Polla Organa

They were playing the clip on the newsvids again. The one where Uncle Boon tried to knife the Coruscanti Senator in some kind of fit of misguided nobility. Polla sighed, watching it from the corner of the smoky cantina, her face carefully covered by a wide visor, goggles and hood. Junior was safe and snug in her lap. Knowing her father, Uncle Boon probably still didn't know the truth. Probably safer that way, but it still made her sad, watching his face. He'd been a pretty decent uncle.

A meter in front of her, Seiran leaned against the bar, talking to their contact.

The Silk Road didn't exist on any map, but it was a town all the same. The southern Derran continent had hundreds of settlements like this, off any official record, designed to facilitate free trade and avoid expensive Corellian tariffs. The Outlier worlds were technically beholden to Corellia. But people found their own ways around the most troublesome aspects of that.

A faint smile played across Polla's face as she watched the deal go down. Really, this was kind of funny. Their contact had no idea. She hoped she was right to trust him. When you thought about it, it was insane to trust him. But like it or not, her ex-lover was part of her father's plan. Apparently, they'd stayed in touch. Apparently, they still did business together.

"Jasp tells me you want a ship - a fast ship - and passage to the Defelli system."

"To Feldelroy."

The smuggler raised an eyebrow. "Not easy, between a hyperspace jump into an asteroid field, and natives who like to shoot people."

Seiran took a sip of his ale, watching the other man carefully. "I hear you're the man for the job."

Therion D'Cainen rolled his eyes. "You hear wrong. I'm not that crazy. CorSec's cracking down on the entire sector." He still had the same old habits. Polla watched her ex crack his knuckles and lean back against the bar, examining her husband's nondescript and shabby attire with that cocky raised eyebrow that was so infuriating it made her want to shoot him.

"You'll find we can pay," Seiran said, lazily.

They could, provided he didn't ask for too much. Not like there's much time to save an emergency fund for faking your own deaths and running. The whole thing had happened so fast. It wasn't until she'd seen the commentary on the vids speculating about who might have killed them, that Polla had realized how many enemies they had.

Thanks a lot , Revan fracking Starfire.

Again, she thought about special places in hell reserved for Sith Lords who stole other people's lives. Right up there with Jedi who did all the dirty work and uncles who couldn't keep their damn mouths shut.

"What's the cargo?"

"Myself, my wife and son, and no questions."

As if on cue, Junior began to wail. The smoke was probably bugging him. Both men's heads jerked around. Polla let her fingers fall in a half-wave, grinning under her visor veil, pleased to see the total non-recognition on her former lover and smuggling partner's face. Damnit, her father had better be right about this. There weren't many pilots good or foolish enough to go jumping off the official routes in the Defelli belts. She could do it herself, sure. But they didn't have cash for a ship.

Therion frowned. "It's a baby. I don't like kids."

"I don't think he likes you either," Seiran said, glowering. He was so cute when he glowered.

"Sorry," Therion said flatly. "I've stopped doing the hayseed runs. Deep core's where the profit is. I'm going to Coruscant. I have a...media contact there." Flashy smile on his face now, dimples. The one that broke hearts when you were eighteen and stupid enough to have one. "They've offered me six million credits for my life story. You see, I knew Polla Organa from way back." His smile turned smug now, as if he expected Seiran to be impressed. "In fact, you could say she and I were pret-ty close."

Frack this. Polla was losing patience. Wasn't it bad enough that the schutta had made her legally dead? Was it fair that her ex-boyfriend should profit from the tragedy too?

"Therion." Polla pushed the goggles she was wearing to the top of her head, exposing her face. "Take us to Defelli or I'll make sure Suvam hears about what really happened back on Biscain with that dumped spice. You know how he gets about freelancers."

There was a long silence, during which time Therion's mouth opened and closed a lot. Then he sputtered. "Fracking hell!"

"Don't use that kind of language around me. I'm a married woman!" Polla rolled her eyes. "Cut the banthacrap." She cuddled her son close to her chest, let her voice lilt entreatingly. "Will you take us there? Please?"

After that it was cake, really. After all, they were pals from way back. And Polla had enough dirt on him to send him into all nine of the Correllian hells if he betrayed them.

XXX

Mekel Jin

Walking through the marble halls of the fracking Jedi Temple with Malak in Dustil's body and Mission in Mekel's brain was a great deal like being chained to two large and fast-moving objects spinning in diametrically opposed orbits. Any second now, they were going to make his head explode.

And the wave of hopeless rage through the bond almost made Mekel Jin fall down.

Okay, make that three objects. Even if he couldn't see Dustil, the real Dustil, except in dreams, he could still feel him. Queasily, Mekel wondered if this was going to be the rest of his short fracking miserable life - torn between a Sith Lord, a dead girl and his disembodied best friend. If so, it fracking sucked worse than working as a joyboy for Moms, or rolling marks for credits. Even Dreshdae had been fun, comparatively speaking. Even Mandalorian girls like Millifar didn't make up for this.

Lord Malak continued speaking quietly, as if he hadn't noticed Mekel's sudden stagger. Perhaps he hadn't. It was certainly possible that dead former Sith Lords had more important things on their minds than the well-being of their (possibly former) minions.

