"That One Time"

[Erril Winterhold]

Encryption Key 4489YTC-765F//6

::-Project Onetar-::--::-Gillan Ashcraft>>Kaytren Li-::

Kaytren Li, I trust this communique finds you in good health.

In the wake of recent events on Uvena Prime, the Dantooine enclave has been diligently tracking down all remaining Jedi for purposes of future coordination, but also to begin tying up loose ends and, more importantly, recovering the reins of existing initiatives that have gone by the wayside during our order’s time of crisis. From what I understand, you and several other Jedi have been able to retreat safely to the Medium Council on Naboo – I understand it is being called the “Council of Knowledge” these days. A fitting name – and have continued the good fight from there, as well as becoming an integral presence that community.

In light of these developments and the undoubted increase in responsibility on your part, understand that I have the upmost respect for whatever your response must be to this message. That being said, this is a call for aid. In the wake of the battle on Uvena Prime, the council here on Dantooine has been attempting to, as I said earlier, recover many of the initiatives that were unfortunately wrested from the hands of the main council. Some of those projects are simple enough, but others require a more finesse touch. In particular, we are in need of a healer. The great irony being that this enclave has been a center of healing since time immemorial, we find our own ranks spread very thin right now, but the stakes of this particular initiative are very high and it seems to me that you are uniquely suited to the task.

There is a planet called Onetar. You may have heard of it, but I don’t believe you’ve been involved in any of the order’s work with them up to this point, so allow me to very quickly brief you. Onetar is a planet that was discovered about 5 years ago in the western outer rim; it was considered Wild Space at the time, which is why it was only chanced upon by members of the Dwyry Spacers’ Guild. Since then we have forged basic diplomatic relations with the indigenous people and have helped them to attain faster-than-light travel – they were very close already.

The situation has devolved since then, however. A faction within the government called the Abranzia Clan has been suspicious of outside influence since the beginning of our time there, and has chosen to view our technological intervention as an attempt to undermine their economy. They had gained momentum in the last year, but our ambassador Master Truske was able to help cooler heads prevail in proceedings.

As you have no doubt guessed, that all changed recently. When the local government received news of the events on Uvena Prime, the Abranzia Clan took it as a sign of some sort and almost overnight staged a coup d’etat. Now, what little intelligence we gained from Master Truske after the initial stage of the coup suggests that the Abranzia Clan doesn’t have enough backing to remain in power forever. The government will shift back given enough time, but the Abranzia Clan have created a rather differential and violent regime. Last week Master Truske went dark under concerning circumstances, and we fear they may have seized both him and several other key members of the formerly controlling government body.

Knowing that the death toll has been high, we have prepared a shipment of medical supplies and have arranged with what little is left of Truske’s former communication network to have it smuggled in, but that is where your presence becomes important. Our smuggler in this case is Erril Winterhold, a young Knight who has helped tend to the more drastic needs of this enclave on many occasions. In the interest of transparency I will tell you that he has only been knighted within the last three months, but we are confident in his ability to move the supplies safely and to gather useful intelligence for us. That being said, we need more than intel and smuggling services. We need an operative in the field who can immediately render assistance should either Master Truske or the missing members of the former leading party be found in a critical state.

Given not only your skills in the healing arts, but also your history working undercover, we feel that you are uniquely suited to partner with Winterhold on this particular mission. The two of you would move to the capital city with the mentioned supplies, render assistance as quickly as possible, and help the government heads be ready to lead their people as quickly as possible as well. Even knowing the coup will eventually fail, we cannot stand by and allow the Onetari to suffer in the meantime, or let their civilization collapse under the weight of this new regime.
The stakes are high, the blame rests – if only circumstantially – at least partly on our shoulders, and we need to make this right. I will of course reiterate my earlier statement that I appreciate the potential gravity of your standing within the Medium Council and will respect your decision whatever it may be. Either way, I look forward to your timely response.

May the Force be with you,
Master Gillan Ashcraft.

//Encryption Key Locked//

::Secure File Attachments::

00_1- Onetari Physiology Brief
00_2- Luren_City_CorDx.3DF
00_3- Laidriatic Valley Topography

[Kaytren Li]

“Are you gonna go?”
“Yes. Were you listening in?”
“No, the soundproof works pretty good. I just wanted to know.”

Kaytren let the study doorway close behind her with a swish-click. Privately, the slim Jedi woman still felt occasionally a little too young and insufficient for most of this. She wasn't far past twenty, but somehow she’d stubborned her way into enough titles and responsibilities that no one seemed to notice or care… Was there a book for this? The book was probably thrown out the window or burned down in a fiery temple crash at this point. But Kaytren was getting used to it. And she'd found that she was decent at it, frankly. The brunette young woman crossed the wide living space, sat down on the floor beside the black-haired girl with their backs against the base of a sofa. She could remember sitting like that wth her mother; though Kaytren had been even younger then. Kaytren wrapped an arm around the child’s much smaller frame, and joined her in petting the demanding black cat. It was probably a cat. He was cat-sized for the moment anyway.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about, Rain?”
“No I’m good. I’ll feed Shadow while you’re gone.”

“Alright. I think he can feed himself, but thank you. Who is here? Jas should be. Cyrus. Jen-Dai.”

