke Kendou?" Darth Baras fumed, "Did he provide sufficient assistance?"

Pansey cast a sideways glance as the manipulative Duke. She had done many things in the name of Darth Baras, had killed hundreds of people, but she had to draw a line somewhere. And killing a couple of unarmed, terrified, elderly people, Pansey could not see any way that this was how the Galaxy would be made a better place. Duke Kendou, however, Alderaan would be far better off without him. And then Pansey smiled, realizing the Duke might finally be of use to her. "No," she declared boldly, Duke Kendou bumbling over his words as he struggled to defend himself, "He intentionally lied to me and misled my efforts here, causing costly delays. Ultimately, it is Duke Kendou actions that have assured the final fate of the Willsaams here."

Baras was furious. He motioned his hand towards Kendou, and through his hologram he did choke the life from the smug Duke. Pansey turned her head so she wouldn't have to watch; she had already witnessed enough death this day. Once Kendou's body fell to the floor, Pansey spoke to her Master once more. "There were two.. um.. peasants.. here on Alderaan, whom did turn out to be of great help to me," Pansey continued, "Without them, I would never have learned anything of Jaesa here." Pansey delicately framed her words so that, while she didn't ever lie to her master, she entirely avoided the truth. "With your permission, I should like to see them granted Duke Kendou's estate."

"So be it," Darth Baras said dismissively, waving his hand towards Pansey in a hurtful manner before terminating the transmission. From the corner of the room, Parvin and Gregor Willsaam emerged nervously, looking around the room filled with Ulgo servants. "Does this mean..." Gregor asked timidly.

"You all heard Darth Baras," Pansey proclaimed, "Parvin and Gregor here are the new Duke and Duchess over this House. You will serve them as you served Duke Kendou, and all his wealth belongs to them." Turning towards the Willsaams, Pansey smiled softly, "Be better to your people than Kendou was before you. There are good people here who deserve better."

The peasants, now named nobility, looked at Pansey with tears streaming down their faces. "Thank you, lady Sith," Gregor exclaimed, throwing his arms around her in a hug. Parvin chewed her bottom lip, still looking at the young Mirialan nervously. "When you find our daughter..." she asked timidly.

Pansey looked back at the Willsaams, proud of what she had accomplished on Alderaan. "When I find your daughter," she assured them, "I will tell her you love her."

Pansey had sworn her loyalty to Darth Baras for the good he could do amongst the galaxy, the equality amongst the races and the fair treatment of those who were not force sensitive. On Alderaan, however, Pansey decided that she too could change the Galaxy, even if it were just one person at a time. The Galaxy needed good, caring people to rise up, to replace the corrupt leaders who were too focused on in-fighting and selfish ends to ever build something lasting. The Willsaams would do right by House Ulgo. It was this that caused Pansey to betray her master's orders and take those she was assigned to kill, instead making them fabulously wealthy. It wasn't as Baras wished, but Pansey felt good in her decision. Everyone needs a line that they just shouldn't cross.

Little did she know, by elevating the Willsaams to wealth and prosperity, their emotions called out across the galaxy far greater than they would have in the throws of a resigned and beleaguered death. And their feelings were teasing at the back of the mind of Jaesa Willsaam, even as she snuck away from Noman Karr to use her communicator...

"Easy girl. Easy," Radigan said in a soft voice, extending one open palm towards the growling maw of the vicious manka cat. Ever so slowly, avoiding any sudden moves, he shuffled his bare feet through the sand, inching his way towards the creature until his palm nearly rested on it's nose. "Slow and easy, girl," Radigan offered in a soothing voice, "Let's just get you back to your-"

The manka cat reared open it's jaws and made a snapping bite for Radigan's hand. Radigan swung around his other arm, pasting the manka cat across the side of the skull with a heavy shovel. The manka cat swung backwards, raising up onto it's hind legs, and then turns, scampering backward into it's cage. The slavemaster shouted from overhead. "Dig," he barked, "How many times have we told you, don't hurt the cats! Karragga will have your head if you hurt one. Those cats are worth ten of you slaves."

Radigan knew the slavemaster well enough to keep quiet. He knew the slavemaster was just lazy enough that he wasn't willing to walk down the flight of stairs from his overlook to whip a slave as long as they didn't smart off to him after being chastised, so instead Radigan only offered a nod of understanding and a humble wave of his mechanical hand, the roughly hewn monstrosity serving as a replacement from the first time one of the manka cats nipped at him. As the other handlers secured the vicious cat within it's cage, Radigan kicked the spade of his shovel into the large pile of manka dung, and began the labor of removing it from the pits. His role in Karraga's palace was not a glamorous one.

Radigan hadn't been born into Karraga's palace, that much he knew. He could remember nothing of his parents, but some of the older slaves had told him he was purchased as a young boy, perhaps only four or five years of age. Most of the slaves, at least the ones who had been slaves all their lives, had little knowledge of their families, so he rarely wondered about them. Instead, he focused on his work. Though occasionally one of the other pit-workers would ask about the small patch of cybernetics secured over his right eye, and Radigan never had an answer for them. It had been a part of him as long as he could remember. In the beginning it had made him curious, but these days the question had grown so tedious that he typically just lied and said it was from the same manka attack that cost him his hand. He had no idea the secrets that were locked within his head.

The slavemaster looked upward at the grated floor overhead within Karraga's chambers. Instantly, a half-dozen slaves took advantage of the opportunity for a moment's rest, leaning on their shovels and nursing their sore backs. Radigan perked his head upward as well, however, watching the interesting scene unfold before him.

A powerful looking wookie was standing in the middle of the palace floors, and had drawn a bowcaster, pointing it directly at Karraga. He was howling in a foreign language Radigan didn't understand, so Radigan entertained himself by imagining what the words must have meant. "I will shoot that stupid hat right off your head," the wookie was probably threatening. "Oh no you won't," Karraga most likely replied, "I'll sit here helplessly while somebody else does my work for me."

His crude narration of events wasn't too far from truth, as three Gamorrean guards swarmed the wookie, tackling him from all sides. The wookie fought like a man possessed, casting a gamorrean off his right arm and sending the man rolling twenty feet, and then driving the butt of his bowcaster into the snout of a second Gamorrean, stunning him before unleasching a point-blank blast from the bowcaster that dropped the guard dead. The third Gamorrean, the largest of most grizzled of the three, clamped onto the wookie from behind, placing the haft of his axe across the creature's neck and pulling back, choking away as the wookie began to falter.

The wookie dropped his bowcaster, struggling with both hands against the Gamorrean's grip, but the green skinned guard was simply too powerful, and Karagga's would-be assassin appeared to be thwarted. And then Karagga casually grunted out words in Huttese that Radigan still did not know the meaning of. It sounded like a request for 'chunky fajitas', but in their guttural tones almost everything did. And with that, the grated floor overhead began to open up.

Radigan looked around in a panic, only now realizing that the other slaves had already fled and the doors were being secured, with Radigan remaining in the center of the large, sandy pit. The Gamorrean and the wookie plummeted down to the sandy floors below, the long drop and harsh impact breaking the Gamorrean's grip on the wookie, actually setting Karagga's assassin free before his guard could finish the hairy beast off. The Gamorrean recoiled in terror, backing away towards the far side of the room while the Wookie raised back to his feet and shook his fists threateningly. Then there was a groan of metal and the gate behind the Wookie began to open.

It was over for the wookie before he even realized what had happened. Karagga's prized rancor stormed through the gate, released into his pit of entertainment, and devoured the wookie in a single bite. But it's beady eyes were still fixed on the Gamorrean, one of it's favorite treats, and the loyal guard pawed helplessly at the far door, pleading with the slaves to let him through before the beast could feast on his bones. Radigan swallowed hard. First was the wookie, then the Gamorrean, and lastly, the little slave boy with the metal hand. Karagga cared nothing for the people in his employ, and would have casually thrown away the lives of a hundred of his people if it meant the death of the one instigator, as well as a few moment's entertainment from the suffering of others.

While the Rancor advanced, Radigan raced barefoot through the sand, somersaulting between the creature's legs and the taking grip on the wookie's bowcaster. Then, with one carefully aimed shot, he blasted the locks on the manka cat gates. The vicious manka cats immediately scattered about he pen, chasing after both Radigan and the Gamorrean, and tripping up the Rancor underfoot. One of the manka cats nipped at Radigan, and he dived to the side, grabbing a fist full of it's fur. It practically jerked his arm out of it's socket as it continued to run, pulling Radigan off his feet, but his metal hand kept it's grip locked tight in the fur, and he swung himself up and onto the cat's back. Tugging back on it's mane, he reigned in the beast, galloping it towards the Gamorrean. "Hop on!" he shouted to his fellow abandoned soul.

The porcine warrior did not need a second invitation. Swinging his way onto the cat's back to be seated behind Radigan, the Gamorrean clung to the young boy, while Radigan tugged backward on the manka cat's fur, causing it to rear up onto it's hind legs. It's front paws caught the edge of the dangling overhead gates and it's claws latched on, pulling itself up the swinging doors while twenty of Karagga's men tried to crank the wheels that would raise the floor back up into place. The large cat bounded and climbed, leaping from one side of the gate to the other, and as the floor locked back in place, the Radigan and his Gamorrean friend were seated on the manka cat directly in front of Karagga.

Karagga bellowed his disapproval and guards began to swarm the chambers. Radigan froze in place, but the Gamorrean behind him only drew out his vibroknife and stabbed it into the manka cat's hindquarters like a spur, jolting the creature forward in a sprint and bowling through his fellow workers while they crashed their way through halls and patrons, making their rapid escape from the palace.

Hours later, Radigan and the Gamorrean were seated in a vile Hutta swamp, surrounded by some ugly looking aliens and all sorts of weird cultural statues. "Thanks, man," Radigan offered the Gamorrean, breathing a sigh of relief, "You really saved my hide."

The Gamorrean squealed back at him, echoing the sentiment.

"We can't go back to Karagga's," Radigan considered, "Looks like both in some deep trouble."

The Gamorrean squealed his agreement.

"What do I call you?" Radigan asked his new friend curiously.

The Gamorrean oinked out a response in his native tongue.

"Seriously, Karagga named you 'Chewbacon'?" Radigan laughed, "I am not calling you Chewie. That's a stupid name."

The Gamorrean squealed and nodded.

"We'll need fake identities anyways to get off planet," Radigan agreed, "From here on out, I'm calling you Goliath."

The Gamorrean began to oink a response, but then his communicator chirped up, and the figure of a balding, middle aged human glowed and shimmered in Goliath's green mitt of a hand. "Connect me with the boy," Keeper ordered the Gamorrean, "I have to speak with him."

Goliath looked up confused, casting a glare at Radigan, who was equally surprised by the stranger asking for him over holo. Facing himself towards the camera, he looked at the bald man nervously. "I'm-"

"No names," Keeper chastised, "Listen closely. I have only a few moments before this holo is intercepted, so I can't afford to repeat myself. I have need of an agent on Hutta for a small job, and you have need of a transport off of that disgusting planet. With what you just demonstrated, I'm fairly certain you can think on your feet, and could be a valuable resource. You work for me, and I'll see you safely off Hutta. If you agree, contact me at these coordinates. Keeper out."

The holo feed cut without waiting for a response. Radigan looked at Goliath. Goliath shrugged, squealing apprehensively. "It probably is a trap," Radigan agreed, "But it's also the best chance we have off Hutta. Let's see what this old bastard has to offer."

The narrator is Thorns, who is my BH in Thorns!verse (Trouble, Destiny, and Other Complications), Ciner is my SW in Thorns!verse and Caught!verse. In this AU Thorns takes Vette's place in the SW story on Korriban. The guys retrieved the lightsaber from Naga Sadow's tomb and are on their way back.

I stumble over a stone once or twice and the damned sand keeps sucking at my feet with every step I make, but we reach the Academy’s main entrance without any noteworthy incidents. We draw the eyes of the Imperials we pass, yet they don’t interfere with us. I can only guess at what I look like right now, however most of them give Ciner an approving nod, so "bad" probably doesn’t even begin to cover it.