"You must tell me about the Mandalorians' plans, Jin." Lord Malak said. His Telosian accent was terrible.

"You call me Mekk, usually, sir." Mekel said deferentially. Then he winced. And I don't call Telos 'sir.' Fracking bloody hell!

Mission's subvocal barrage increased in intensity.

—First off, I can't contact my central core. It's offline. Do you know what this means, bantha-brain? I'm crippled! I don't expect you to do anything but you could act a little bit concerned . . . -

Mekel rubbed his temples. "I am concerned, Blue," he mumbled under his breath. Dustil's head turned back at him and raised an eyebrow. He smiled at it weakly and resisted the urge to kneel. Mekel wasn't sure how anyone was being fooled by Darth Malak's Onasi impression. He wasn't even close.

- And second, that is not Dustil. And you have a Force bond so you must know that. So the thing is, Sithboy, when are you gonna tell me what's going on? Who the hell is that? And what have they done with Dustil?-

Mekel shook his head, trying to clear it. The real Dustil was somewhere here too, like something buried beneath the surface clawing to get out. Spots danced in front of his eyes and the back of his throat had a telltale metallic tang.

All I need to is to have another fit now in the middle of the Jedi bloody Temple –

"Sir," he muttered, moving closer. "Is Telos – is Dustil going to be – I mean you're going to l-let him h-have his body back, right?"

-Who is that? You'd better tell me or I'll do something terrible.-

"You're perspiring." Lord Malak frowned at him and stopped walking. Dustil's hand reached out to the neck of Mekel's robes, which was of course, tightly buckled over the collar. "You should loosen –" his hand brushed against the bulky apparatus and he frowned. Not Dustil's frown. "Wait. What is this?"

Mekel jerked back. "N-nothing, my Lord –"

"You said you call me Telos." Not Dustil's smile. Lord Malak stepped closer and undid the fastenings that hid the collar. His expression darkened. "So, call me Telos, Mekk. What is this?"

Mekel's hand went to his throat. "Nothing, it's – nothing." The slaver's collar thrummed under his fingertips with Mission's furious intensity.

- Answer me, Sithboy! Why are you calling him my lord? Why are you acting like this? Where the hell is Dustil?—

Something like an electric shock jolted through his spine. Mekel winced.

"Is this how the Mandalorians make you serve them?" The mouth twisted. Dustil's eyes had never looked that dark when it was Dustil's glare behind them. Dustil's hand grabbed his throat, fingers exploring the place where metal met skin. "This is Czerka manufacture," Lord Malak observed. "But it's been modified. Did my wife put this around your neck, Jin? Is this how Revan controls her servants? With the threat of death?" The former Dark Lord scowled. "She hasn't changed."

- His wife? What the bantha-spit poo doo is going on? –

Mekel jerked away. Death? What thread of death? "Stop it," he muttered. "Both of you, shut up."

Malak stepped back and crossed Dustil's arms across his chest. The pose was all Dark Lord, but his voice was gentle. "Who has the detonator key, Mekel?"

"The what?" Mekel didn't want to fracking understand.

"The control to the detonator. On the collar."

Mekel's hand went to his neck, where a thin ridge of skin had started to grow over the metal edge. "The what?" he repeated stupidly. Really stupidly, because to the sinking feeling in his chest, this was all starting to make sense. Growing up as he had, you learned fast that everyone had their agenda. Trust and friendship . . . only went so far.

Under his fingertips the collar thrummed, then went silent.

XXX

Lydie Korr

The Mandalorian got up from his kneeling position in front of the Nomi Sunrider statue, looked up across the garden, and waved at them. "Hello!" he called. His smile was bright, even from a distance.

Lydie realized she'd been holding Thalia's hand like a talisman and dropped it fast. Padawans didn't cling to each other for reassurance. Good padawans had more decorum. A good padawan is self-reliant, Aunt Marla had always said. A good padawan assesses the situation, and knows when events are beyond their abilities. A good padawan knows when to retreat.

"I think we should go," she murmured to Thalia May, who was still kind of – well, gaping at the heir to the Mandalorian empire.

"Yes," her friend said. And didn't move from their place on the balcony.

Below them, on the Meditation Garden grounds, the Mandalorian was still smiling.

"He's important," I think." Thalia's voice was barely a whisper. "But I can't see beyond the veil."

Thalia saw things. And knew things – things that most padawans did not. Lydie wondered sometimes if it was a side effect of the dark side. Was the dark side was some kind of contagion, or was this just the way her friend's particular Force gift manifested itself? Everyone was different, Master Croi had always told her that. Some padawans were good with combat techniques, and others were good with healing, and others, (like Lydie herself) were better at levitation and manipulation of inanimate objects. And Thalia – Thalia had dreams that came true. Thalia knew things that were going to happen, even when you didn't tell her about them.

Sometimes Lydie wondered what Dustil Onasi and Mekel Jin would have been good at, if they'd stayed padawans. Were they like Thalia May? Would they see the future too? Could they see the future? And if so, if seeing the future was a dark side trait, what did that mean in terms of the future itself? Was that why they'd left the Jedi? Did that mean that ultimately the Sith would win?