“Jas has to go but Speaker's staying for the infirmary. I'm good. Stormcrow said he will be back on Centaxday. He's going to teach Cassus and me how to play marbles.”

“You know... Master Ashcraft works from the enclave on Dantooine. I haven't worked with him much yet, but I heard good things. I could…”

Rain shrugged away from Kaytren’s arm and stood up, turning adamant dark eyes on the Jedi.
“—No! Thank you. Jas says too. I'm good.”

Kaytren stood up, too. She would have hugged the girl in apology or kissed the top of her head, but the child’s aura was flared up and blaring defensively against the older empath’s senses. The black cat rolled onto his side and began bathing, clearly wanting no part of this discussion.

“Alright. We'll talk later, dearheart. I love you, be safe.”
“You too.”

Kaytren took a breath. When the atrium was empty of stray cats and children, she retrieved the cup from her study desk and sat under the oak tree that Lux had sabotaged into her living space. Her coffee was cold, so she absently sped the atoms again until a wispy curl of steam drifted up from the mug. When she was finished with the Onetari physiology brief, and the coffee, the Corellian woman flicked a lock of hair neatly behind her ear and tapped the recorder.


::Encryption Key 4489YTC-765F//7
Naboo > Great Eastern Plains > Council of Knowledge
Re: Project Onetar: Kaytren Li to Gillan Ashcraft

“Master Ashcraft,

Of course I’ll come. There’s not much to add to that, really. It’ll take an hour or so to prep, but I’ll leave shortly and should join you at the enclave within about 9 hours. Please forward anything else to my comm if you have it. In particular I’d like a brief on Master Trusske. Physiology file? For Jedi Winterhold, too? I’ll see you shortly. Force be with you until then.”

~ Kaytren Li::

She briefly left a few other messages regarding the council and infirmary. That finished, the brunette woman spent five or so minutes stretching, then another ten working with her left hand. She washed the coffee cup, secured the door to her private quarters, and left the atrium open for whoever might come in and out. An hour after Rain and the cat had left, Kaytren took her satchel and boots, and left the living area. Anything else she might need was already packed in one of the duffels on the Shanti.

[Erril Winterhold]

There were very few simple, creature comforts to be enjoyed on a regular basis for the members of the enclave council on Dantooine during the turbulent times that had recently befallen them, but Gillan was an advocate of self-care for all of them, and so he made it a point to set an example and do something good for himself each day, no matter how small. Today it was lunch. The cafeteria certainly had plenty of food for the resident Jedi, but most of those were too busy working and planning these days to take advantage of it as they had in the past. Even so, the catering staff diligently published their day’s menu to the memo forum each day so that any Jedi who happened to have a moment could take advantage of it.
Today, Gillan was just such a Jedi. It felt good to sit down in the cafeteria and listen to the din of pleasant conversation amongst the hired workers while he cut up his crispy grilled fillets and dipped it in the local farmstead specialty gravy. He had his datapad close by, but he wasn’t looking at it just now. He was eating lunch. And so it was with some trepidation that he noted the screen turn itself on as he crunched on only his third bite of grilled goodness. Of course the moment he activated the decryption key he forgot about the food in his mouth and put his fork down.

Naturally, information on Winterhold and Master Truske was probably fairly relevant as well. The Medium Council didn’t exactly have the same access to Jedi records that Dantooine did, either. Lastur Truske was Mirialan, and in fairly good health if a little aged; Gillan attached his medical record and a field medic’s physiology brief on the species in the file – a useful set of records from the healers’ compendium for those with less experience, or merely less time.

Erril was not as simple, and Gillan noted as much in the communique. He did attach the scans from the young knight’s last physical, and his medical records, but there was no field medic brief in the healers’ compendium to deal with his physiology. Gillan explained in his message that Erril was a bit of a genetic mashup, his father having been an Emmerian offshoot human, and his mother a Sephi. He had slightly denser bones and an exotic blood type, as well as several other less consequential bits of medical minutia. Gillan included what he could scrape together into the file and attached a subheading.

::Sorry we don’t have anything straightforward on him. He’s the former padawan of my old master though, so if experience is any precedent, you can usually just slap a bandage on him and give him a good kick if anything happens to him::

The message was sent in less than an hour, so Gillan hoped that Master Li had caught the transmission before her departure. Then again, even if it caught up to her upon arrival here on Dantooine, she’d have plenty of time to read over things on the way to Onetar. Thusly comforted concerning the timetable, Gillan returned to his crispy bird fillets and enjoyed the rest of his lunch. However, once he was done, he knew he had one more conversation to engage in, so he gave his dishes to the catering staff along with his thanks, and then departed the cafeteria in the direction of the hanger.

******************

Immediately after the upheaval that resulted from the rise of the Empire, the dissenters who would eventually form the first generation of the rebellion were nothing more than isolated pockets of half-hearted resistance with little to no direction, and even less hope. It was at this time that a voice began to echo in from space, finding it’s way into the hearts of these scattered rebel cells almost as if by design. The echo bore a simple name: Fulcrum. As time would tell, this was in fact a code name adopted first by none other than…

A knock on the bulkhead disturbed Erril from his reading. He flicked on the security feed and saw Gillan Ashcraft standing outside the cabin door with his usual unassuming poker face. All of Jray’s padawans had a poker face, but Gillan’s was the most pleasant of the lot. Erril wasn’t sure why he found that so admirable and off-putting at the same time. He tapped a control and the door slid open.