A black-robed Sith intercepts us to tell Ciner this Baras guy is already waiting for him. Ciner straightens his shoulders and picks up his pace. Apparently Baras doesn’t like to be waiting, or at least everybody assumes so. We hurry through the entrance hall.

“Walk three steps behind me to the left!” Ciner growls under his breath.

I may no longer be able to lift my feet properly, but my hearing still works; I recognize an order when I get one. In this case I can even guess at its purpose. I get cranky when I am tired, though.

“Why?” The hum of the lightsaber beside my ear jolts me awake in an instant.

Some people are born as natural leaders. You follow their orders because it seems the right thing to do, and often they are as astonished at your obedience as you are. If you’re lucky you will meet one of them. Then there are those born with a distinct privilege. They expect you to follow their orders, and most people simply will do so, because that’s the way things are. Those are astonished if you fail to obey. If you’re lucky you won’t have to deal with those kind of people too often in your life. Maybe Ciner could have been one of the first if he didn’t happen to be one of the second kind. I was only ever lucky when it came to finding trouble. Then again, I survived so far.

“I am right-handed, and I am in possession of a lightsaber. So, if you want to keep your head in case someone is foolish enough to attack me…” With a flick of his wrist Ciner deactivates the weapon and clips it back to his belt. “These walls accommodate some dark passageways. Any other questions?”

I scratch at the back of my head in thought. “If you feed sugar to a nerf, does its milk taste sweet?”

He blinks. “Not much longer and we will be rid of each other. Do us both a favor. Do as I tell you and keep your mouth shut.”

I refrain from telling him those are two favors.

"I…" He frowned. It was a good moment to get an opportunity to know more about her, but he was not entirely sure how he could formulate what he wanted to say. "This is most certainly not how I imagined that a Sith would handle things… Taking care of their people the way you do."

Nyx chuckled. "Do not even dare mentioning the word…"

Arcann shook his head with half a smile, knowing exactly what she meant. "I will not, I promise. But I still would like to understand… If you consent, of course."

She nodded. "I can at least try. But any answer I could give you here might not help you understand the Sith as a whole. We all have our own story."

He smiled. "I will do with yours as a first step, then. Valkorion… He taught us things about your kind. But I have difficulties seeing them in what you let me know of you."

"I was not raised a Sith from the beginning, only became one quite late. That might ben part of the answer."

"You were born a slave…"

His remark made her laugh. She already knew that he had made researches about her, but not the extent of it. Well, he knew about this at least, but not much more of what her life had been before the Sith Academy and the first records of her. "Yes. I was born a slave, on Korriban. My parents were at the service of an officer who was based there with his family. A Major, if I remember well. I was sold to a Lieutenant Colonel later on… My clan was one those Darth Vich had brought back from Rattatak to Dromund Kaas and used to take power in the Empire. Many were killed when he failed, but some were enslaved. It was almost two generations before my birth, but the story of our disgrace is know by all of us."

Relaxing into her chair and turning it a little to better face him, Nyx started telling him about the Rattataki, how strong the sense of belonging to the clan was, even though they were spread at the service of many different military officials and lords or working on construction sites. They were allowed to gather only a few times a year, especially for the rituals of coming of age and for funerals, but their bonds remained strong. She had gotten her tattoos during her own coming of age and swore to one day break her chains, like all of them did. And in contrary to most of the others she had, when her sensitivity to the Force had been noticed. The day she had left for the Academy, she had swore that she would one day find a way to free them.

It was only the first step of her way up. "They have noticed soon that despite my origins, I was better skilled in manipulation and cunning than in fighting. You see, Rattataki's reputation for being bloodthirsty beasts is well spead… and somehow deserved. But…" she grinned, "I happen to have a brain and know how to use it. So I made my way into the political spheres."

Arcann listened silently. She was a good storyteller, not so surprisingly, knowing her talents at speaking to crowds. It was evident that she had many years of practice in that field. She had worked her way up through a mix of obedience to her masters and hidden insubordination, promises kept and broken, alliances and betrayals. She had killed when needed, spared when more useful. "When you have the nerves, politics is a challenging but rather entertaining game… Move a pawn, sacrifice another one, reaching a position of power is like a big chess game, isn't it?"

He huffed, a bit surprised. "Is that how you see it? A game?"

"Until the Emperor came into the play, yes, that was how I saw it. Things changed afterwards. And me, you, your siblings, we all ended up being pawns in his great scheme…" Nyx paused, tilting her head on the side, thinking. "Well, that might be the answer to your question… I have been trained to focus on my own power, my own ascension, and I did. But there has always been people I did not want to involve in the big game. My clan, my crew, my people. Those who chose to entrust me with their lives the way my clan had done. I think that the part of me who promised them that I would free them never got corrupted by my Sith training. I always made sure I remembered."

"What happened to your clan, then?" asked Arcann, leaning forward. She cracked a smile, a triumphant one as if she considered it a victory over her peers. "Not long after accessing to the Dark Council, I freed them. All of them. It cost me an immense amount of money and some favours." Her smile moved to something more ironic and she made a falsely contrite wince. "But I believe that most of the Lords I still owed something to might have unfortunately died or fled during your conquest of our worlds. I will not miss them."

Despite the Commander's amusement, Arcann pulled a grim face at the evocation of his campaign against the Sith. She was not there, but there might have been some of her clan on Korriban or Dromund Kaas when they had attacked, which meant that they might have been caught in the wave of destruction he and his brother had led. And while he had so far not seen those battles as anything else than what it had been - a war between two opposed forces fighting for their power over the galaxy - the idea of having destroyed something she held dear made him feel unusually uneasy. Was it what she had mentioned after their first sparring session when she had said that there were things he had taken from her?

Getting closer to a former enemy came with unpleasant consequences, it was making everything more personal, too personal perhaps. Because if the warrior and the emperor had never cared about anything else than the objective of all actions undertaken, the man who had woken up from his years-long sleep on Voss apparently did. Sometimes, he felt like walking on eggshells and it was unusual for him. And definitely uncomfortable. That was probably one thing he did not really get along well with what the Voss healing had brought upon him: the fact of not being able to bury anything he felt and thought under the veil of anger, frustration and resentment that kept him going before. He somehow had to face parts of himself that he did not handle well, one of them being that he now cared about what others felt. And he did not really know how he was supposed to handle it, especially related to someone whose values and reactions he did not fully understand yet. Who she was, the true balance in that mix of a rational and even-tempered leader, impulsive and passionate Sith and… whoever she was as a woman, he did not really know. And it made him feel uncomfortable. This was not something he could tackle easily by using any of the martial or strategical skills he knew, or the superficial manners of the court he had been trained to thanks to years of formal meetings and parties.

But sometimes, the best way to continue was to stop thinking and step forward. He braced himself and asked bluntly. "Did they survive our raids?"

She surprisingly did not expect the question which made her straighten and frown. "Most did. They were free. A lot of them had gone back to Rattatak already and those who had willingly remained at my service on Dromund Kaas were able to hide long enough." She breathed in and out quietly before continuing. "Listen. If you really want to know, I lost part of my crew. Not during your raids but when we were attacked by your fleet later on. I know that they survived and we could find track of some of them who are now here. However, there are others that we could not find… But… War is war. It is ruthless and dirty. There is nothing from what happened that I would not have done myself. The Empire fell, but it only meant that we were not powerful enough to sustain your power. If we were not able to protect what was ours, we deserved to lose. And now you fell and the Empire is rising again, as it always has. It is an eternal circle…"

So that was how she saw it. Through the eye of the leader, the warrior. Emotionless despite the losses. Or at least that was the face she displayed and he was not capable of seeing through it to know if it was true. However, she was apparently far from done. She looked straight into his eyes with that piercing light gray look of hers. "But what you did to these worlds when you were looking for me to destroy your father, that was as useless as it was stupid and childish. Unworthy of a powerful ruler and the most ridiculous move for the conqueror you were. You let yourself be lead by a force that was far stronger than you and that you did not control. I can deal with the consequences as these are worlds of the Alliance, but in your willingness to amend for your past actions, you might want to consider this as a starting point."

Useless. Stupid. Childish. Unworthy. Ridiculous. Each word hit Arcann like a a slap in his face, leaving him speechless at first but quickly igniting rather unpleasant feelings. Again she was reminding him of his father. She was using the same words he had spoken for many years, with the same kind of cold tone in her voice. He could not allow her to do that, he would… But as if she had sensed his sudden tension, she then did something he was not expecting. She stood up and moved to the side of his chair to put a hand on his right shoulder, and when he raised his eyes to meet her gaze, the look he saw had nothing from the cold and detached one his father had always cast upon him. Instead, her face bore a rather encouraging smile. "I believe that you can go through this and succeed, Arcann."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, wondering how she could be so similar to his father and yet so different. And as her hand left his shoulder, he stood up to follow her. She had already stepped toward the door, notifying him this way that the discussion was over. As he went past her and through the door, he paused and turned around to face her. She tilted her head and shot him an interrogative look, waiting for him to speak his mind.

"Just… My mother is right, you are rather unexpected."

She answered with one of these amused smiles of hers. "Well, that makes two of us, then…"

With one leg nearly paralyzed from his last attack, she was barely able to block his overhead swing as he leaped at her again. The two blades clashed for a split-second as he dove past her into a graceful roll, spinning even as he landed with a sudden slice at her good leg. She jumped back to avoid the low cut, but the effort of balancing on one good leg left her open to his unrelenting attack. One, two three arcing blows came faster than the eye could follow; she only parried the first; the second raked her arm, causing her to drop her weapon, and the third caught her square in the ribs. He backed away into a ready position as she raised her hands to yield. He shut off his weapon and the two stood quiet.

With a tired, exasperated sigh, she bent to retrieve her training saber. The pain was easy enough to deal with, using Jedi techniques to compensate and boost her body's recovery; the frustration was something else. “That wasn't even close,” she opined, “you'd think I hadn't been practicing at all!”

He was still breathing heavy; the acrobatic Ataru form demanded a lot from the practitioner, and they both knew he was less skilled in the subtler arts of the Force. “Actually,” he spoke between gasps of breath, “you did pretty well.” He clipped his training saber to his belt and reached for his robe, but did not put it on, preferring to let the breeze cool him. “I couldn't have kept up that pace much longer.”

Photin's lips pursed into a moue. “It's just...ugh! I've been drilling for hours every day since our last match, and it feels worse than ever.” Her breathing and perspiration back to normal, she donned her own robe and plunked herself down on a nearby stump. “Plus, Master Senkari is putting on the pressure. She says with the war on, there's a huge demand for Healers, and I need to focus on my studies. She says I've been 'distracted'...” Her words drifted off in mid-sentence when she looked up and saw him standing a little closer, still holding his robe in one hand, regarding her thoughtfully. She didn't meet his eyes, but found herself observing the rising and falling of his chest – one part of her mind, the Healer-in-training, measured his respiration rate (almost back down to normal resting rate), taking stock of the subtle movements of his physique, mentally ticking off the origins and insertions of the muscles, the visible definition of the abdominal muscles, rising to a fine smooth chest (clearly defined pectorals) and a strong neck atop broad but not overdeveloped shoulders (prominent deltoids), the hint of stubble indicating a beard that didn't really need to be shaved every day, a pleasantly-shaped nose and wide hazel eyes...

She gave a sudden gasp, and blushed, averting her gaze into the forest.