There were some questions you couldn't ask a Jedi master.

"Are you allowed to come down from there?" the Mandalorian called up. His smile, even from a distance did something funny to Lydie's stomach.

"I'm not sure that's wise-" she began, even as Thalia called back an affirmative.

The Mandalorian folded his arms, and Thalia May, someone Lydie had never thought of as being reckless, or rash, or irrational enough to jump into a situation that was beyond her abilities, swung one leg and then the other over the balcony railing and Force-jumped to the ground below. Once landed, she brushed herself off, straightened, and began talking to the strange interloper as if it was the most normal thing in the galaxy, as if they both weren't sequestered padawans, as if she'd never read about the Mandalorian Wars and all of the things the Mandalorians had done –

Of course maybe they hadn't done them on Tanaab, or Ziost, or where ever Thalia May was really from. No. They'd done them on Iridonia. One of the first planets they'd attacked in their war against the galaxy.

There was another funny feeling in Lydie Korr's stomach as she Force-jumped after her friend. When she stood up, (one knee a little sore, as if she'd landed too hard), her hands were shaking. It took Lydie a second to remember this feeling, because it had been so long since she'd felt it. Five years, in fact. Five years since she'd seen the holofeeds about Iridonia burning and heard about her brother's disappearance.

Some Zabrak had joined the Mand'oade, some people said. Some people said the Mandalorians would take anyone, as long as they married into a tribe. Especially male-anyones, and Zepth had been male, even if he was just a kid, barely into manhood. Maybe he was a Mandalorian now. Maybe he'd married one, and put on armor, and who could tell what they looked like under their armor? They could all be Zabrak. Maybe he'd fought in the wars and died for them, or maybe –

Lydie could hardly remember his face. Just the way he'd lifted her into the air and swung her around in a circle while Gulla complained and Attina laughed, and Aurel sulked. Maybe Zepth's eyes had been blue, or brown, but how was she to know? How was she to remember when she'd been six when Aunt Marla came and took her to the Jedi? Six, and all her siblings could do was wave goodbye, and once she'd had a brother (actually she'd had two, but now only Aurel was alive, as far as they knew) but now he was probably dead and the Mandalorians were responsible.

I don't want to lie to you, dotter, but things have been bad here. The government burned the farm to keep the enemy from rayding our crops. That was what the letter said. But were all fine, except for Zepth. No ones seen him since the last raid, and we can only hope for the bestest. Now that you're a Jedi, Lydie-Lu, maybe you can tell if he's dead? Can Jedi do that? Maybe you could ask my sister, but I know she's probably busy–

Lydie couldn't tell if Zepth were dead. How was she supposed to tell? She couldn't even remember the color of his eyes.

"This is Padawan Korr," Thalia said. Then she did something even more out of character than leaping off a balcony. She gave Oerin Lin a kiss. A deep one, on the lips with tongue. All Lydie could do was try not to gape in astonishment.

"Well!" The Mandalorian had fair skin. It turned a bright shade of pink when Thalia kissed him. For a second, he looked entirely shocked and about a decade younger. Then he recovered, so smoothly Lydie wondered if she'd imagined his embarrassment. "I'm Oerin Lin," the Mandalorian said to Lydie. His teeth were too white. They didn't look like human teeth at all. "Charmed." He leaned forward slightly, as if he expected her to kiss him too.

Lydie was positive she didn't want to do that. Instead, she held out her hand. His fingers were warmer than she expected from a human. They made the skin prickle between the indentations on her shoulderblades.

"Lydie," she muttered. "My name is Lydie. Padawan Lydie Korr."

"Oerin," the Mandalorian murmured back, like they were playing a game. "My name is Oerin Lin Fett Mandalore."

Lydie tried to kick her brain into functionality, tried to sound like an authoritative Jedi speaking to an intruder, instead of some kind of insipid adolescent. "What are you doing here?" Did Thalia know him? Was that why she'd kissed him like that? They were pretty good friends at this point, and Lydie was sure that unlike some people, Thalia May didn't go around kissing just anyone, even if they were attractive and available and looked like they knew how to do it pretty well -

Oerin's smile widened, if that was even possible. She wondered if it would split his face in two. "I always wanted to see the Jedi Temple." He paused. "And since Lord Revan has decided to spend her time here, naturally, I decided to visit." His head tilted slightly. "I've never seen a Zabrak Jedi before. Are there more like you?"

"My Aunt Marla -" Lydie caught herself saying the words before she could stop them. "And – some others. A few."

"A few," he nodded seriously, as if that was a response. "There are a few in the Mandalorian army also. Your people make great fighters."

Crazily, she wanted to ask about Zepth, but that was insane, wasn't it? Even more crazily, she wanted to like this man, she wanted to find him attractive, she wanted to answer his questions about the Jedi –

The prickling feeling up her spine increased and spread down her arms. Lydie rubbed her fingers against her outer robes, as if that would help.