“You’re a knight now, you can’t lock yourself in your bedroom anymore.” Gillan announced, stepping into the cabin of the almost entirely redesigned correllian freighter.

Erril chuckled and poked the passenger seat with his toe. “Yeah. Come on in.”

As the older Jedi settled into the chair on the other side of the console, Erril closed the book in his hand and rubbed a thumb thoughtfully over the silver emblem that had been embossed on the from of the book. He set it on the console and spun his semi-mobile chair to face Gillan again.

“So, news?”

Gillan nodded and held his breath for a moment before speaking, which Erril didn’t like. “Master Kaytren Li will be joining you, as we discussed. She left within an hour of receiving my initial communique.”

The young part-sephi shrugged – his eyebrows as well as his shoulders – and spun back to face the console. “Well, she’s punctual at least.”

The older Jedi rolled his eyes. “What’s on your mind.”

Erril sighed and leaned back in his chair, propping a boot on the console in a casual manner he wouldn’t have dared with any other member of any council. “Nothing I haven’t already said twice, Gillan. We don’t have solid intel on all the pieces moving behind the scenes on Onetar right now. That’s literally why you’re sending me, instead of someone else. There are more darksiders moving in the shadows right now than ever before. We have no reason to suspect this faction-regime whatever clan it is hasn’t enlisted the help of some unscrupulous saber-wielding blade-for-hire to do their dirty work – I mean Truske wasn’t exactly a warrior, don’t get me wrong, but not just anyone can push a senior Jedi off the board that easily. And now you’re sending me in there with the queen of lost causes. If we run into any resistance I’m going to be expected to give them a cup of hot tea, instead of this-” he waved the curved hilt of a lightsaber before Gillan, one he’d only recently inherited.

“The queen of – Seriously? You’re going to base your whole opinion of a Jedi Master on two out-of-context reports? That’s bad intel by anyone’s standard. Is that what you think?”

Erril threw his hands wide. “Why shouldn’t I, Gillan? This woman went from being sharp-eyed and appropriately cautious to openly defying the council’s orders to bring in dangerous Sith in less than a year. That Medium Council nonsense screwed up her head. I’m not sure if I want to walk into a dangerous situation with a borderline sympathizer by my side.”

Gillan shook his head, laughing helplessly. “If you could hear yourself right now Erril. Be reasonable. You’re welcome to question one Jedi, but the council backed her. They recognized her formally as a Master of the Order for her continuing ability to make decisions under serious duress, among other things. They believed in her. I think they knew what they were doing.”

“Yeah, well… apparently not.” The young Jedi stared out the front windshield of the ship quietly, his features gradually lowering as he thought about his last visit to Uvena Prime.

Gillan watched him for a moment, then sighed that helpless sigh that got under Erril’s skin so quickly. “You’re not the only one who misses him, Erril.”

“Oh I know. ‘The whole order feels it when an Order 66 Survivor dies’, I know.”

“You know what I mean.”

Erril carefully avoided his brother Jedi’s eyes, but his posture acknowledged Gillan’s words.

“I know.”

The elder Jedi watched Erril for a moment, then took in a deep purposeful breath and rose. “Come young one, what’s your motivation?”

Erril chuckled and pumped his fist halfheartedly “The good of all.”

“And how will you accomplish it?”

The young knight pumped his fist again. “By making you find me a real Jedi to run this op with!”

“Oh by the Force, I’m done with you.”

Erril cackled after the elder Jedi as he departed.

“Go doublecheck the supply list again, make yourself useful while you sit in here pouting about your partner. You could be about to make the greatest friend of your life!”

Erril smiled and spun back to his console. “I highly doubt that but I think I will recheck my cargo!... Gillan, thank you.”

GIllan paused and glanced back, then nodded and carried on his way.

The young knight went over the medical supplies, and then over the ship’s regular inventory, and then he tested the bolts on the false floor, and then he checked the motor on the ground glider, and then he went back to reading his book. Some time later, he sensed Gillan’s presence again, but he ignored it. The tiger was pacing, as usual. They’d both have something to do again once Master Li arrived.

[Kaytren Li]

Dantooine was out there into the Rim, without the best of direct hyperspace lanes from Naboo. Between her infirmary notes and the rather satisfying few minutes of prep and course plotting, there’d been enough time for Master Ashcraft’s last communique to come across her comm before Kaytren left planet.

With the stars streaming like bright lines around her soon enough, she settled in her cockpit where she had enough screens and consoles for an efficient workspace and skimmed through the data about the Mirilian. She was’t so familiar yet with the species' particulars that she'd pass up a perfectly good brief of information. Kaytren from time to time found herself a little envious of proper Healing students who’d still been Padawans when they’d started — but still, this was the path her life was set on. She’d been shading in the details in pages and hours and practice by the day. It was working.