“Photin? You okay?” He took a step forward; she could feel his presence, not just in the Force but as something else. When he put a hand on her shoulder, a sudden warmth radiated within her, from that shoulder to all her extremities. Forcing a small, calm smile onto her face, but feeling the blush reddening her cheeks and forehead, she looked up at him. “No, I – I'm fine,” she replied, before words stuck in her throat. That clinical corner of her mind noted her mildly accelerating heart rate. The rest of her was feeling dizzy, as if the gravity controls were going haywire – never mind that they stood in a forest on a full-sized planet. In her mind's eye, she began to see images of her and him together, holding hands, embracing, his strong arms wrapped around her, their lips meeting... “It's, um, just -”

He shook his head and smiled. “Don't worry, you'll be okay. You're smart as a whip, and plenty strong, and if there's any way I can help -” His words were cut off when she surged to her feet and planted her lips on his. His eyes widened and he stood stiff for a moment before yielding; the kiss was warm and sensitive and careful, as together they began to explore a special intimacy.

No!

It wasn't Master Senkari's voice in her head; it was definitely her own, swamped though it was with surges of emotion and discovery.

No no no no no!

The kiss paused for a moment, the two gazing into each other's eyes as they stood in tight embrace, with the only sounds a light breeze in the trees and the song of an unseen bird. Then another kiss began, deeper and more lingering than the first.

You can't do this! It's a mistake!

His hand stroking her hair felt right and good, and all she wanted was to be with him, to share this moment for ever.

Forever? Really? Is that all you want?

The clinical corner of her mind ran down an invisible checklist, silently but pointedly observing the preliminary stages of sexual arousal, and the similar responses observable in the man.

You'd throw everything away for this?

Their second kiss ended, and she rested her head against his chest, drinking the sensation of being held and of holding someone close.

Forever?

The voice in her head, her voice, said this word as if it were the final warning. She knew that if she followed this path – and she wanted to, so much! - it would change everything, in ways she could not predict. She felt no fear; she could make the choice that stood before her, but she realized that it was a fateful choice, not a mere dalliance or diversion. There were a few, rumor had it, who seemed to make it all work out, but deep within, Photin could see that was not her path: she would either become a Jedi and a Healer, or she would love and be loved in this special way. Somehow she knew she could not have both.

It took but a few seconds to review her life, and what she truly wanted to do with the future. She sighed a deep sigh, and a chill came into her, settling in what she knew would forever be a hollow spot in her soul. “No,” she said out loud. “No, I can't do this.” She pushed him back, then turned and walked away with as steady a stride as she could muster. He remained silent; she did not dare look back, afraid that he would see the tears filling her eyes.

For some reason, the bird had stopped singing.

“Sir?” Dorne asked, noting that her CO's attention had been uncharacteristically drawn away from the present situation. Her own attention was momentarily diverted by an odd odor, just at the edge of her awareness.

Maioni replied, “Nothing. Just something reminded me of 'then.' Watch for the wildlife. I have a feeling something thinks we'd make a good meal.”

Later, several hours and skirmishes later, as they crossed through the barrens of Tattooine, a sudden attack by several massiffs jolted them into action. A flurry, and Maioni's speeder tipped precariously, dropping her on the hard sand. She saw her blaster rifle hit the ground, partially burying itself, the speeder doing likewise. She shook her head. Already, two of the animals were down, she noted, seeing with peripheral vision what was off to her left. The two others had attention focused on her, and she sensed they were about to jump her, and were somehow communicating which one took the lead. She saw neither her medic nor her functional XO in her forward view. No time now to scan past that.

She found herself rolling, shoulder to the ground, kicking, as her legs came up, and fleetingly hoping they'd connect with something. They did. She twisted as she came back up, grabbing and twisting one foreleg into the belly of the other beast, then raked her glove across the eyes of the first...she forgot most of what happened in the remaining fight.

In the sudden silence, she removed her helmet and looked at the scene around her. There might as well not be another living being on the entire planet. She knew it always sounded like that after a fight that intense. Always. She breathed in and out – once. Enough of that. “Jorgan. Dorne. Report.”

“Over here, sir. I'm sorry, but I couldn't get a clear shot on either of them. You were just – everywhere – sir. I – I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before.” Dorne remained a bit stunned at what she'd seen. It wasn't like she hadn't seen hand to hand combat before. She was trained quite well herself. But it was always – well – always reasonable. It made sense, and this could not be called reasonable. She searched for a word that fit. Ah, yes. Feral. That was what it was. She was still getting to know her new squad mates, really. She'd read Captain Savage's service record, and been duly impressed. But she did not know how to respond to a CO who had done...that. She looked at the massif with an all but severed head to her right, then to another with a leg that was giving posthumous twitches still.

Jorgan rose into view. He had brought one of the beasts down, and when he turned back to sight the next target, he saw the ball of arms and legs, mostly massiff, others in armor. He'd been knocked back when the ball came straight at him, and he'd taken a leg to the left side of his helmet, hard enough to make him take a step back; unfortunately the sand had not been stable, and he'd slid down a couple of meters.

“You alright, sir?” He picked up her blaster, and handed it to her. “I'm guessing you don't like to see a fight without something you can shoot with.” He paused before adding, “I can't say I've seen anything like that before, either. Any chance you can teach us any of that?”

“SOP, and let's keep going. I don't feel like talking about that. Not yet, anyhow.” In accordance with the order, they checked to ensure that the animals were all dead, and to determine why they'd been attacked, whether any more were in the area, and whether, in this case, the owners were nearby. They found a small encampment of sand people, but there was no point in trying to interact. It would waste time they didn't have to explain the loss of four guard-beasts, which shouldn't have been so far away from the camp when they attacked anyhow. She could send word through the mayor of Anchorhead, if necessary, she supposed.

A few days later, on the ship, mission accomplished, and on their way back to the core worlds, Dorne decided it was time to push the subject. “Captain, you said you did not wish to speak right then about what happened when those massiffs attacked. I cannot speak for Leftenant Jorgan, of course, but I am asking about it now, because it seems to me that we should know if there is likely to be a reprisal of that that sort of event. It reminded me, at some level, of the post-battle traumatic responses I've seen – but never to that extent.”

Jorgan came out of the armory. “She's right. I get it. You're supposed to be dangerous. We all are. But that was well out of the ordinary soldier's skill set. We've been working together since Ord, and I've never seen you like that before. What was that?”

“I would have killed them faster if I hadn't been wearing armor.” They both looked at her, deciding whether she was serious, and each deciding that she actually was.

“Where did you learn to do that?!” they said simultaneously.

“Don't use the word 'learn' there – when I'm like that, I don't even know what I'm doing most of the time. I just do. Act. Instinct, I guess.”

“Seriously, sir. Where and when did you...come by...the ability to do that. It's a reasonable question. Sir.”

“Stop 'sirring' me, Jorgan. It's annoying.

“I don't think I've told either of you much about how my life has played out. There are three time periods. Before. Then. And After. None of us knew we were capable of any kind of violence like that Before. Events that occurred during Then taught me and my brothers that we could do what we needed to do to survive. Maybe someday you'll earn my trust enough to find out more about Then. I'd like to think so. But for now, just know that things that happened Then did, and do, have affects on me. Who I am, really. And yes, if I am fighting for my life, you'll definitely know it. During After, that's happened a handful of times – the first time, I ended up putting one of our own soldiers in the hospital, because nobody told me the whole extent of a training exercise, just to see what I'd do. Their mistake, as they learned.”

“That really should have been in your service record, I would think, sir. Sorry. I'll try to stop using sir so much. Sir.” Dorne found herself blushing, as she heard herself repeat the word.

“Don't worry about it, Dorne. It's not in my service record because that was very soon after Then, and I was not officially in the army yet. There's actually quite a bit about me that I'm sure you'd both find interesting, that isn't in those records.

“Let me just reiterate your training: if either of you ever need to fight for your life, especially unarmed, use your instincts and your intuition, and anything around you that serves your purpose. And yes, I know you've both been trained to do that, but we should add some drills on using improvised weapons to the schedule.”

“You've never mentioned that you had brothers, sir, though I rather assumed you had siblings. I have only one brother. Are you not much in contact with your brothers?”

“For the record, I have a brother who is serving in another top-notch unit, one who is in the Jedi Order, and another who I have no idea what he's doing and where he's gotten himself. My friend Hiero was keeping an eye on him, having him work with her shipping company. Maybe she's knocked some sense into him.” She shook her head briefly, and rolled here eyes up, showing some frustration.

“One of my litter-mates was a bit of trouble, too. I think that's not too uncommon. Kam grew out of it, though. Eventually.”

“Ah, it's probably me more than him. Everybody tells me I've always been too hard on Danik. Maybe I am. I know Hie thinks so, and he's a lot more like her than I ever will be. Danik is Jaffy's twin, but he's nothing like Jaff. I don't think anyone is,” she added fondly. “Jaffy's a Jedi consular – they took him in after the foster family didn't know how to cope with him. He was a kind of strange child, I admit. Shevri's the one in the service. They're all younger than I am. Vri's a singleton, too.” She cocked her head at Jorgan's widened eyes. “Is that a problem, Jorgan?”

Dorne looked from one to the other – they clearly understood what that comment meant, but she knew she wasn't following it fully. “Why would it be a problem, Captain? I don't understand.”

Jorgan answered first. “It's not a problem, and I don't believe too much in oldsters tales, anyhow. You know that. I just hadn't realized.” He looked at the medic. “You know cathar usually have kits in litters. But there are cultural aspects, on top of that basic biology. Families with lots of large litters might be assumed to be poor and uneducated, for example. It's actually a lot easier to have a family with a whole herd of kits than to have a singleton or a pair, especially if the pair are twins. To have a whole family that has nothing but? Well, socially, that could be problematic. I hadn't realized you were a singleton, sir.”

“I haven't had to deal with stigma, Jorgan. I grew up on the family ship. I've been in units with another cathar on occasion, but you're the first one that I was in close contact with for any length of time since I was a kit myself. What he didn't say, Dorne, was that the reason small litters are considered bad news is that the assumption seems to be that they killed their own litter-mates before they were born. With my reputation as a soldier, I don't bandy that around too much. Keep that to yourselves. It wouldn't do my brothers any good, either. Particularly with evidence like that fight with the massiffs.”

“One other question. Why isn't the other twin – Danik, yes? – isn't he a force sensitive, too? Why isn't he with the Jedi?”

Maioni coughed on her mouthful of caf. “Danik force sensitive? Not so's anyone has ever noticed. There's a lot more story, and I'm not going to explain it all now. But yeah, one twin is full-on Jedi trained, and the other wasn't. Which Hi tells me is part of why Danik has such a chip on his shoulder, though I've known him considerably longer than she has, and he's always been different. Different in a different way,” the repetition of the words made her chuckle, “than Jaffy ever was.” She smiled; Jaffy had always been her favorite.

Jorgan shook his head. “Is that his name? It sounds like it's a diminutive, but I've never heard the name, either. If we meet, you'll have to tell us what to call him.”

“Oh, Jaffan's his given name, but he's going to be Jaffy to me until the day I die. I'm so glad the Jedi were able to help him. We never would have survived Then without him -- but he was so different. I think without the Jedi he wouldn't have been able to get by on his own. He's special.” she said fondly.

Everyone called her The Pink Apprentice. Pansey had thought the name was cute when she first heard it on Drommund Kaas, through the whispers in the streets of Darth Baras's new ward. It was a title she wore with pride. Darth Baras himself never called her by her proper name; at times Pansey found it hard to decide whether he was just incredibly professional, or instead if he had simply never bothered to learn it. He had called Vemrin by his name, but Pansey had only ever been 'Acolyte', or since being taken under his wing that honored title of 'Apprentice'.

Pansey wore that title like a badge of honor. Far too many Sith plotted against their Masters, coveting power or prestige, conspiring to replace those who were only seeking to train them. 'The Sith Way' as it was called was a disgusting example of everything wrong with the Empire, a handful of selfish individuals willing to betray all that was important, just to get their own five minutes of fame. Sadly, despite all the treachery and plotting they conspired, most would be forgotten, and those that were remembered were seldom more than a cautionary tale. People like Zhorrid rose clear to the seats of the Dark Counsel only to still be regarded as a joke amongst their peers. But Pansey was unlike other Sith. Pansey knew that Darth Baras was a man of great vision, and she believed in him and his ability to shape the galaxy into something better. She never wanted to replace Baras; there was only one man who had that great wisdom and vision. All Pansey ever wanted to do was play her own small part in helping Darth Baras reshape the Empire, and so it wasn't the title Apprentice, but the fact that it was Darth Baras speaking it that made it such a compliment.