"We have class in a few minutes," Thalia said. That wasn't true. They had another hour. They were supposed to be studying, but Thalia had heard there were Mandalorians in the temple and she'd told Lydie and they both wanted to see. Or at least, Lydie had wanted to see. Thalia had apparently wanted to make out with them.

"Yes," Lydie seized the excuse. "We have class. It was nice meeting you, Citizen Lin." Were Mandalorians even citizens of the Republic? There had been something going on with the Senate about that, but Lydie hadn't watched the holofeeds. Ever since Master Atris had asked Master Croi to have her assigned to the library, her time was never her own.

Except for stolen moments like this. Stolen moments she'd meant to spend explaining to Thalia May about how she was wrong about Padawan Loanin's interest in Padwan Korr, how that interest was strictly intellectual and not a violation of the Code at all –

"I'm sorry," Thalia said to Oerin Lin. "Sometimes power isn't enough."

The Mandalorian laughed, raising both eyebrows. "Oh?" His hand reached for hers, enfolding the small brown fingers with his own calloused ones, bringing her hand to his lips. "Is that Jedi wisdom?"

"It's mine," Thalia said seriously. It took her a moment to pull her hand back. "My wisdom. I'm sorry." Her eyes drifted to their entwined fingers and then she pulled her hand away.

"I accept your apology." His handsome face looked a little puzzled.

"What is he doing here?" The voice came from behind them. Adult, commanding and angry. Lydie turned around and was startled to discover it belonged to Padawan Dustil Onasi. Even more surprising, there was Mekel Jin trailing behind him dressed in civilian clothes that looked tailored to fit him in a way padawan robes never had.

"Excuse me?" The Mandalorian folded his arms, glaring at the intruders.

"You shouldn't be here," Dustil said.

Thalia May had said that Dustil and Mekel had gone to the underlevels. Wouldn't she know? Hadn't they been friends? Where ever they had gone seemed to have made Dustil grow up. Lydie remembered him as a silent, sulking padawan, who always knew the right answers but never gave them, preferring to laugh with Padawan Jin at some private joke, or never come to classes at all. But this Dustil was different. Even his voice sounded stronger, like one used to giving commands.

"Telos," Mekel Jin muttered. "Don't -"

"Look what their influence has done to you," the other boy snapped at him. "Enslaved by her machine."

"I'm not!" Mekel Jin tugged at the necklace he was wearing. He stared murderously at the floor.

"Interesting," said Oerin Lin.

Dustil's mouth twisted in a snarl that was almost feral. "You don't know the half of it, Lin."

There was a long pause as the two men stared at each other. Lydie had the sensation of continents colliding, asteroids wrenched out of their orbit, great tremors in the Force.

To her surprise, it was the Mandalorian who looked away first. "I never thought I'd see you again. Do the Jedi know?"

The Telosian boy folded his arms. "Some of them do, I think." Dustil snorted. "You know the Jedi. They watch and they hope things won't turn out badly." The way his face twisted made it easy for Lydie to imagine him on Korriban.

"Ah," the Mandalorian grinned. "Perhaps the Jedi just need the proper guidance. Is that why you came back?"

"The proper guidance?" Dustil scoffed. "You're just like your father, Lin. Over-extended, out of resources, and in someone else's pocket."

"Dustil, we should go." Mekel Jin caught his friend's arm. His black eyes darted towards her and Thalia, and then ducked away. "Hey, Thally," he mumbled.

"Mekel," she said, nodding a little. "You look like hell."

"Yeah..." he shrugged and his black eyes met Lydie's. He swallowed. "Hi, Lydie."

"My father died honorably." Oerin Lin spread out his hands, looking like he was giving a speech to thousands instead of just the four of them. "May I do the same."

"Padawan Jin," Lydie said. Her face felt hot, which was ridiculous. "Are you coming back to the Jedi too?"

Did that sound too hopeful? Did she really want Mekel Jin to come back? Did he even remember the time he'd almost kissed her in the restricted section before Master Atris interrupted, or was the sort of thing that happened to him all the time?

"I don't think so," Mekel dashed her hopes – not that they were hopes. Why should she care about another dark-eyed Padawan? Not like he was the only one - "The Mandalorians adopted me. I'm one of them now."

"You can't go with them," Dustil snapped at him. "I won't allow it."

Mekel frowned at him. "You're not in charge, sir."

Since when was Dustil Onasi a sir? Since when did Dustil Onasi act like he was in charge of anything more advanced than sulking?

"You have no power here!" Oerin laughed again and waved his arm. "Begone, unclean spirit!"

To Lydie's surprise, (not to mention confusion), Dustil Onasi actually stumbled backwards. For a second.

Then his face twisted, furious, and he lunged at Oerin Lin in a flying leap.

Both men crashed to the ground. Someone's skull hit the flagstones with a sickening crunch, and someone else's rib maybe cracked – unmistakable sounds when you'd been on the receiving end during combat practice as many times as Lydie had, when you'd healed as many bones as she had –

"We have to stop them!" she cried out. For some reason, Thalia was just standing there, watching open-mouthed, and Mekel Jin was just as useless. Why had she ever thought he was cute? Right now he was cringing.

Somehow Oerin Lin had ended up on top, his hand buried in Dustil Onasi's throat. "You have to yield. Haven't you heard you're a Mandalorian citizen? I'm your ruler."