Satisfied with the files regarding Trusske, she brushed them to the corner of her console and continued reading. As for Knight Winterhold, he was a—another Sephi/human-mix offshoot! Force, why?! Kaytren stared at the absurdly less-generic half page of knowledge with which she was already vastly more familiar. As if she didn’t have enough of that in her life already! Then again, maybe he’d at least be compatible if…

The Healer flicked Gillan’s message off to the edge of her console with Trusske's file. She pulled up the data on Ohran from her growing wealth of medical notes and placed it side-by-side with Erril’s, then glared in vexed fascination at the lack of symmetry between several relevant lines in their blood typing. Winterhold—in some theoretical set of conditions anyway—should able to donate, assuming she could get around that ht issue. Would the reverse work? She’d have to think about that later…. It didn’t really matter anyway for the moment, now, did it? Stupid Kirst. Kaytren snorted and closed all of the offending windows on her console. That was quite enough of the Sephi-mixes for one lifetime, thank you. Not that she wanted anything to…

Sighing, she ran a hand over the faded gashes on her side; stitched over and well healed now just as if they were faded wounds from years ago. There was minimal motion restriction, and the touch receptors worked fine again. Kaytren's mind skipped onwards to thinking about bacta grades. She still needed to secure a better kolto vendor for the ones with the allergy. That had been in her notes for the week. She’d passed those to Jas’ aide, so… Maybe he’d work some supply chain magic while she was away. In the meanwhile… what time was it now? What time would it be at the enclave? Then logistics. Then space. Then Onetar. Then — busy.

With an expected six hours left of the flight to Dantooine, Kaytren rationed half of them back to herself. She reclined her chair and shifted around until she’d curled up comfortably sideways in the seat.

(Force… I need you. Keep him safe enough please. Keep him from killing anyone else. Help get him through this enough. Keep Rain safe. Cassus. Adam. Be with that boy and his son. Let Cho and his family be alright. For right now… let us manage this mission well! If Lastur Truske is alive, help us keep him that way. If that’s not an option, help us at least do him justice and the most good for the Onetari. Show me whatever I need to know about this city. Let me work well with this boy. I’d love to have just a clear-cut mission…. Could this be that again for once? But thank you. Goodnight.)

Resting the side of her head against the back support, Kaytren closed her eyes and slept easily for a few hours.

It was good enough. And soon enough, the Shanti was given clearance to land in the hangar. Kaytren Alia Li was awake and ready enough for whatever came next. She'd made another cup of caf, and she felt about as well-read on the situation as she'd expected to be. Because she expected to be back and changing into far less noteworthy garments shortly, she hadn't bothered with trappings like tabards and robes for the moment. Still, she'd been Jedi for most of her life that mattered, and she much preferred to feel in her own skin when it came to council meetings and introductions.

The human woman stood just grazing the edge of 5’7”, rather slim overall, but fit enough. She was rather fair complexioned, with her dark chestnut hair woven back in a braid, and darker brown eyes with a little sense of candlelight in them. She wore tan and cream garb—Jedi, no doubt, but neither especially formal nor especially utilitarian—with simple half-length sleeves that functioned quite well in and out of infirmaries. With her arms free to the elbow, it was easy enough to see the usual pepper of faded lines and marks from over the years; but only one was particularly interesting for a Jedi. The thickish pink scar circled low on her left wrist like a crooked, unfortunate bracelet. Looking closer still if one was observant enough; that whole hand below it had a shade less melanin still than the rest of her seemed to — and a decided lack of the comfortable knicks and subtle calluses that marked her right hand. But that was what it was, and she didn’t pay any particular attention to it for the moment. The Jedi woman wore two lightsabers at her belt. A relatively subtle steel-grey hilt that seemed more of Sentinel make, and a slightly longer and heavier silver hilt constructed by someone who’d put more work into crafting a functionally beautiful weapon. Both seemed familiar to her by now.

When Kaytren’s eyes found Gillan and the part-Sephi’s, she offered the usual polite bow of her head and shoulders. Shrugging her satchel strap back onto her shoulder, she smiled at them both and hovered her gaze slightly between them until whichever took the lead in the conversation.

“Master Ashcraft, it’s good to see you safe… and you, Jedi Winterhold, I assume? I'm glad to meet you. People call me Kaytren, usually.”

[Erril Winterhold]

…many scholars insist that it was in fact a mistake that led Tano into the fated apprenticeship of General Skywalker, but the other theory – one upheld by a strange combination of diligent forensic historians and conspiracy theorists – suggests that the council actually sent Tano to to him as a sort of test. During the time of the early and middle Clone Wars, there were few pairings of master and apprentice among the Jedi that involved knights and masters actively serving on the front line. The growing presence of Jedi in the midst of the conflict meant fewer apprentices, or “Padawan”, were taken every month. And so it may come as no shock that the average starting age of padawans rose during the conflict as…”

Something stirred in the distance, and Gillan’s presence shifted in a sympathetic pattern. She had arrived. Erril snapped the hardback copy of Fulcrum shut in his hand and tossed it back on top of the navigation console. He rose and strode out of the ship with nary a moment’s hesitation, despite having entertained the petty notion of letting Gillan welcome Master Li himself and bringing her to the ship. It had occurred to him that dear Master Ashcraft might offer to let their visitor make herself comfortable for a bit before leaving, and Erril was anxious to get underway. Master Hirius had once said, in one of his more blunt moments, that Gillan was something of a people-pleaser.