That was also what made it so devastating to hear his disappointment in her failures on Alderaan. Pansey had found the Willsaams, but she could not destroy them as Baras had ordered, and the disapproval of Darth Baras, looking down on her from his cold, unchanging mask, was something that made her feel sick to the stomach. Pansey retreated to quarters, trying hard not to cry.

"Pansey?" came Vette's tender voice, rapping her knuckles against the opened doorframe to announce her presence.

Pansey rolled over on her bunk, wiping the back of her hands across her eyes before turning to face her spunky friend. "Yes, Vette?" Pansey said, forcing herself to smile and put on a brave face.

"There's a holo for you," Vette said hesitantly, "Are you.. are you okay?"

Pansey rolled off her bunk and straightened up her pink skirt, taking a moment to compose herself. "Yeah," she sighed, "I'll be fine. I guess Darth Baras wasn't done yelling at me yet."

Pansey began to shuffle down the corridor towards the ship's holo, while Vette followed timidly behind. "You could just ignore it," she suggested, "We've got a spaceship. We could just take off. Go anywhere in the galaxy. You, me.. maybe Captain Stick-up-his-butt. We could just run."

"I can't run away from Darth Baras," Pansey replied, shaking her head.

"You can!" Vette insisted, "You've seen what he does to his people. He kills people who did everything right! Tubbo does not accept failure."

Pansey looked at Vette sternly, letting her know this was one issue that was not up for debate. "His name is Darth Baras," Pansey scolded her, "And both of us will give him the respect he deserves. I knew what I was doing when I helped the Willsaams, and I accept whatever consequences come of it."

"I would end up property of the one honor-bound Sith in the whole Empire," Vette groaned, rolling her eyes. Pansey didn't look at Vette as a slave, even if that was technically her station when she was assigned to the Pink Apprentice by Darth Baras. These days, Pansey couldn't honestly even remember where the shock collar control was at.

Pansey pushed the button on the holo-terminal and it lit up, but it wasn't Darth Baras's disapproving mask looking back at her. It was a young Alderaanian girl, confused and frightened. "Sith," she addressed Pansey, "You've been looking for me. I won't see my family and friends pulled into harm's way on account of me any longer. If you want to find me, come to Hutta. I'll send you the coordinates."

"Jaesa? Jaesa Willsaam?" Pansey marveled. Noman Karr's young padawan had sought her out, despite Pansey's refusal to hurt those closest to her. "Yes! Of course. You have no idea how long I've been needing to talk to you."

"I won't be brought in by your lies, Sith," Jaesa responds cautiously, "But I felt the connection with my parents.. their fear.. and their relief. I don't know what you did to them-"

"You can ask them yourself," Pansey encourages brightly, "Ask for DUKE Willsaam at House Ulgo. They wanted me to tell you they love you."

Jaesa looked taken aback, confused for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief. "Whatever you've done, I won't see anyone else dragged in to protect me," Jaesa insists, "If you wish to find me, come to Hutta and I'll face you myself."

"Oh, thank you!" Pansey bubbled over with joy before Jaesa ended the holo-call. Pansey wanted to Holo Baras immediately, to tell him the great news and assure him that she had not failed him. Her hand was almost on the key panel before she stopped herself. She had disobeyed a direct order from Darth Baras. And in the end, she had been right and he had been wrong. It was almost unfathomable to comprehend, but Pansey felt a decided amount of apprehension. Would she sound too much like a know-it-all? Was it disrespectful to assume? And what if this was some trick of Noman Karr's padawan; was it fair to Darth Baras to get his hopes up, only to fail him again? And worse still, what if his confidence had been shaken to the degree he no longer wished for Pansey to pursue the assignment? What would happen with the Willsaam girl if it wasn't Pansey who arrived to meet her?

Pansey drew her hand back away from the holo. "Captain Quinn," she declared, "Set us a course for Hutt Space. We have a Padawan to find."

And find her she did. While Noman Karr himself confronted Pansey in Willsaam's place, the Jedi Master channeling both light and dark sides of the Force in his efforts to kill the Pink Apprentice, Pansey overcame, fending off the Jedi Master's assault until he was downed and at her mercy. When Willsaam did arrive, she was shocked and horrified to find her Master ranting in uncontrollable hatred, while the Sith not even Jaesa's age sat back mercifully, barking orders at the Imperial troops to transport Master Karr back to Tython where his Jedi Counsel could judge him according to their own laws, and heal his fractured mind. Jaesa used her powers, looking into Pansey's heart and uncovering her secrets, the mercy she had shown to Noman Karr, to Master Yonlach, to Jaesa's own parents. The fairness with which she struck down true threats and fought against the wicked people of the world like Tremmel and Vemrin whose only enjoyment came at the expense of others. Jaesa looked into Pansey's heart and saw that it was pure, and the young Padawan pledged to follow the Pink Apprentice and learn from her, to keep herself spotless in a world where secrets and lies seemed to creep in from all sides.

This time when she stood in front of her holo-communicator in her ship, Noman Karr's padawan by her side, Pansey felt nothing but confidence. She had atoned for her transgressions, redeemed herself in the eyes of her master and done the unthinkable. Baras didn't even mention the fact that she had released his longtime bitter rival back into the hands of the Republic, rather than striking him down. He only marveled at the willing presence of Jaesa Willsaam, and the incredible potential she presented to assist in Darth Baras's own great work. "You have done well, my Apprentice," Baras congratulated Pansey, "With Noman Karr's mettling finally ended, I am being called up to the Dark Counsel. And with this advancement in station myself, I have the power and opportunity to elevate you as well. You have served well as my Apprentice, obedient when required, though independent enough to accomplish results without being directed in all things. I find you no longer have need of my continual oversight, and you can be trusted to succeed in my work without my direct supervision. You are beyond being an Apprentice. Today, you rise to the ranks that few in the Empire are ever entrusted. Today, I name you a Sith Lord."

Lord Pansey. It sounded a bit silly, if she was being honest. Within the noble houses of Alderaan, a female Lord would be known as 'Lady'. But the honor and reverence was there nonetheless. Pansey, the young alien girl whom her own Master Tremmell had called a blight on the empire, was now being elevated to the rank of Sith Lord. Pansey always imagined she would need to wear a mask and take some cheesy fake name, like 'Lord Exploderkill' before the Dark Counsel would consider entrusting her with such power. A small part of her wondered how many of the masked men on the Dark Counsel were secretly aliens of whom no one had ever seen their faces to realize. But regardless of what minor victories had been accomplished in racial equality in the past, today was a monumental day, not just for Pansey but for the entire Empire. Today, an alien was openly named a Lord of the Sith. Today, Darth Baras's stance to bring equality amongst the races came to fruition, and those bigoted racists like Overseer Tremmel and his ilk were finally put in their place, the Empire celebrating a new golden age of freedom and equality. Pansey beamed with pride at all she had accomplished, her happiness causing Jaesa to feel momentarily overwhelmed and dizzy from the sensation. "Go and celebrate your accomplishements," Darth Baras dismissed Pansey, "For you shall receive your next assignment soon enough."

Pansey beamed a toothy grin that was impossible to hide, turning to her friends. "What do you say?" she asked, "Party on Nar Shaadda? Club Vertigo penthouse is on me."

Vette looked on at her, shaking her head in amazement, having been the victim of all too much racial bigotry herself at the hands of the Empire. "Pansey," she marveled, "This is the start of a whole new Empire. From here on out, I'm besties with a Pink Lord."

Pansey laughed. These were the moments that shaped a Galaxy.

Once in a while, even when juggling a dozen calls for one's attention, one gets that distinct feeling that someone is watching you. Working with the nurses in one of the largest hospitals in the galaxy certainly had plenty of competing priorities and interruptions; Photin had learned much about focus and organization, balancing efficiency, accuracy and heartfelt care, while continuing – in all the spare hours she didn't really have – to sharpen her skills with the Force. As she set herself down in the cafeteria with a large mug of kaf and a pharmacology reference chip, she tried to push that feeling aside; she felt no warning of danger in the Force, and if anyone was watching her, it was likely to be someone on staff or from the Temple to review her work. Some researcher on Nar Shaddaa had published an article that had some interesting potential in treating Spice addiction, and she wanted to cross-check their data.

That feeling of being watched didn't fade, but it was easy enough to ignore. At least until someone came up and stood next to her. Photin kept her head down, trying to look as wrapped up in her reading as she wanted to be, hoping that this interloper would get the hint and find another seat. The person didn't go away, however: in fact, in a hesitant voice she asked, “Sellest, is that- is that you?”

The rising annoyance disappeared behind a flash of surprise. She hadn't heard her childhood name for ten years – ever since the day she was shipped off to the Jedi Order. Nobody even knew that old name except Master Senkari and maybe three other people in the Order! And the voice stirred her memory, though it seemed slightly deeper than she remembered it. She looked up at the speaker: a young woman (though older than herself), well-dressed, very pregnant, pretty but showing signs of stress. It took but a moment to connect that face to a long-neglected memory. “Mari?”

Mari smiled and plopped into the chair opposite Photin. “I can't believe it! It really is you!” She grabbed Photin's hand, “my little sister, the Jedi! We thought you'd be out there fighting the Empire or something! What are you doing here?”

“Well, I'm working with-”

“Oh, you're working at the hospital, of course! You and that healing gift of yours, I only wish I'd seen it myself! Mother told us all about it, several times, how you healed that bird – we ended up keeping the bird, you know, the owners didn't want it any more. We were all so proud of our family Jedi,” she giggled slightly, “even if we couldn't talk to you. Mom and Dad bragged about it all the time...oh, all your plants are still there, too, Dad used to water them himself...” Mari's gush of words stopped. “You – you heard about Dad, didn't you?”

Photin shook her head, “they don't tell us about our old family once we become an initiate. And they keep you so busy, I never really thought to ask after a while...”

“Dad was killed, some drunk idiot in a speeder slammed into him. He was unconscious when they found him, and only lingered a few hours, but the injuries were too much, the doctors couldn't save him. That was, four, um, no, five years ago now. They never told you about that?”

Photin shook her head. “I never heard anything...”

“Oh!” Mari gave a slight jump, then a quick smile crossed her face, and placed a hand on her bulging stomach. “That's the baby, she started kicking just the other day.” She grabbed Photin's hand and placed it on herself. Beneath her hand, Photin could feel a sensation of movement – she'd dealt with pregnant mothers before, so the sensation was familiar enough; she reached out with the Force and found the living being inside, the barest glimmerings of sentience, as she expected from a healthy fetus.

“It – she seems quite healthy,” Photin remarked. She hid her hesitancy behind a lingering sip at her kaf. She'd long ago reconciled to the Order's strict policy of separation from birth family; by the time her first year at the Temple had gone by, she'd given up asking about them. With her Trials coming up, she'd sometimes thought about looking for them once she was a proper Knight, but had not discussed the idea with her Master.

The other woman leaned forward as if telling a secret. “You know, I want to name it after you. And Devvin – that's my husband – he's okay with that. He's never met you, of course, but has heard all about you! Sellest is such a pretty name, and you've already brought such honor to the family, being a Jedi and all...” She paused at Photin's visibly hesitant expression.

“I'm, ah, I'm not really 'Sellest' any more. The Jedi gave me a new name...” She brought out her hospital badge, clearly marked “Jedi Photin.” Mari frowned slightly as she gazed at the badge. “Photin?” she asked, “what kind of a name is that? I don't get it.”

Photin sighed, feeling almost embarrassed at having to explain the only name she'd known for half her life already. “It means 'light' – in this ancient language hardly anyone knows any more. It's what the Jedi named me when I joined them.”