Any response Dustil had was lost in choking sounds. Choking sounds that finally spurred Lydie Korr into action.

"Stop it!" she said again, holding out her hand. "Freeze!"

The Force move she'd practiced so assiduously in combat training, (because her lightsaber moves were so weak and Master Croi said sometimes the best offense was a good defense), finally came to good use. Both figures froze. Dustil in mid-grimace, and the Mandalorian on top of him, still with that sickeningly confident smile pasted across his face.

A blaster shot ricocheted overhead. "Get off him!"

Lydie's head turned, concentration broken. Captain Carth Onasi, (who was one of Revan Starfire's husbands according to what Thalia had said), strode into the room, guns drawn. Was he allowed to carry weapons in the temple? Usually only Jedi were allowed.

Behind him trailed the smallest apprentice in the Jedi Temple. Malachor D'Reev. Revan's son.

"Frack," Mekel Jin muttered.

"Get off him," the Captain repeated steadily. He had a pistol in each hand, and their laser sights were trained – one on his son's forehead, and one on Oerin Lin's. For a second, it looked as if he didn't know which one of them to shoot.

Lydie's Force hold had broken with her concentration. Now, both men stared at the Captain. Slowly, Oerin Lin moved off of Dustil and stood up.

"Are you defending me now?" Dustil's grin twisted. "Thanks a lot, father." The vitriol he seemed to reserve for that word more than she expected. But maybe if you were raised by the Sith on Korriban you had different standards about things like fathers and mothers and families. She barely knew hers at all, except for the letters that came, every half-year (Iridonian standard), precise as binary code and just as unintelligible.

Dear Lydie, I hope everythings well with you and my sister Marla. Gulla and Attina started dancing. It's pretty good money, except for the hours. I hardly ever see my baby girls anymore. I hope your learning everything you can with the jedai you were always the smart kid. I am so proud –

Sometimes Lydie wondered what those letters were supposed to make her feel. She was afraid to ask Aunt Marla. A master on the Jedi Council probably had better things to do with her time than answer her niece's questions.

"You're coming with me, son," Captain Onasi snapped back.

"Does Revan know?" Oerin Lin looked from father to son in fascination.

Know what? Lydie wondered. Know that Dustil and his father don't get along?

"No," the Captain gestured with one blaster. "And I intend to keep it that way."

Dustil laughed. "You can't protect her forever. And I find it hard to believe that you'd choose the Mandalorians. You were in the wars."

"The Mandalorians didn't kill my wife," Captain Onasi gritted.

"They'll kill a lot more if my father gets his way."

Beside Lydie, Mekel made a sound in the back of his throat. "Frack," he muttered again. "We should get out of here."

"That's not Dustil, is it, Mekk?" Thalia moved closer to them, all three of them edging towards the doorway.

What did she mean? It wasn't fair that in the middle of watching something that might have historical significance take place, what Lydie Korr noticed were how long Mekel Jin's eyelashes were. It wasn't appropriate that the first thing she wondered was what the rough stubble on his face would feel like. It wasn't right at all, but she did.

Mekel snorted. "What gave it away – me calling him sir? No..." Mekel – Mekk- said. His hands tugged at the collar around his neck. "That's not Dustil. That's -"

"Malak," Captain Onasi's voice was dark. A blue vein throbbed on his forehead. His face was nearly purple with rage. "Get out of my son's body." He gestured with the blaster again. "I've been patient. I hoped you would go peacefully, but I'd rather see him dead than this." His eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen too much. A man with nothing to lose.

"But Malak's dead." Lydie felt stupid. Surely, this was obvious. "Force possession doesn't really happen – just in legends, it's a metaphor. Force ghosts don't really –"

"I can't," Dustil – or Not-Dustil, or Malak's ghost, or the metaphor said. "His body needs me to sustain it or it will fail."

The work they did on the underlevels was sad. The plague that seemed to be spreading on the underlevels was terrible. Parents lost children, there was poverty, starvation, desperation – growing up Jedi, you see sad things, but you don't really understand them. Not if you were Lydie Korr, who'd been a Jedi-in-training almost as long as she could remember. Not if things like family, parents, siblings were just an abstraction, just letters sent twice a year.

But Captain Onasi's face made Lydie almost understand.

"He's dead?" The Captain's voice cracked. "My son is dead?" He'd holstered one gun. The other laser sight wavered across Dustil-Malak's face and settled on the ground, trembling. Captain Onasi's hand shook holding it. "You said he was fine. You said he was safe!"

"Not dead. Lost." Dustil-Malak stood up slowly. Now that Lydie knew it was so obvious. He didn't move like Dustil at all. "I'm trying to bring him back, but it takes time. Training. And in the meantime -" he looked past them all to the small figure standing quietly in the corner. So quiet Lydie had forgotten he was there. "In the meantime Korrie needs me too."

"He has me. And his mother," the Captain said.

"And a Mandalorian army," Oerin Lin drawled.

From the look of sudden rage on Dustil-Malak's face, that had not been the right thing to say. Lydie suspected the Mandalorian had done it on purpose, but now the man backed away, hands spread open wide, gesturing peace.