The young part-sephi trapsed through the ship and paused at a hardened cabinet on his way past, then continued – probably a conversation to have later. Instead, he reached up and retrieved his cloak from the edge of the neighboring cabinet. It was a blended fabric composed of threads that made it’s color difficult to distinguish. He tossed the sleeveless garment over his shoulders, concealing most of the tunic that wound around his wiry frame, and the loose-fit leggings tied to his waist. He didn’t dress much like a Jedi, but the cloak worked well enough to identify him when among his own order. Thusly covered, Erril continued on out of the freighter’s open rear port, ducking under the massive thrusters on his way. Out in the open air of the roofless hanger, the wind caught his ruddy brown hair and tossed it into his eyes. The young knight closed an eye and brushed the mop of hair out of his face, causing strands of hair to braid themselves out of the way above his ear. It wouldn’t show, but it would keep his hair tame.

The younger Jedi reached Gillan’s side just as the Shanti opened to admit its pilot. Erril’s sharp grey eyes instantly took the Jedi healer’s appearance in. Her stride, her resting expression, her garments, her weapons, the set of her shoulders, any evident suggestion of muscle definition, the conditioned default positions of her fingers as her arms swung – a curious mark around one wrist – the movement of her striking brown eyes. Years spent communicating with others as much through body language as through words had left Erril with keen habits concerning others natural behaviors, and this Jedi wasn’t entirely what he had expected. She was still something like what he’d expected, though. Her voice carried the calm tone of someone who knew what they were about. He respected that.

Gillan and Erril both returned the master healer’s bow, though the councilor’s was a little deeper than the knight’s.
”Welcome to Dantooine, Kaytren. You are correct, this is Erril Winterhold, the knight of whom I apprised you.”

Erril nodded on cue. ”I’m looking forward to working with you ma’am.”

Gillan glanced at Erril as he spoke, and then turned back to Kaytren with the subtlest hint of something new coloring his expression – it might have just as easily been either relief or satisfaction – and held an arm up toward the wide stair descending from the landing platform to the atrium beyond.

”I appreciate you coming all this way so quickly Master Li, I know there’s no ideal route between here and Naboo; even so you made admirable time getting here. Perhaps before you begin the next leg of your journey I can interest you in a cup of hot caf or a–“

The air of formality that Gillan was generating cracked like a thin veneer as Erril took a long step toward him and took hold of the taller Jedi’s free arm with both hands, pressing him toward the stairs with the gentle but insistent weight of his body. ”No no, coffee is for the weak, and Onetar is three hyperspace jumps from here. We really need to be on our way immediately Master Ashcraft – ” the younger Jedi paused and cast his expectant gaze on Kaytren ” –if that’s alright with you?”

[Kaytren Li]

An intuitive knack for Empathy had always been high in Kaytren's skill set. Even leaving the Force aside—Could she leave the Force aside? They were Jedi; it ran through her veins, and was drilled deep into her instincts—but regardless, Kaytren was sensitive to shades of tone and gesture. She'd spent years of her life engaging with strangers, friends, enemies, and the unpredictable in more diverse settings than she could count. Even more-so recently! And she didn't much doubt herself. Something sparing in Erril’s first few gestures and word choices hadn't been lost on her. Still, she had the luxury of a few hours yet before she expected to actually entrust either of their lives to their rapport. They'd be fine.

And Gillan liked him. That much had been clear. What had the councilor said? ‘Give Erril a bandage and a kick as needed, and he'd be good.’ ‘Knighted only three months ago, but we...’ ‘Entrusted with some of the enclave's more drastic needs.’ And —a familiar vague phrase or two in those med records. He sounded professional, whatever he was. And he looked it decently enough. Yes; Kaytren expected that they'd be fine.

As for Gillan... He was a bit Consular, wasn’t he? Ah dear. That was a welcome enough change from some of that last council she’d done her best to work effectively under… but Force’s sake! She highly doubted that Laster Trusske or anyone else in this Onetari situation had the spare time of day for that. Imagine having to log "stopped at council for hot cup of tea" into her day's mission notes!

The woman’s glinting brown eyes darted rapidly from the hospitable Master toward the less forthcoming Knight with something of a mildly alarmed ‘help’ imperative, simultaneously as she realized that Erril wasn't necessarily looking at her anyway. She opened her mouth to grasp for some politer version of ‘Thank you, but that’s a terrible idea.’, and then noted with relief that Erril had already taken it upon himself to keep their mission on schedule. Good! …Her eyebrow quirked upwards a half-beat later…Except for that entirely uncalled-for sentiment about the coffee, at any rate. Really now.

Exhaling quietly through her nose, Kaytren’s fingers found a convenient few strands of hair to brush gently back into place behind her ear, along with any stray strands of any sentiment that she didn't care to reflect at the moment. For her part, she smiled apologetically at Gillan and backed Erril on cue.

“Thank you for your kindness, Master Ashcraft. Erril is right—about the timing issue. We seem to have this in hand for now. I pray we’ll be able to talk under better circumstances on our return. May the Force be with you.”