“Huh,” Mari didn't seem at all impressed. “Well, it sounds weird to me. To me, you'll always be my sister: Sellest. I hope you don't mind if I name the little one Sellest and not Photin!” Photin gave a noncommittal nod, which seemed to satisfy her sister. “Maybe I can use it as a middle name...” Mari shrugged. “But you're lucky to be here! Maybe just in time! Mother is sick, right here in this hospital.” she checked the chrono on the wall. “We should be able to see her now – they were hooking her up to intensive care and setting up the machines when I saw you scurry by. Let's go!” She hauled herself laboriously to her feet and turned toward the exit.

There was no graceful way out that Photin could see. She couldn't just cut her sister off and walk away – that would be cold-hearted and rude; but this unexpected contact with her birth family was against the rules of the Order. She had a few minutes before she had to report to her station, and if her mother was truly ill, perhaps she could lend a Healer's hand. So she forsook her unfinished mug – a nurse's life is strewn with half-finished cups of kaf – and followed.

Mari moved deliberately down the corridor; she wasn't down to a waddle, but the baby had obviously altered her normal balance. “Dzok always hoped he see you and your lightsaber,” she said, gesturing at the hilt dangling from Photin's belt. “He's still such a boy. You know, he signed up on his eighteenth birthday, and shipped out four months ago. The last I heard – he writes sometimes, but writes more to Ronada, that's his sweetheart – he's driving a walker, but of course he can't say where he's deploying to. The army does have its censors, but at least we can still write each other. Um, no offense,” Mari added.

“Oh, none taken, I quite understand. What's wrong with-”

“What's wrong with Mother? They say she's got some rare disease, some kind of cancer, I don't recall the name. No sign of it until two weeks ago.” Mari suddenly sobered, and the forced exuberance of her speech died. “They said she only had weeks to live.” She paused for a deep breath. “I tried once more to send you word as soon as I heard, but of course got nowhere. Dzok said he'd try to get special leave for a trip home, but hasn't had much luck. You know the war isn't going well. At least he's still alive. And maybe that peace conference on Alderaan will go well and it will all be over.”

There was a quiet chime and the two stepped off the lift. “She's right around the corner.” Mari laid a hand on Photin's arm to stop her, her face now solemn. “Sellest – or, or Photin, whatever. Are you...happy?”

Photin blinked rapidly. “Happy?”

“Yes. Are you happy?” Mari took Photin's hands in her own. “Mother and Dad, all of us, are so proud you're a Jedi, but we – Mom mainly, but all of us, except maybe Dzok, who couldn't imagine anyone with a lightsaber being anything but ecstatic! We always hoped you were happy. Being a Jedi is hard work, and it's a special thing, but it all happened so suddenly, and when you can't even write a letter, we always wondered. I mean, I've got Devvin – he's a wonderful man, sweet and smart, and my work – I'm a manager for a major shipping company – and my first child is due in just two weeks. Except for Dad, and now Mother, being gone, I couldn't be happier! But what about you?”

Photin stood pondering the question for a long moment, watching her sister's violet eyes searching for the answer. Happy? It wasn't a question anyone had ever asked, not since joining the Order. Do you understand? Do you see? Do you know? Can you do? Will you do? These were the questions posed to her, a million times and more. She thought about the question: Am I happy? She thought about the things she had given up, voluntarily or not: her family, her old name, her chance to have that special relationship like Mari had, or even a child. Even a normal job, the kind most people could leave behind when the work day was over. Being Jedi was a great honor, but the constant dedication and responsibility was a great burden. Happy? Nobody cared if a Jedi was happy, not even other Jedi.

And yet – and yet, there was something to the question. While she'd had her dark nights of homesickness in the first year or two, she'd never really thought there was any path for her but the one she was on: the path of the Jedi. She'd made a thousand choices, but she could barely recall any time when it wasn't obvious what the 'right' answer was.

“Well, being Jedi isn't about being happy-”she began, but Mari cut her off with a click of her tongue.

“Don't give me that. I'm not a Jedi, I'm your sister, and I want to know if my sister is happy!”

Mari's eyes locked with her own, and there was an uncomfortable silence while the two stood in the corridor, while nurses and doctors and patients and visitors detoured around them. Once Photin opened her mouth to respond, but closed it again under the surprisingly earnest gaze. In a way, it felt like the gaze of a Master, pushing her toward a new insight; firm but not harsh in the teaching moment. Photin's mind raced; this wasn't a gain-or-loss question, even, nor was it a success or failure question. There was no truly 'right' answer, no truly 'wrong' answer. It sounded like a merely emotional query, but it wasn't that either; and that was the moment Photin felt a breakthrough. She realized that it wasn't so much that she couldn't imagine taking any other path – but that she didn't want to. She was doing what she loved, just as much as Mari was. All the frustration, the searching, the discipline and self-denial, it was all part of the thing she felt necessary, part of what she knew - under all the hesitation and noise and fatigue – she knew who and what she was.

She opened her mouth to speak. “You know, Mari? Nobody's asked me that since – well, since I flew away.” She held Mari's hands tightly, and kept her gaze steady. “but I am. I really believe-” Mari tore her hands free and wrapped Photin in a firm hug. “I mean, I think-” her words were stopped by a sudden dark, cold surge in the Force. Photin gasped, and without hesitation shouted, “Code Blue! Code Blue!” Hospital staff froze in their tracks and looked at her as she broke the embrace and dove through the door into the Intensive Care Unit. Following the guidance of the Force, she strode rapidly down the corridor, past the nurses' station, as staffers yelled for confirmation. “Here!” she pointed, gesturing toward the crash cart. With slightly confused looks, the staff responded to the call, hurrying along under her direction. The cart, techs and nurses with it, dashed into the room and began their work, deploying with practiced precision to the monitors and support machines as the alarms only now began to sound off.

Yet, even as she moved to join them, Photin paused at the threshold. She felt the moment of death; her awareness of the living Force in all things also allowed her to sense the moment a person's spirit released their body and began their travel to what lay beyond. She'd felt it dozens of times in her training and work in the hospital. In a real but non-physical sense, the patient – whoever it was - was gone, even as the hospital staff worked to keep the body functioning. With a sigh, she turned away, knowing there was nothing she or anyone could do.

She was startled to see Mari right there, with wide eyes, leaning to one side to get a glimpse of the dying patient inside. Her mouth worked silently for a moment, and tears filled her eyes as a single word finally squeaked out. “Mom?"

The research article from Nar Shaddaa is a reference to an Imperial mission which includes the destruction of that lab: Breaking the Cure.

I haven't counted the number of 'once-in-a-lifetime' events that crop up in this piece: Mother's death, Jedi Knight Trials, firstborn child...

As she realized the very first day she was taken in by the Jedi, Sellest/Photin never saw her parents alive again...

...to try to find the location of Jorgan's former squad, the Deadeyes, who were taken prisoner by Imperials on Nar Shaddaa. )

Jorgan had said he wanted to talk. As soon as she keyed in the transport plan, she'd go see what he wanted to say. If it was more grumbling about their newest complication, “Senior Agent Zane, SIS,” ...well, she'd bear through it. After all, it wasn't her friends who had gone missing. She'd want support if the positions were reversed.

As soon as she hit the doorway he said, “Got a problem, sir. Weapons malfunction. I had a couple of misfires during that prison run. I think the barrel might be out of whack. Not surprising, given all the action we've seen. With your permission, Id like to inspect the rest of the squad's ordnance, make sure everything's up to code. ”

Not what she'd been expecting. It didn't even make sense – SOP was to check weapon specs regularly, and he knew she did that and enforced it in others. On the other hand...

“Looking for an excuse to go through my personal effects, are we?” she queried, the silk not too heavy in her voice. As she said it, she wondered if it was too much. One of those thing that just sounded so much better in her head than it did out loud.

“Maybe. There something you don't want me to find?” Straight faced, as always. She enjoyed his dry humor, although it had taken some time for her to recognize it reliably. A thought struck her... Ha! She'd give him something to see. Give him a chance to find out a little about her past without having to answer questions immediately,

“A woman's got to have some secrets.” Gah. That was as bad as the personal effects comment. Maybe worse. Face it, you're no good at flirting, she chided herself. No practice, that's what it was. She'd never had any time for that kind of thing, finding her free time better spent on activities that didn't involve romance. Fortunately, she was able to listen to him, rather than her own mental rambling by the time he replied.

“You're certainly welcome to try. Cathar don't miss much. Snipers miss even less.” He paused. “Well, those weapons aren't going to inspect themselves. Sir.”

“Whenever you find the time, you have my go-ahead – just make sure it's before we reach the destination. Right now, I'd like you to go through the supply list with Dorne; she can be a little too literal. Explain the nuances so we're sure to have what we need, when we need it. By the book, we could easily run out of several things, from ordnance to painkillers. I was not partial to missing those last month. I appreciate that we had the supplies for healing, but they go so well with supplies to not notice the healing process quite so much. She headed toward her cabin, as she heard him turn the corner and start speaking with the medic.

Maioni hadn't been quite sure how to explain about Then to either of her fully sentient crew. 4X didn't really count in her eyes. An intelligent machine, but a machine nonetheless. She hadn't viewed and read countless stories and articles on the nature and history of robotics, and the inherent “Perils and Promises,” as one writer put it, to be convinced of the nature of artificial intelligence and “personalities.” She very much wanted to meet 4X's designers someday, to see if she could match their personalities to what was exhibited in their combat droid.

But Dorne, who hadn't flinched when Mai had tried out calling her Elara recently, and Jorgan, who was beginning to grow on her in unexpected ways – they both were a different story than the droid. They were both becoming real friends, something that had been in short supply ever since she'd hit the academy. Well, since Hie had bailed on the academy, at any rate.

She'd looked up her friend Hiero, and she and her crew were supplying Havoc's needs for those out of the way items that Garza once indicated were acquired through underworld sources. Having Hiero, who had been called, “lighter than most Jedi,” as a supply source was definitely safer . Even so, Hie insisted that she was just continuing to run the Thorne family shipping business completely legitimately. Nobody else would ever believe she wasn't just a smuggler these days, if they hadn't known Hiero Thorne since before either of them could reliably – . Maioni searched for an example that would fit her thoughts, but eventually decided that “do much of anything useful” fit the bill as well as anything.

She'd been 12 when she'd been fostered to the Thornes. At that point, it was just one of a number of serial placements. Generally, she learned something new in each place Vessen...a child's shortening of Vev Senth*, had found for her. He'd been her legal guardian since she was nine, but she'd never lived with him. Some of her foster placements hadn't ended as well as others; she knew she'd left a few upset about her reactions to unexpected events. On some occasions, it was just time to move to the next place. Some were afraid of her, some liked her well enough. That part....she was still very uncomfortable at the idea of explaining her “benefactor” and his role in her life. Nothing questionable, thank goodness, as she knew that sometimes happened, in cases where a senior officer took an interest in a junior. Nothing like that, but still...she'd had a lot of benefits from his interventions, even investments; enough that it was awkward. Further, she knew she was meeting his expectations less and less, in terms of accepting his views of things like “necessity” and “justification of action by results.” She wondered if General Garza had shared her instance of direct insubordination. She'd entirely expected serious consequences, but she believed that while Garza hadn't liked it, she was conflicted enough about her orders on that occasion that she was privately glad that they had not carried out her order to “eliminate a significant threat” by killing civilian citizens of Coruscant. If she had told Vessen, he hadn't contacted her about it, which was a relief, even now, more than a year post-op.

No, she didn't need to explain about Vessen, or her pre-academy days. Not yet. Eventually, perhaps. But the records of when she and her brothers had been found? Yes, that was reasonable. She couldn't help wondering if she'd know if he'd taken the bait, but didn't want to go so far as trying to conceal a lens to see.

She spent some time arranging her private weaponry cabinet so that the panel that concealed a false back was just slightly out of adjustment; the perfect place to conceal a datapad. The modification was not enough, she thought, that Jorgan would realize it had been left that way intentionally. And she had to shift the material she planned to share to a new 'pad, so that it only had the news records about what had happened, not any of her personal reflections and, what else could she call them but her memoirs. She returned her personal records 'pad, that held everything significant, to it's securely stashed locational, where she would definitely know if he managed to remove it.