"Perhaps I should go," Oerin added. "Leave you two to work this out." He glanced over at the rest of them and raised an eyebrow."We could all leave together. You could show me your kitchens and weapons facilities. And maybe the archives."

For some reason, that sounded like a good idea. There was that prickling between her shoulder blades too. Lydie frowned, rubbing her forehead. "We could show you -"

Mekel grabbed her arm. "No. We have to go," he said, pulling her away. "Now."

Captain Onasi and the man who wasn't really Dustil Onasi were still glaring at each other, circling like mad borra. The little kid, Korrie, stood watching them.

Thalia looked confused for a moment but then followed Mekel. His fingers were locked securely around Lydie's arm. She didn't move them away. She tried not to feel flattered, that he'd chosen her arm and not Thalia's.

"Perhaps another time!" Oerin Lin called after them. His laughter followed them, raising Lydie's indentations on the back of her neck.

Families. It appeared they were even more complicated than Lydie had ever imagined.

Not that she imagined things like families. She was a Jedi, after all. What was the point?

"Was that really Darth Malak? He's really a Force ghost?" she asked Mekel when they were safely down the hall and several hundred meters away. "Because they're not supposed to exist. According to Arkath's Treatise on Essence, sentients are absorbed by the Force after death, merging into the one. There's no such thing as Force ghosts."

Thalia snorted. "You never had the benefit of a Korriban education." Her skin looked almost gray. "There are lots of ghosts on Korriban."

Mekel Jin rubbed the back of his neck, pulling at the collar he was wearing. It almost seemed to be implanted in his skin. Was that a Mandalorian fashion? "There are worse things than ghosts," he said. "Much worse." He took a deep breath. It sounded like he was holding back strong emotions, scary emotions. "Look, Thally -" his gaze expanded to include Lydie too. Despite herself, her two hearts beat faster."Lydie... I need your help."

XXX

Dustil Onasi

"Mekel Jin! It's good to see you! Dustil's upstairs in his room. He can't play today. Would you like some cake?"

"No I'm not, Mom," Dustil said softly from his place on the stairs. "I'm right here."

Morgana Onasi glanced up, dark eyes laughing, her mouth curving into a wide smile. "I thought you'd been avoiding him. Dustil, it's very rude. Mekel's your friend. And every time he comes to visit you just hide away."

The Coruscanti boy stood very still in the doorway of their conapt on Telos. It was as if he was waiting for Dustil's response.

"Does he come often, Mom?" Dustil asked.

"Every day." Morgana sighed. "If you don't want to see him, dear, just go back upstairs to your room. I'll tell him you're indisposed."

"Stop pretending," Dustil Onasi whispered.

The world around them rippled and changed. His mother vanished, along with the walls and roof. Everything collapsed into rubble, except that staircase. It stretched empty towards the darkening sky. Sullen gray shot with red streaks as the battle for Telos raged on over their heads.

Dustil sat on the landing, pulling his hands around his knees. "Mekel doesn't see this," he whispered. "When he comes we see what he knows. Therefore, you're not him. I know who you really are."

"I thought his face would be reassuring to you."The voice had deepened, overlaid with a metallic overlay.

Dustil refused to look down the stairs. He stared across them instead, into the ruined sky. "I'm not a kid." he said. "I've seen worse."

Selene huddled next to him. Somewhere off in the corner Ekkumi was taking much too long to die. The troopers came: armored, silver, faceless. He recognized every model of gun that they carried. Most were Republic design. He wondered if some of them had been men like his father. Dustil wondered if his father had joined the Sith like Selene's. He wondered if that rumor about Sub-Captain Karath was even true. There was blaster fire and screams, and laughter. And a humming sound, bright as a blade-familiar now-although it hadn't been then. Lightsabers sounded different in the vids. Louder. In real life the sound was soft and deceptive, a snake in the grass.

The tramp of armored feet surrounded them. They came with a gray man. Master Uther, although Dustil hadn't known his name. Not them. This wasn't how they met. It wasn't time.

No. Dustil was in his mother's house. On Telos. Or – well, it had been his father's house too. Except for him never being there. He reassembled it piece by piece in his mind. Then he dared to look down.

The boy on the landing below him wasn't Mekel anymore. He had brown hair in tight curls on his head. Level gray eyes in a wide face. Tall – enormous, really. And he wore a Padawan's robe. A lightsaber dangled from his belt. They might have been the same age except Dustil knew they weren't.

The boy laughed. "If you're going to plumb the depths of your own psyche, let me just tell you you're wrong. I just spent two hours convincing your father not to shoot me. He made me promise to save you. " The wide mouth twisted in a scowl. "That's why I'm here."

In dreams, anything can happen. Dustil gripped the cool silver cylinder that was now in his hand and stood up.

"My father knows?" His voice was furious. It took all of his composure not to charge down the staircase and gut the man who'd ruined his life. Except none of this was real and it probably wouldn't do any good. And he didn't want to kill people. Not anymore.

"The Captain knows. But there's nothing he can do." Malak's expression turned dark. "There's nothing any of us can do until Red makes a decision."