She bowed thankfully to the elder Master, and then shifted her attention back to Erril until they'd accomplished the farewells. When it was in fact just the two of them, Kaytren leveled a look at the part-Sephi.

“I'm going to grab a change of gear. Don't stress; that'll take me all of 90 seconds. Can you tell me briefly what we're supposedly doing and how we're associated with each other in this scenario? If we have that. There wasn't much of anything about it in the notes.”

[Erril Winterhold]

”I actually have… oh you probably have your own clothes, yeah that’s fine.” without a backward glance, Erril strode past Kaytren in the direction of the vessel she’d arrived on.

”Don’t worry about too much else though, unless you’ve got equipment you just prefer to have –“ the part-sephi poked a thumb over his shoulder “– cuz that ol’ bird represents about three generations worth of investment in undercover operations. If you need anything, I mean anything, I’ve got two of em in there. There’s enough hodgepodge for… six sets or armor? Mag boots, regular boots, clothes from all across the galaxy, blasters, EVA suits… whatever you need.”

Drawing up alongside the Shanti, Erril rested an elbow on the hull. ”Which, apart from being very handy while moving around, serves as a good double-layer for our cover. To answer your question, I did a little bit of digging independently of the intel we received from Master Truske and I found out that some of the Spacers who first found the planet struck up some uh, trade deals with locals. One of those locals is part of the current regime, and you’re not going to believe it, but he’s set up a good old fashioned rum running circle. I’ve got three crates of Onderonian chute distilled dark rum in the ship. If anyone catches us – and I’ve gotta stress the ‘if’ – I’ve got some papers drafted up linking us to the last couple of smugglers who have run liqueur for him. You can have a look at them if you want. I figured it’d be better if no cover you’ve used before was on the documents so I drafted up an Identity for you already.”

[Kaytren Li]

They might be fine, anyway.

She found herself following the younger Jedi across the hangar to her own ship, narrowing her eyes at the backs of his ears while she filed away the offered details about gear and credentials. Kaytren privately ran through her mental notes from Gillan. He actually liked this man? Had that part been a trap?

They came to her craft and she swung open the hatch. A short lock of hair had slipped down towards her face; she habitually wore her bangs just long enough that they often did that. The healer smoothed it back alongside her temple and looked calmly back to the knight leaning against her shuttle.

“That’s fine. I’ll take a look at the liqueur runner notes. Excuse for me a moment, please. Stay here.”

The young Corellian woman ducked into the mid-size personal craft without the Sephi. She breathed out through her nose. Kaytren pulled the second of four compact duffel bags from a shelf and slung it over her shoulder along with her satchel, and pocketed a transparent vial of hairpins. She paused for a moment and removed the longer of the two hilts aside from her belt with a faint smile of cherished memories, then set it safely aside. She rolled a kink from her shoulders. Good enough.

Rejoining Erril, she nodded for him to continue.

“Have you met Master Trusske?”

[Erril Winterhold]

The young sephi nodded his agreement while Kaytren slipped into her ship. He was just pondering whether or not he cared to tune into the sounds around him when something about Kaytren’s words struck him oddly. Stay Here? Did she think he was going to follow her into her ship? He felt so baffled by the Jedi master who hardly looked older than him. He’d heard her reports, heard her defy the council’s wishes. But he noted with a wry thought that Jray had usually just not reported things that he felt would “unduly burden” the councilors. Maybe that wasn’t so different. Still, Jray didn’t harbor the enemy. He had just… made the decisions he’d felt needed to be made. Isn’t that what Gillan had said about this one? The young Jedi leaned his brunette head back against the hull of the Shanti and listened to Kaytren moving around inside, wishing he could hear her intentions as easily as he could hear her heartbeat. She seemed perfectly sensible. A grin split his features – she’d certainly welcomed the opportunity to dodge Gillan’s compulsive hospitality.

When Master Li emerged from the ship, Erril considered offering to take her bag, and then thought better of it and simply made a “right this way” gesture, nodding politely to her.

As they walked, Erril pursed his lips at Kaytren’s question, thinking about Master Trusske. “Yes, unfortunately he’s a mem- no that sounds wrong, sorry. the young knight chuckled quietly at his mistaken phrase, and started again.

”Master Trusske is a normally a bi-annual member of the enclave council, much like G-umm, Master Ashcraft. He’s a good guy though, I think he deserved this less than most anyone else… His personality is about the way I’d imagine a grandfather.”

At the back of the freighter, Erril motioned to the ramp control and then stepped to the other side of it, repeating his earlier gesture a little more casually as the walkway lowered to the ground. “He hasn’t served on the council here since he started working with the Onetari, but he calls this place home so I think they felt they owed it to him to pick up this thread after Uvena Prime fell.”

[Kaytren Li]

Kaytren smiled wryly. Still, whatever amusement she felt about the Trusske description or the unfortunate council member statement seemed shadowed by concern and bittersweetness.

“So, he's a kindly Mirilian grandfather... The only thing that bodes well about that, is that most of the trained ones are more resilient than they look if they make it to grandfatherly stage.”