Jorgan had mentally wrestled with the joke about him wanting to look through her things. That was absolutely out of line, but neither of them seemed to mind the banter that very occasionally edged toward flirtation. Still, actually going through her personal things wasn't right, despite admitting to himself that there was some level of temptation. He would absolutely not rummage through her clothing or anything of that nature, of course. He'd just ask her to see all her gear, and inspect it. If she wanted to hang around inspect it together, that was just fine too.

Except when he reminded her the next day, and asked, she countered with, “You haven't done that yet? We're almost to Alderaan. Time's wasting. Everything's in the left-hand gear cabinet. I appreciate your doing that. I've been awfully busy, and it's one less thing I need to get around to myself. I've been catching up on after-action reports about every little thing. Bureaucracy is not my friend these days. I knew I'd end up in a real leadership position eventually, but I never knew how much I'd roll my eyes at some of the expectations.”

Well, what could he do? He could do what she wanted him to do, that's what. Nothing more, nothing less. When he broached her cabin, and looked around, he was taken aback by the sheer number of collectable weapons she had accumulated. A BlasTech Cresh-1751?! He'd heard about the oddball numbering system with their early models, and recalled the original owner once told investors “I'd never start with a number that looks so low it seems like it will be obsolete before you power it up.” The company had been through many corporate changes since that era, and newer models had far more obsolete sounding numbers. She'd told him to check the weapons in this cabinet. That obviously included all the gear in it. “Clearly,” he said to himself, mildly surprised to hear he'd said it aloud.

He removed what he'd thought was some kind of normal bow-caster of some sort, only to discover that it was completely non-energized. He shook his head. If she had it, she probably knew how to use it. He'd like to try that one out. Historical weapons were interesting. As he was setting that one aside – he wouldn't know if it had any defects, he admitted to himself, he thought he saw how the string lying at its base was supposed to attach – but no, with his luck he'd break it. A second look at where it had rested was slightly off. Pressing gently, the board shifted. There was a false backing in that section. Curiosity got the better of him, and he shifted the opening a bit wider. She'd implied she had secrets, and looking at the datapad that was fitted in behind the panel, he shook his head. No. Better not to know. She wouldn't leave it so closed up if it wasn't decidedly private. And he knew she was a straight shooter, so to speak. But really... should there be real secrets between people who depended on one another for their lives and safety? He'd landed here due to completely unforeseen treachery, after all. Maybe just a quick look over to see what the topic was. It wasn't labeled. . . but interestingly, it wasn't locked down with a pass code, either.

When he started the 'pad up, a contents menu opened immediately. He quickly played the first short item, which turned out to be a news story from what looked like a news story from an obscure planet, Padura. It certainly wasn't important enough to have been covered in their galactography course in the academy, he was sure of that, but he thought he had heard the name somewhere before. Something to do with history of some sort?

After a brief ending of the weather coverage that hadn't been edited out, the news piece showed an image of four cathar kits, ranging from perhaps 5 to 9 or 10 years in age. He thought he recognized the oldest as his CO. They all looked half-starved, and, the words came naturally, somehow battle-hardened. That was his impression, and as he thought it, he stopped himself. What gave that impression? He stopped the pad, and looked at the four; not all of them. The girl and biggest boy stood, and appeared tense, warily waiting for something about to happen, and they were preparing themselves for dealing with it. The third was sitting, playing with a toy bantha, and he could be heard saying “The evil horde is coming! Watch out!” as he advanced it toward the fourth boy, who was clearly his identical twin. The fourth child was clearly oblivious to his twin, the bantha, the reporter. He was fluttering his hands, humming, a monotonous, high-pitched drone. He looked everywhere, but at nothing in particular. After a moment, he started to turn around in circles, until his sister put her hands on his shoulders, and hissed, “Not now, Jaffy. We have to wait now. Just sit down and play with Nik. Please, Jaffy? Pretty please, with a pinky-berry on top?” Jaffy settled slightly, sitting near his twin, rocking back and forth and rolling his hands around one another, silently mouthing something that could have been either “momomom” or “popopop” repetitiously.

He realized hadn't paid attention to the reporter while looking at the family. He abstractedly sat down at the desk, and replayed the news story. The reporter explained that an archaeological team had discovered the four recently, in an area they had just begun to assess for archaeological importance, after completing work in another area of “the almost entirely uninhabited Lessistian continent.” After seeing the children, who were described by a female bith (identified as Troni Silan) as having “disappeared into the woods as if they were never there,” the team had left some foodstuffs near the area where they had seen the group, and watched from a discreet distance. She described the children cautiously coming to look over the food, and taking it away, disappearing again, out of sight completely in moments. The adults had made plans to come back the next day, rather than spooking the children by trying to follow them. When they returned, they had found the containers, rinsed, right where they had been placed originally. She said, “It was at the edge of a small clearing, really more dirt than trees, and we noticed this.” A still image filled the screen. Clumsy letters drawn on the ground:

hoowr

yoosi

fwrepu

pliqom

andaz

[voice over: Troni Silan]

“You can see why we had some trouble translating what was meant. Our recorder, Biklata, pored over it all evening. She woke us all in the middle of the night! She said that once she said strung it together and said it aloud, it made perfect sense. 'Who're you? Sith, Republic, or Mandos?' Mai really did very well for having to scrape it out on the dirt, without the usual keying pad and correction tools. She seems to be a very intelligent child.”

The reporter summarized against a backdrop of various local images, that eventually, over several days, the archaeologists had reassured the children that they were safe, and discovered that they had come to the planet in a malfunctioning escape pod. Indeed, they were the children of a couple scheduled to be part of the archeology team eight months earlier, who had never arrived. Inquiries indicated that they'd left as planned, but nobody knew what happened to the parents. Silen explained that the girl had told her that her papa had sent them all to the one escape pod together, which (it was clear she was quoting the girl) “was not the plan.” They had been told to wait for their parents, who would come as soon as they could. She had explained that she thought there was some problem with “maybe some guys on another ship or something.”

The reporter concluded, “These four are clearly lucky to have survived. The older children led the archeology team to the escape pod, and discovered malfunctioning communication equipment. Silen and her husband plan to try to apply for custody, and to take the children in, as they are unable to have children of their own.” A brief image of Silen and a tall pale greenish twi'lek was shown. The reporter's voice held something of a chuckle. “We wish them the best of luck, but it has to be better now than how they've been living most of this year. Back to you, Chak.” The entry ended, and the menu of entries reappeared.

Well. That was interesting. Surviving alone like that was a real feat, on any planet. Sure, he knew it wasn't as uncommon as all that for kids to have to live on their own sometimes, places like Nar Shaddaa or even in the deep levels of Coruscant. But those places, they'd have other people around, and more, well, everything important. But out in the wilds? And he couldn't ask her more about it, because, well, he'd have to admit to looking at this without being invited. There were a lot more entries. In a moment that combined determination and shock at what he was doing, he slipped the pad into his supplies, and took it with him, after a quick check on her primary gear. All was in perfect, pristine order, and he wouldn't be surprised if she'd checked everything herself already. Something was going on, but he wasn't certain quite what.

Once he was at his station, he copied the data onto another pad, then assured himself that the Lieutenant was still at her preferred workstation before slipping back into her cabin where he returned the original to concealment, set the false back into its place, set the bow in front of it as it had been, and shook his head. This was kind of crazy, and he didn't want to think about the ethics involved, although he thought he should. It would be much easier not to.

He secured the cabinet, left the cabin, and took himself off to brusquely tell Dorne that Lt. Savage wanted him to recalibrate everyone's weapons.

“There you go,” Photin remarked as she tucked the end of the wrapping tape under itself, “that should heal up nicely, but leave it alone until tomorrow night.” The Trandoshan uttered a slight hiss, turning his arm so he could see the whole bandage which covered most of his lower left arm. Photin nodded, then suddenly grabbed his hand, “and don't go flexing your fingers just to see if it hurts! Just let the whole arm rest, and the hand, okay?” Qyzen chuffed at her and rose from the chair, looming over her for a moment. He hissed a “Thank you, will avoid stress on hurt arm” and left.

Photin watched the hunter leave, then swept the bits of bandage, used kolto swabs, and stray ends of wrapping into the trash receptacle, and cleaned the table with antiseptic. “Now back to inventory,” she sighed, picking up her datapad and heading to the cargo hold. The ship was quiet, with most of the crew released for some much-needed shore leave. A glance out the viewport showed a pretty view of Brentaal Four, the darkness of night speckled and streaked with city lights.

Routine tasks can be onerous and boring, or they can be somewhat soothing, depending on one's frame of mind. There were a lot of things neglected during this last voyage, things that weren't high priority, but sooner or later needed to be dealt with. Photin allowed herself to become immersed in the repetitive task of inventory; if unstimulating, it was rather less risky than infiltrating a criminal stronghold, or fighting off pirates.

So it was that she jumped when a gentle cough interrupted her an hour later. She whirled in surprise to find a tall, handsome man standing in the doorway. “Tharan!” she said, “what are you doing here? Didn't you go planetside just this afternoon?”

Tharan smiled warmly. “I did – and I'm back! Surprise!” He stepped into the hold and glanced around, “I'm surprised myself, to find you here; I figured I'd find you resting, or meditating. Couldn't you send one of the droids to do this?”

Photin shrugged. “Most of the droids are undergoing maintenance, and the rest are working on the ship. And counting boxes is kind of restful after the last few weeks.” Behind Tharan there appeared the translucent form of Holliday, the projection of the sentient artifical-intelligence that was his constant companion.”Surely, you aren't bored with Brentaal Four already!”

“Oh, no, it's delightful!” Holliday's soft, breathy voice replied. “So many things to see! We barely landed when we saw – but I'll let Tharan tell you!”

“Thank you, Holliday,” said Tharan. “As you know, Brentaal Four is famous across the galaxy for its entertainments. Artists and performers come here from all over; I was scanning the holo-kiosks to see what shows were in town, when I saw this and was inspired!” He approached Photin, producing a small envelope from his pocket and holding it out to her with a wide grin. “I think you'll like these...” he began humming a sprightly tune; Photin recognized it immediately and cocked her head.

“Is that...” she asked. Tharan nodded. She took the envelope and peeked inside. “It is! And – the D'Carte Company itself?” Holliday giggled at Photin's reaction. Tharan, still grinning. “Two tickets to the D'Carte production of The Slave of Duty – and prime seats, I might add!”

Photin looked at the tickets, beautifully engraved on fine-quality flimsiplast. She looked at Tharan, then looked at the tickets again. “I – I can't take these. These must have cost a fortune – hundreds at least...”

Tharan held up a hand and grinned even wider. “Twelve hundred and fifty. That's for the pair, not each.”

Photin looked at him, blinked rapidly, then looked back at the tickets. Tharan turned to Holliday. “She's speechless. I told you she'd be speechless. The perfect gift for my favorite Jedi.” Photin's eyes narrowed at him, but he held up his hands defensively, “no no, no strings attached, no implications, nothing untoward, no hints or tricks! Just, well, we've been working together for a while now, and you have certainly earned my respect and admiration. And I've heard you humming some of their songs in those rare relaxed moments, so I thought-”

“-and Tharan had me peek into your music-preference files, too!” chimed Holliday.

His cheeks turned pink. “Yes, I did – but only to verify my observations!”

Photin breathed a deep sigh, then nodded. “I can't say anything but...thank you.” She smiled, “it's really too much, but I can't just tell you to sell them back, can I?”

Tharan winked, “that would just be rude,” he agreed.

“Um...but why two tickets? I don't know anyone on Brentaal Four, and these are for tonight.”

“The seller wouldn't part with them as singles. And you're not the only one who enjoys a bit of theater, after all. I rather hoped you would allow me to accompany you...” Photin's eyebrows rose, and there was a small noise from Holliday. “...as a friend and colleague!” he concluded. “What do you say, Madame Jedi?”