"My father knows? What the –" Information, he needed information. Maybe this version of Malak wasn't another hallucination. Dustil could hate his guts and bide his time, but right now, he just needed to know. "Where – where are we, what the frack is going on? Mekk said something about Mandalorians, and being a bodyguard-"

"We're in seclusion, in the Jedi Temple. Dustil's.-" Malak's smile twisted. "- Aura troubles the Jedi. Although they don't understand what they see, most of them." Malak grimaced. "I used to wonder how Exar Kun, possessed with the spirit of Freedon Nadd, could come to Ossus and recruit his followers right under the noses of the Council...but now... Jedi are fools. Things they do not understand, they explain. They think I — you-are troubled by your past. And by your current . . . family situation." He laughed. "They have no idea . . ."

"Give me back my body." There. If this wasn't a dream, maybe that would work. Yeah, maybe he'd just ask Darth Malak and Darth Malak would just hand it back over and vanish. Sure. If this was a Sixday afternoon special – sure.

Malak folded his arms. "It's not that simple." The man looked down at the shattered floor. "What I did to you was a Sith thing, Dustil. I regret the necessity, but I had to save my son."

"Well he's fracking safe now! You're in the Temple? What the hell can happen to him there?"

"My — Revan could take back her memories and become the woman that she was. Malachor would be accepted for training, of course, although his potential is far less than either of his parents." Malak closed his eyes. "Thankfully."

"That's great," Dustil snapped. "Really fracking great. And they can live happily ever after. But I want my life! You took everything from me, and now you're taking more!"

The saber in his hand ignited red. He threw it at Malak. The man didn't flinch, but the blade stopped in mid-air, a handsbreath from his face.

"You're expending too much energy on a useless attack," the Dark Lord told him, taking the hilt from mid-air. He extinguished the blade and tossed the pommel back. Dustil's hand caught it automatically. Immediately, he tried again. And the same fracking thing happened. #*#*H&!&!

"I don't expect you to understand about my son. You're the son of a hero, Dustil Onasi. Malachor is the son of two monsters. Do you think the galaxy will forgive him?"

"There's no food here for a traitor's daughter," Lirin Ji said, leveling the blaster she'd scavenged from a dead TSF officer at their heads.

"It's a lie," Selene Karath whispered.

"Don't shoot," Dustil said. His ankle hurt, and his stomach cramped again. "We're leaving." Stubbornly he took her hand, pulling her away from the other survivors, their former classmates now gone feral and strange.

"No," Dustil said. "I guess they won't." He thought about the kid again, those same gray eyes and that trusting open face. The times he'd turned away from it, and his father's unsaid disapproval in the weeks they'd spent in the D'Reev apartments. "My father won't let anything happen to your son," he said, more than a little bitterly. "Even when he was planning on killing her, he wouldn't hurt Korrie."

"He's just a man," Malak said. "He doesn't have the Force. He can't protect Malachor from my father, or the other families, or the fanatics."

The innate arrogance of that made Dustil really want to kill him. "My dad saved Her, didn't he? Just a man? My father . . ."

Left me. Left Telos. Left Mother to die.

But that was an old wound. Mostly scabbed over. Mostly. Dustil reined in his fury. "My father saved your wife. You didn't do that, Darth Malak. You died."

"Revan killed me." The voice was flat, but something burned underneath. The voice turned cold. "It was a Sith thing, what I did, and to undo it we must be Sith. You did well on Korriban, surely you understand."

"Y-you mean I have to kill you?" Okay it was a bad time for his voice to crack. "Strike you down? Fracking hell, Malak, that's not a problem, I'll do it right fracking now—"

Again the saber shot out. And again, Malak deflected it and tossed it back. Like a teacher. Like a hoverball coach. Dustil wanted to kill him. A lot.

"You're not strong enough. Yet."

"You said you wanted anger. We can be Sith about it . . ." That wasn't a problem, not a problem at all. Lightning crackled in his hands. Hate fueled his strength. Strength led to power, after all, and –

Lirin's eyes stared up sightless towards the doomed sky. Dustil shoved the blaster – and her rations – in his pocket.

When he got back to their hideaway, Selene was sleeping. He put the rations on the tree stump next to her and buried the blaster in their makeshift privy.

"No." Malak shook his head and the lightning died. "I still require your body, Dustil Onasi. And you need my training. But when the time is ready, I will release us both."

XXX

Deeka Jin

The Trade was off. And the Trade was never off.

Alone in her office late at night, Deeka put down the box of spiced candies and took a few cleansin' breaths to clear her head. Receipts were down, five girls hadn't even shown up today, and Katta was looking a little peaked. If she didn't know better, she'd think the chit had gotten herself knocked up, but Katta had the operation after the third one, so there wasn't no chance of that, not now.

Her throat tickled and she coughed again. Allergies. Filtration units were always breakin' down this far underground. It was a pain, but she'd have to bribe a tech to look at them again... maybe Karson. Nocturnal sort. He'd be up, and he owed her a few, ever since she'd let him have the twins for gratis. Give a favor, get five back, was what her own old moms had always used to say, back before she left for the corpsepiles. Words to live by, Deeka always thought.