A year-old mental image of Stormcrow on a gurney surfaced briefly in her mind. She recalled the tremendous depth of concern that she'd felt; and then... What then? Three hours of her life spent undoing the efforts of some warrior Jedi ally… but then where was that ally now, anyway? While the aged Sith had become dearer yet by the month since then. What did Rain say they were doing tomorrow? Something with marbles. Kaytren wasn't certain she loved that, but she wasn't sure that she didn't. And… at least on the easier subject of Jedi grandfathers, there was Jas the day he’d been a pincushion for the vicious number of saber blades. Not that Kaytren was strictly convinced Jas Cal'ech was mortal... but he was old, and she'd seen the months of aftermath healing that mess had taken.

“Hopefully Trusske one of those.”

She stood opposite Erril as they came to the freighter. The young woman hung back a little until the younger man had invited her toward the ramp, and then joined him in the ship. She'd situate herself on the acclaimed three-generation investment vessel soon enough, but... people first. Kayten paused a moment until she'd caught his attention again.

“Also... Erril.. you're on first-names with Master Ashcraft - Gillan. Being professional for the reports is fine. But you and I are about to be busy with plenty of other moving pieces to keep track of. Please don’t worry about filtering formality into it, unless you really care about spending the energy on that. We'd function better, faster if we don't. Maybe safer, too, for us and anyone we're actually there for in the first place. Gillan mentioned you had the same teacher. It makes sense you’d be close.”

[Erril Winterhold]

Kaytren’s words, whether or not she could have known, cut right through the screen Erril had tried to put up to protect himself from… everything maybe? His eyes lost a bit of their keen edge as she mentioned he and Gillan’s common lineage, and he glanced down at the ramp closing at their feet just for somewhere else to look.

”Mentioned that, did he?”

Still trying to sort out how to respond, Erril turned and pointed further into the ship with his head, then swung his body that way as well and strode across the cargo bay. He walked in silence with Kaytren for a moment before the need to say something finally pulled a thread of conversation out of him.

”Informal suits me fine, honestly. I’ve never been much of one to stand on ceremony. Gillan sort of exudes formality. He means well though, always does. I’ve just never understood how he turned out the way he did, being Jray’s padawan.”

Around the hall and toward the front of the ship, Erril reached out and touched a panel, causing a door to snap open. Once again, he spun slowly to stand on the opposite side of the opening, acting as a sort of impromptu usher. But he finally found Kaytren’s eyes again.

“Alright Kaytren, this one is yours. It’s been pretty thoroughly cleaned since the last time we had to lock someone in there.” the young knight’s eyes twinkled mischievously as he took a backstep, beginning to turn around. ”We’ll be taking off immediately. You’re welcome to get settled in or join me in the cabin.”

[Kaytren Li]

Kaytren half-chuckled at the cleaning joke. She murmured something to Erril about seeing him within the hour, but whatever she said hadn’t really mattered. The human excused herself into the small cabin while the half-Sephi continued on into the freighter.

She set her med supplies on a chair. She unpacked the contents of her second bag onto the sleep surface. There was nothing complicated about shaking out her clothes, taking a shower while she felt the first hyperdrive jump, or any of the other familiar motions; so her mind was free for other topics. Kaytren did math. She counted back the days between here and the tragedy on Uvena Prime. She remembered laughing in gut-wrenched shock and disbelief when she learned it happened, almost as fast and hard as she’d grieved about it. She remembered finding Rain first to check in on the girl. Then her mind flew to Kirst. Had he...? But he hadn't. She'd made sure of that. Kaytren kept thinking about it all while she dried and got dressed. She never had figured out exactly what triggered it. Even Jas didn't seem to really know. Whatever started that skirmish — it escalated into tragedy so fast — and it was still so senseless, no matter how she looked at it. She went of course... but there hadn't been much for her to do by that time. Burns and broken limbs... she made a difference there. But they'd needed a time machine; not a healer. Kaytren sighed and retrieved a scissors from her things.

Still, Erril’s mention of the name had struck in her mind. She'd known her fair share on the casualty lists. Jray Hirius, though? Kaytren had never met the Master that she could think of, but whether you were a tea-steeping counselor or out in the weeds somewhere... His line in the list had meant something. He'd lived through the fall, and then somehow through the mess of every war after that until... finally... that unfair burning mess. And then that left... Erril, apparently. Gillan said he'd only even been knighted three months ago. Kaytren began to brush away from that thought, but found herself with a faint smile for her own departed master. Whatever Tomais Daern’s soul had found to occupy himself with this last handful of years, his only living student still found it companionable to banter at him from time to time; though a twinge of emotion touched her when she realized that she hadn't actually done that for a while. Since after Kashyyyk maybe?

(I'm not interested in parallels or I told you so’s,) she informed the cherished figure in her memory with a touch of daughterly sarcasm while she leaned closer to the mirror and deftly clipped a few strategic changes into the hair framing her face. He would have been in the galley making good coffee and subpar toast by now while he marked any usefully gossipy notes about the regime leaders' tastes in rum.

(Suit yourself, Kayte. You’ll work through it eventually. Are you done in there yet? You're taking longer than usual.)

(I'll have you know I've learned a lot of things since then! Sometimes it all takes a minute.) She rolled her eyes in nostalgically heated exasperation that she wished he'd been here for, promptly finishing up her braid and reaching for a pin.