“I think I need to go get cleaned up! And find something to wear!” Photin strode out into the corridor, singing the song Tharan had been humming earlier:

I am the very model of a Senator on Coruscant,

My clothing always tasteful yet delightfully extravagant;

When I can't find a party, I will sometimes go to parliament,

And make a speech from time to time on nothing very relevant.

“I'll expect you both home by midnight!” warned Holliday cheerfully.

“OK, I'm back. You wanted to talk?” Maioni sat down next to Hiero, where she was sitting on her bunk. Something had been eating at Hie for some time, and Maioni hadn't been able to figure out what it was, having been brushed off when she'd tried to ask. When Hie had said she wanted to talk about something, Mai had been relieved that it would be out in the open where they could deal with it. Now, she sighed, and immediately wished she hadn't.

Hie fiddled with the neater than usual bed coverings, then stood up, turning to face Mai directly. “You're not going to like this. No, wait, let me finish.” She had stormed on with the words, not waiting for Mai's inevitable response. “OK, hear me out. Then you can tell me how wrong I am, if you really think so. But it won't change anything.

“I'm done. I turned in my final forms to be released while you were out doing PT. Full on military isn't for me, and you and I have both known that since Vessen threw me in pre-prep with you to support you that first year. It was good for me, I admit that. Dad and Mum thought so, and it was a lot of fun, but I learned a lot, too. And I didn't even mind Prep, especially the academics. And you know the reason I'm done here isn't that I can't hack it. Shut up!” she said, as Maioni snorted her agreement; Hiero had made a point of beating her out for top of the class in several subjects in the one semester at the academy that was under their belts – specifically in several of the more militarily oriented subjects that Hie generally held in lower esteem.

“But I hate it. I hate the regimentation – it's a lot worse than Prep was, and the idea that you have to do everything one way. I'm through with accepting orders that are just plain stupid, or given to show what failures we all are. I can't stand Sandless and Wimthee. The food stinks. I pretty much detest everything about it — except you, and I'll miss you like the dickens. But it just isn't me. And Triallo says he's going to sell off the other family ships if he has to keep trying to run three of them himself, whether he's my half-brother or not. And...I've got a better offer for me than what I can get if I stay here. And I can't say anything more about that, except no, you goon, it's not some man. I'll be doing my small part, somehow, but I just can't – I won't – do it through military channels. I'll be able to help you, maybe, someday. After all, I've known for years that this is what you were being groomed for, pardon the expression, and that you'll probably end up as Supreme Commander of the Military before you're through, if Vessen has anything to say about it.” She sat down again, next to Maioni, and put an arm around her.

“I know I've been weird this week, but I just kept putting it out of my thoughts until the end of the semester. Then when I started to wind things up...I've been miserable. I don't want to leave you here, but I have less than zero interest in staying. Sooner or later I'd crack. Probably some drill sergeant's head, possibly with mine. It's not going to work out, no matter how much you want it to, Mai. I know you are capable, and strong, and can do anything you want to, on your own. It's not like you need me. But I know you love me as much as I love you, Non-Sis. And if that isn't ironic...”

“What? Yeah, of course I love you, Non-Sis. We've only been practically inseparable since we were what, twelve.” Another sigh, this time, unrepentant. “I guess I knew this was coming, too. I didn't want to think about it either.

“Wait! Was that a hint? Wait! No. Don't tell me. If it was, it's better if I don't know, you know. But no matter what, you're always going to be my best ever Sister-who-never-was. And if you drop off my sensors, I will hunt you down. You know it!”

“I do know it, Mai. And to prove how much I love all you Savages, I have a deal you can't refuse to offer you. At least, not if you're sensible.

“Danik. You told me that you heard from Vri that he's had more troubles, and even the Silens think he needs something to get him to take some responsibility and grow up. It's a gamble, but I've always had a soft spot for your little brother, and I think he can help me out. We have two ships that Triallo wants to ditch responsibility for. I'm taking one, and I think that if I am 'in charge' of the other, but with your brother actually being the primary sentient aboard to keep it running, and not look like an easy mark like it would if it was completely automated, we can keep the family business going. More or less. I mean, you know Trial hasn't much use for me. He'd drop it all in a heartbeat, and just go his own way. But maybe my folks will resurface, someday. Maybe yours will, too. Maybe they all won't. Probably, even. But it's in my heart that my folks would want us to keep Thorne Shipping and Supply going. They always said they “grew it out of the dirt of a broken planet,” and I...they'd be disappointed with us if it just dies because nobody cared about their hard work. It would give Nik something to learn and to focus on that would benefit him. You always say he cares more about himself than the good of the galaxy – even if I disagree with you! But I need someone to help me, and you need to stay here. So let me talk to him, at least, and see if we can't work it out. We can run the ships parallel for a while, and I can get him better trained, and then, maybe he can kind of work off the cost until the ship is really his, and he can keep it with the company or not, depending on what he wants.” She paused. “OK, now you can talk.”

The door clicked, as if someone was trying to open it from the other side. They heard a muffled voice from the other side. Mai got up and tapped the small viewer. She opened the door for the cadet on the other side. “No time to chat. Just thought you might want to know that Sergeant Sandless in heading here, out for blood. I narrowly escaped the horror for everyone who didn't come in within two minutes after you, Savage. She's really sore about something Thorne did, I guess. Don't know what, but her surprise inspections are always past anything rational, so you had better be sure everything's more than perfect! Remember my good deed next time I need a favor, heh? I'm off to save Switchins and myself,” and she was gone. Maioni turned back toward Hiero, about to ask what she'd done, only to see her friend apparently ready to wreak havoc with the contents of the personal effects cabinet.

“No. No you will not! Do not even think about wrecking this room. I still have to live here.”

“No, I won't. Only because I do love you. But I'm not going to be here when she gets here.” Hiero closed the cabinet, with a light laugh, and went to the door control, pressing several buttons. “There, now my name doesn't even show up. I've got everything packed that I hadn't already snuck out of here under your ever alert eyes. Just this bag left.” Her eyes were glimmering with mischief as she pulled the duffel from beneath her bunk, “and my jacket. Now, here.” She wrapped her arms around Maioni and gave a hard squeeze. You know how to reach me – just look the company up on the holonet! If I think there will be problems, I'll get word to you somehow.” She paused. “I wasn't going to do this, but I think I need to. And fast.” She dropped her jacket and the bag on the floor, and stood erect, the picture of military bearing, and gave Maioni a sharp salute.

“You deserve that much. Thanks for being you, Mai. Never stop, not even if Vessen orders ya to. Now I've got to go be me! Bye!”

Maioni lifted her hand but couldn't say anything. She was grateful that she was left with the looming and immediate expectation of the sergeant's arrival, although there was little that needed to be attended to. An angry Sandless was a merciless Sandless. The sudden hollow feeling, knowing that Hie wasn't coming back, was reason enough to need to keep busy - very busy – for the foreseeable future. She did wonder whatever Hie had done to enrage the sergeant, though.

Hie is my Smuggler, and my very first SWTOR character.

She woke up suddenly, alert, as usual – she never knew where danger might be. Waking up was a roll of the dice in Maioni's experience. Since her parents had been gone, anyhow.

She tried to sit up, and found she couldn't. She also couldn't see the droid that clicked something and said, “O3-N8 here, Captain, sir. The patient appears to be waking. I am alerting you as instructed.”

Maioni wasn't sure what was happening. She struggled a bit, but couldn't move beyond kind of wriggling about, and even that wasn't much. She snarled, and was about to shout when a door opened, and Vessen dismissed the droid and turned to the child. “You can save your breath, young lady. I needed to let you have your head, and see some things for myself. I admit, I underestimated what you could do, and I take at least some of the blame...no, no” he hurried on, in his Mon Calamaran accent, as he saw her concern. It's not your fault, child. I said it was partly my fault, but the other part isn't yours. There are other people involved you don't know about right now, that's all.”

He walked to the controls for the bed. “You want to get up out of there?”

The girl nodded, gave a small growl, wriggled more frantically and said through gritted teeth, “Yes! Get me out of here! Why can't I move?! I don't like this!”

The young officer moved away from the controls to stand at her bedside and said, “You and I need to talk first. First of all, do you have any memory of what happened during that last exercise, and do you know where you are right now?”

The girl continued to struggle, as much as she could, which wasn't much, due to the powered confinement setting on the bed. He let her continue for well over a minute, and when she began to protest more vocally, he raised his hand to her. “Answer my questions, Savage. You're restrained with tech that is too strong for even you to break, and there you are going to stay until we understand one another. I will tell you more later, but you have to do your part, first.” He assumed a posture of ease, and did not meet her eyes, but stared abstractedly at the foot of the bed, waiting for her to respond.

She relaxed onto the bedding and sighed grumpily. “I remember that me an' Nenn an' Sillow were setting up a trap for the guys you said were going to come up that path. An' I remember that I turned around, and some 'lek tried to whack me all of a sudden, an' I saw Nenn get grabbed by a guy 'at looked like a Mando or somethin' but I was fighting with the 'lek who was trying to hit me. Then I don't remember. I guess I musta won, huh?” she said with satisfaction.

“You could say that. In fact, I'll have quite a bit more to say on that score in a few moments. And where is this?”

“Uh . . . I don't know. Some, um....hospital maybe? It's too nice for barracks.”

“Yes, indeed. It is a type of hospital. You know I spoke with your foster mother, Mrs. Silan, and she agreed you could come 'play' with us here at the training facility this past week, of course. Do you know what she told me about you? About your brothers, and about what the Jedi told her?” At an uncertain shake of the girl's head, he continued, “That doesn’t surprise me. Let me tell you some things you need to know, and depending on how this conversation goes, I will see about getting you out of that contraption.

He pulled up a chair, and sat facing her as best he could. He got up and found a control to allow her to change to a slightly more elevated position, then reseated himself. He leaned forward, and began, “The Silans don't know what to do with you. Mrs. Silan told me that her husband was temporarily living outside their apartment for fear that you would kill him in the middle of the night --”

“I just did that to show him I mean business, and he can't be mean to Jaffy!” Maioni exclaimed. “He –“

“HUSH!” She subsided, but there was still fire in here eyes.

“You will remain silent until I give you permission to speak. If you want out of that bed, and back into some semblance of normal life, you will follow my orders, and you will begin to learn some discipline.” He paused to see if she would comply.

“As I was saying, she told me about how you placed knives and other weapons all around him while he slept.” Maioni moved as if to speak, then deliberately shut her mouth tight, and stared at the Republic officer. He ignored her baleful stare. “Furthermore, she told me about you pouncing on him while he was fast asleep another night. You were, apparently, upset because you thought he mistreated your younger brother. Your behavior is absolutely not acceptable in any kind of civilized society! Further, she said that when they contacted the Jedi about your brother's problems, that they also saw you, and performed some healing rituals that were supposed to help you calm down. That they found you too wild to accept their help, and that they thought you were dangerous and should be sent to a hospital for the mentally ill. Do you know what that means at your young age?”

Maioni nodded, lips still clamped shut. “You may speak,” the captain assured her.

“Yes. It's where they send people who are crazy I guess. I'm not crazy though.” A cloud crossed her face. “Am I, Vessen? I wasn't going to hurt Mr. Silan, just to scare him to make him be better to Jaffy. He can't help but be him. He doesn't talk, but he knows stuff, and he helped with things a lot. I'm the only one knows how to make him settle, but he's not bad. He's just kind of weird. But I love him, and Mr. Silan doesn't love him! He –“

“Yes, I'm sure he treated him quite unjustly and didn't love him like you do. Quiet again, now. In fact, the Silans wanted to help Jaffy, and called the Jedi to see if they could help. Master Luka, a renowned healer, tells me that Jaffy is extraordinarily force sensitive, and that they hope he will become a great Jedi someday. In fact, that is probably why is seems...weird...to people, and why he can't sit still or talk. He told me that boy likely found the energies of the force, and perhaps other sensations, quite overwhelming. He's been taken to begin training at the Jedi Temple . Settle yourself, soldie...that is, young lady. It's for the best for him, and I hope you know it! Now let us talk about what is best for you.