Her fingers twitched a little as she dialed the number in. Palsy? Maybe she'd better make an appointment with the doc herself –

"Hello?" The Toydarian's nose filled the viewscreen quite impressively.

"Karson," Deeka gave him her charmiest smile. "I could use your help with a little somethin, sweetie."

"Deeka." That magnificent nose unfurled. "What's shakin?"

"I think the air unit's actin' up again. Thought maybe you could check?" There was that tickle in her throat again. As if to prove her point, Deeka Jin coughed.

And coughed. And coughed. A little unnervin, in fact. It was quite hard to catch her breath.

"You sound sick," Karson said. The nose retreated. "Comin' down with the Jedi flu?"

"The what?" Deeka reached for a facecloth, and wiped her own small, delicate nose to stop the drip. "Jedi flu?" She snorted. "That some new kinda pox? We don't see a lot of Jedi down here..."

No. Just those Sith who'd promised to find Mekelkins again for her. Creepy lot, them. Sometimes Deeka worried that she'd made a bad bargain.

"Jedi flu. Started cropping up in the clinics they run. Didn't you hear? It's serious. Sents are dyin'."

"I'm not dying!" She couldn't! Her heart beat faster. Another piece of spice, maybe, just to calm the nerves. "Just allergies!"

"Maybe." His tiny hands worried at each other like little mice. "But I'm not takin' any chances. Don't you watch the news, Deeks? They're talking about sealing off the underlevels. And the Jedi temple. Plague's contagious -"

"Frack," said Deeka Jin. Then she coughed again. Plague would be really, really bad for the business.

XXX

Revan Starfire

Carth wasn't speaking to Dustil at dinner, and Korrie was unusually subdued. After perfunctory farewells, Canderous and Oerin had gone back to their base at the D'Reev apartments. Revan hadn't told anyone about Polla – not even Carth. In fact, she and Carth hadn't said much of anything. At least not in words. Tonight Korrie was sleeping in Dustil's room and she and Carth were alone. How long had it been since they'd been alone?

Revan did everything she could to draw that terrible look out of his eyes, but nothing had worked.

"We could make a baby," he said finally, when they were done. "Another baby. Yours and mine."

"Could we?" Revan wondered if that were true. They had contra implants, of course. She'd made sure of that before they started sleeping together long ago before she knew who she was. Should they? "I never checked," she said. "But maybe after everything that's happened – maybe I can't." Deep space combat. Radiation. The dark side. Who knew what that did, really? She'd heard stories -

"We could try." Carth looked stubborn and lost. She kissed the side of his mouth, trying to wish it away. "Make someone that's yours and mine. Make someone new."

"I'd like that," she mumbled, sleepy. "A sister for Korrie and Dustil."

"Or a brother." His face was wet. Was he crying? Her hands traced the tears, but inside, a part of her was ice-cold. Finally, Carth rolled away from her, buried his strong back in the silver coverlet. Her hands traced that back through the smooth cloth, watched his shoulders shake. Watched his breathing slow, as he finally drifted off to sleep.

"I'll be right back," she murmured to no one. "Fresher."

Carth was snoring when she slipped out of the door instead, feet walking in an automatic path down hallways she couldn't remember to a place that she'd always known. The practice rooms were dark and silent, this late at night. All except for one, whose light filtered out into the hallway like a cold sun.

"Malak," she said softly. "Malak, Malak."

The boy didn't turn his head, he was too smart for that. He didn't turn his head, or outwardly react. The practice droid hovered to his left and his practice blade met it smoothly. His body moved into another stance: careful, precise, even. An old dance. A very old dance.

Dustil didn't react, but Revan could tell anyways, just from the Force that suddenly stilled around his body, like the calm before a storm.

There was a long pause, long enough for Revan to wonder (again) if she really had lost her mind. And why was she wondering this now – after all that had happened – hysterical laughter started to spit inside of her gut and she clamped her lips shut, lest it escape. Surely, when you were about to accuse your husband's son of being your long-lost mortal enemy and one true love, surely that was a bad time to laugh - something like a choked gasp emerged from her throat, despite her efforts.

The silence continued. The small practice room felt like a tomb, felt like the walls of a ship under seige. Felt like a time she couldn't remember.

"How long -" his voice was quiet, Dustil's voice was very quiet, and not at all childlike. Not at all Dustil's. "How long have you known?"

"I didn't -" she bit back the laughter again, helpless, hopeless -"I didn't, until just now."

"Ah," he said lightly. "I thought you would have figured it out sooner." He turned around to face her. Dustil's face. Like Carth's only younger. Darker hair. Darker eyes. And not Dustil at all. Not a thing like Dustil. "Hello, Red."

A/N this is the edited version. Thanks to everyone who's read this, especially those of you who have bothered, over the last five years to remind me to finish it.

Special thanks for Rose, for the super fast beta, and reminding me, finishing ficts is good. And for Lydie Korr, of course.

Also thanks to everyone in the RPs that ate Kotor fandom. This isn't the only fiction fallen by the wayside :) And Mia, I'm going to get some Azen in.