“The scenario we had you working in yesterday was, as I have said, something of an error. If I had realized that Private Philitts in any way resembled Daral Silan, I would have replaced him with someone else, first of all. Secondly, I would have made the replacement aware that you might overreact, and would have had additional safety gear available. As it is, we can all count ourselves lucky that he is alive, and expected to recover, for the most part. Thank goodness for good cybernetics! If he had been killed, we would not have a choice, you nor I. You would be kept here at best, or in a prison at worst, even at your age.

Here are your choices, as I see them, young Savage. First, you could choose to remain here, treated by doctors and psychiatrists who will try to make you become a normal, ordinary person. Odds are good that they will keep you restrained until your muscles begin to waste away so that you are less dangerous to everyone, and very likely medicate you until you hardly know yourself anymore. If you resist that treatment too much, and let us both acknowledge the likelihood of that course of action, you may well end up being imprisoned rather than simply incarcerated in a hospital setting. Oh, glare at me if you need to, I quite understand that neither suits you.

“Your third option is this. Work with me, allow the army – through me – to assume your guardianship. I will find you appropriate foster settings where you can learn discipline as well as further your education in becoming a truly exceptional warrior for the Republic. I've put some thought into this already, and think that, given time, I can find an appropriate military school for you to attend when you're a bit older. You'll have a decade head start on most soldiers. If we can clean you up and help you learn some manners as well as discipline, there's nothing to keep you from moving to the top levels of the military structure in time. Nothing but yourself, that is, provided you live up to your potential.”

He looked at her for a quiet moment, and stood. “You have permission to speak, but not to answer me immediately. I'll return tomorrow morning, and hear your answer. I'll ask the doctors about these restraints. If you can prove yourself to be a good child, and not try to kill anyone... that is, provided they even allow you some freedom, we will see what tomorrow brings.”

Forseeing something of her future, Maioni Savage did what little she could to set her shoulders to the mattress squarely, looked Captain Var Suthra in the eye, and said, “Yes. Sir.”

He turned away before allowing the sides of his mouth to twitch into the hint of a smile.

“Now boarding for Blastfield Shipyards. Now boarding for Blastfield Shipyards.”

Risha looked around at the empty platform as she approached the rocket tram. Corellia had impressed her by its towering skyscrapers, large space vessels, and its many architectural and technological wonders. The rocket tram was one of the many inventions that she had the opportunity to encounter firsthand. It was definitely better than any of the other modes of transportation she had used on her numerous journeys across the galaxy. The open speeder bikes which were used by a majority of taxi hubs she had been to were unpleasant to say the least. Not having dirt and bugs flying into her face and hair as she traveled across the shipyard planet was definitely a breath of fresh air.

There were some downsides to this new method of transit, however. It was called the rocket tram for a reason as it was able to reach incredibly fast speeds. The feeling of the transportation vehicle lurching forward reminded her of going into hyperspace. But, the tram somehow managed to feel more dangerous than space travel. This felt like something tested far less than the now standard methods of intergalactic vessels.

The open conflict that she encountered on the streets and saw in the skies above didn’t help the ride to feel any safer. She had helped the captain get rid of neutron emitters that were in use by the Imperials only a day ago.. These devices were capable of penetrating the tram’s outer shell and were used to eliminate any living being on the inside. There was always the thought that one of these emitters was still around or that an Imperial ship would swoop down for a strafing run on the taxi or that a soldier’s rocket would manage to take out one of the rail systems thus sending her to her demise. She would probably avoid the rocket tram altogether if she could, but it was the only way to get in and out of a majority of the areas that her and her group were frequenting. It was not ideal, but the rocket tram would have to do for now.

At least we will be off of this planet soon.

Risha was about to step into the tram but stopped as she noticed the sound of someone quickly approaching her. The engines of the tram had managed to mask the sound of the stranger, but he was close enough now for the heavy footfalls to compete with the hum of the engines. Risha cursed herself for being so careless. She spun around to face her would be assailant; hands reaching for the rifle strapped to her back. It wouldn’t be ideal in close quarters, but she was confident that she could draw her weapon before he could-.

“Woah, what did I do this time?” The smug grin of the captain defused her attempt at reaching for her weapon.

“You lied for starters,” she began as she moved her hands from the stock of her rifle to her hips. “I thought you said you and the others were going to scout out the mansion while I sold our junk.”

“Well, I changed my mind. Corso and the others don’t need me for that.” Nayvallen continued to close the gap between them as he massaged the back of his neck habitually. It was a nervous habit that he employed-usually before a stressful situation. “I, uh, thought I would join you.”

“Join me? You don’t trust me to handle this myself? I have done this numerous times before-”

“-That’s not why. I, uh-”

“-Now departing for Blastfield Shipyards. Now departing for Blastfield Shipyards.”

“Blast!” Risha cursed as she spun back to face the tram. She darted past the closing doors right before they managed to seal shut. Nayvallen was right on her heels, but was not so lucky as the door managed to hit his shoulder.

“Smooth as always,” Risha jabbed with a grin of her own.

“What can I say; I’m light on my feet,” Nayvallen replied as he pushed the door away from him. He crossed into the tram, allowing the door to finally close.

“Now departing for Blastfield Shipyards. Please be seated and fasten all safety harnesses.”

Risha did exactly as the automated voice instructed. She had risked forgoing the harness on her first ride. She had paid the price by sliding straight into Akaavi’s armored elbow before falling to the dirty floor below. Since then, the durasteel harness had been a necessity for her.

“So why are you joining me on this grand adventure?” Risha asked as the harness clicked into place around her trench coat.

“Well, I just thought that we could talk for a bit,” Nayvallen began as he opted for standing-his hand clutching one of the safety grips hanging from the ceiling of the tram as he prepared for the inevitable locomotion.

“About what?”

“About-”

“-As we begin our journey, Czerka Corporation would like to remind you that-”

“-Blast it!” Nayvallen cursed. Another automated message managed to interrupt yet again. This time the culprit was a holographic projection of a protocol droid being displayed in front of the door. The Mirialan smuggler reached out with his left hand to punch the projector. The hologram quickly flickered out and disappeared entirely as the tram lurched forward.

“I want to talk about us,” Nayvallen finally blurted out as he carefully maneuvered his way to a seat next to Risha.

“About us? What about us?” Risha wanted to talk as well, but there never seemed to be enough time as her focus was primarily diverted between the political state of her homeworld or with the numerous missions that the group had taken on. Running a criminal empire as well as gaining power over a planet was no easy task.

“Recent events have got me thinking. Our friends are disappearing rapidly. I never fully trusted Darmas, but I never assumed that he would go to such extremes. Completely betraying us didn’t seem to be in his cards.” The sabacc playing swindler had been an old acquaintance of Corso and was introduced to Nayvallen shortly after being betrayed by Skavak and one of Skavak’s many girlfriends from Ord Mantell. Risha had the chance to meet Darmas a few times, but she wasn’t as familiar with him as the other two were. She had never fully trusted him, but had gone along with Nayvallen’s interactions with the man. From giving him full custody over Port Nowhere to shooting him straight through the chest, Risha had been there to support Nayvallen. The latter of the two decisions was one of the best decisions that the captain could make, in Risha’s opinion.

“And you’re afraid that I am going to betray you. Is that it?” Risha was never really sure how the captain felt. He always acted like everything was a big game to him-especially when it came to romance. Risha had witnessed firsthand how the captain would win the affection of a woman before leaving her high and dry as they blasted away from the planet. It was one of the many reasons why Risha was reluctant to initiate anything serious between the two of them. Even though she noticed herself finding deeper feelings for the alien.

“Of course that’s not it. Of all the people to not betray me, you would be on the top of the list. Well, after Zalbaar of course. And probably Corso. And Guss probably couldn’t betray me even if he tried to.” Risha gave the captain one of her signature glares which always achieved her goal: getting him to shut up for at least a couple of glorious, peaceful seconds. “You would be in the top five,” Nayvallen added while holding up his five fingered hand. Risha rolled her eyes and turned away from Nayvallen.

The captain quickly reached out to grab Risha’s hand. It was a more forward move that he was not know for doing. It definitely had an impact as it drew Risha’s attention back toward him. “I want to know if we are going to be together or not. Don’t tell me that Mr. Goodypants back home is actually someone you can see yourself with. I have tried to give you time to think about it, but we are about to attempt the biggest thing that we have ever done, and I need to know before we go down a path that we can’t turn back from. I need to know what is going to happen to us on the other side?”

It was Risha’s turn to be at a loss for words. She had to admit that she had kept him hanging on whether or not she would accept the marriage proposal from Count Merritt Rineld. He was handsome, held incredible power, and even managed to have the additional quality of being a great person. He was the definition of perfection. She knew that if her dad were still alive that he would have urged her to marry him, and she knew that doing so would be the wisest choice. But she found herself thinking more of the captain than the count and definitely more on what she felt rather than what her father would have wanted.

“We’ll have time to figure this out after we take down the Voidwolf. It’ll be another massive success, and then we can-”

“-No,” he interrupted again. “I know that I may not be the best person for you when it comes to winning the throne or even the best person in general. But blast it, Risha, I love you.”

Back to being at a loss for words. Risha had never seen this particular encounter coming. As far as she could tell, the only thing that Nayvallen ever loved was his credits and his power. Their little flings had been fun, but she doubted that they were anything more than distractions from the turbulent galaxy around them. Risha had certainly thought of them as just distractions. Or, she at least thought that she had thought of them like that. She found it hard to know what she was thinking exactly anymore.

“You’re right. You’re not the best for me. You’re cocky, you’re arrogant, you’re reckless, you’re not the brightest light on the ship,” Risha felt as if she could go on listing all of the ways that he didn’t fulfill the equation of a perfect mate. She had tried to view love like an equation just like she viewed everything else in life. If there was a specific problem there would be a specific answer for it. If she needed to break into a vault, she would find the data slicer needed to do so. If she needed to regain control of her homeworld, she would marry the right man who would help her achieve her goals and desires. Risha found equations to be easy enough to understand and could usually help her out of trouble.

“You are anything but the best for me. But you’re the only one for me.” Risha found the words surprisingly easy to say. Maybe because she had always found herself saying them in her head as she tried to deny there being anything between them. When she visited the count, they were the words she tried to leave behind. When she thought of her father and all that he had done for her, they were the words that his memory would try to drown out. But they were her own words, and she knew them better than anyone or anything.

She also knew her actions better than anyone else and found herself unfastening the harness in order to freely place her hands on either side of Nayvallen’s face and her lips on his. Fear of being thrown by the train was nowhere in her brain now. This moment was all she could think about. The two of them together. She knew how she felt and couldn’t pretend to not realize it anymore.

“Nay, I-”

“-this tram ride was made possible by the new and exciting technological wonders created in their own Czerka laboratories right here on Corellia.” The hologram managed to appear yet again. Risha quickly reached for Nayvallen’s pistol just as he did the same. Their hands both locked around the pistol as they drew and fired directly into the holographic projector causing it to explode and fizzle out. A small fire began to form and a loud alarm sounded shortly after as the smoke from the blaster and holographic projector filled the air.

“Please remain calm. Fire has been detected within the tram. Help is on the way.” The automated voice stated as the tram came to a screeching halt. With Risha unfastened alongside Nayvallen, the two flew across the bench before falling to the ground and landing in a small clump with Nayvallen breaking the fall for Risha.

The fire wouldn’t get in the way. The alarm wouldn’t get in the way. The automated voice wouldn’t get in the way. The bruised arm wouldn’t get in the way. Whoever was supposedly coming to the “rescue” wasn’t going to get in the way. Not this time. Risha pulled herself closer toward Nayvallen’s lips as she finally stated, ”I love you.”