(Just don't let the caf get cold.)

“I’d never.”

* * *

The Kaytren who rejoined Erril at the helm wasn't dramatically different from the one he'd met in the hangar, really, if only that the Jedi was gone and this woman seemed less likely to be invited for tea by anyone especially interesting. Most noteworthy details about her were less noteworthy. Her hair was a mousy brown with the short bits tucked back and little more slipping down toward her face, the rest of it twisted and pinned into a comfortably wisping braid that could go untended for days before it looked especially out of place. Her eyes were more of a hazel. She wore a few practical layers of olive greens and browns: civilian, lived-in, the undershirt and pants smartly fitted-enough and full of pockets, but the cloak was drab enough not to particularly call attention in most ports. The worn pistol at her side was something BlasTech; maybe an A-180. She could have had her lightsaber, or at least another weapon or so somewhere on her person; but there wasn't much reason for anyone to care. Between her shirt layers, or a few aesthetically braided bits of woven bracelet that could have been picked up from a market or gifted with pride by some child, there wasn't much sign of healed injuries to her hand or anywhere else.

“You're right; this is definitely a good ship.” she told Erril from the cabin doorway with a light smile. “I'd be proud of it too. Do you feel like you know all the layers of it, or are you still finding things?”

[Erril Winterhold]

Settling back into the pilot seat, Erril grinned wryly at the control console. Over the last few years, the ship had rarely completed a pre-flight auto-check before takeoff, which meant the inertial dampeners didn’t come on immediately, which meant takeoff could be a little rough. Erril and Jray had enjoyed pulling the Gs in their seats, but as he considered what his new passenger might be doing other than sitting securely in a chair, he let out a nostalgic sigh and picked his book back up off the navigation console. He could put away a couple more pages in the minute or so before a “safe” takeoff was an option.

Once the book was back atop the navi-computer and the ship was off the planet’s surface, Erril angled her out-atmo and found their hyperspace window. A gentle thump was the only physical sensation that marked the freighter jumping to lightspeed for the split second necessary to tunnel into hyperspace.

The young knight vacated the cabin then as well, returning to the cargo hold and brushing his hand along a few hardened cabinets that had been secured to the bulkhead. He paused in front of one – a particularly sturdy, airtight hardcase – and ran his fingers across the keypad. He glanced at a digital clock hanging on the wall nearby and reminded himself of the code, then rapped a knuckle on the case. Not today. He moved on to another, larger steel cabinet and punched in the five-digit code to open it. Inside was his own selection of gear from which he chose and equipped a duraplast plate-carrier vest, a pair of duraplast vambraces with a communication suite and a few other useful tools built into one or the other of them. Finally he reached for an S-5 heavy blaster pistol with an amused grin and dropped it into his holster before buckling the whole thing on. While he had made a few modifications to his favored blaster – removing the rangefinder and swapping the match grip for a Stonewood square grip, most prominently among them – he was aware that the firearm was produced by Theed Arms. It was from Naboo, just like his guest.

Clipping a sheathed knife to the back of his holster belt, Erril draped his cloak back over his shoulders and returned to the cabin of the ship where he habitually moved to the copilot seat. He was sinking into the bucket seat’s soft-molded surface when he realized his error and glanced up. Yesterday felt like a year ago, three months was a lifetime ago; was he ever going to shake these old habits? He still caught himself preparing to crack a joke at thin air once in awhile, and each time it made him more uncomfortable than the last.

The young knight rolled his eyes conscientiously and stirred in the chair, but he didn’t move. Instead he propped his feet up on the central console as had been his custom and motioned to the book still resting atop the navi-computer. There he sat, forgetting about the world around him and wandering through the pages of history for another half hour until he heard footsteps down the hall, at which point he almost automatically switched to the pilot seat.

Kaytren’s appearance in the doorway prompted a new round of considerations on Erril’s part. She certainly knew her stuff when it came to blending in. The differences were subtle, but the “Jedi-ness” of her appearance was gone. The slightly older-than-him master immediately commented on the ship, which forestalled any comments on Erril’s part about her skills at disguise work, but he added another pro to his running list of her qualities in his head – make that two; she liked the ol’ tub as well.

Erril chuckled at Kaytren’s question and reached up to place the book back atop the navi-computer again. ”I’d like to say I learned her inside and out a long time ago, but I’m pretty sure that’s not true. I still haven’t found all the goody stashes, for example.”

Reaching to the rear of the center console, the part-sephi rested a hand on the blackbox data port. ”She’s got a lot of lightyears on her though. A lot of stories to tell. There are dings on the floor panels and marks on the outer hull that are older than you and I together.”

[Kaytren Li]

“We have enough time. Do you have a favorite of the stories?”

Kaytren glanced over Erril with a brief but noticeably approving look at the pistol and other visible additions to his gear. Moving politely past him, she slid into place in the copilot seat. The healer noticed that Erril must have just been sitting in that space or one reason or another - the chair was still closer to body temp, and the supportive padding hadn’t quite formed back to default state, but she didn’t feel ready to read deeply or ask about it. She glanced at the book on the navicom. It was angled away from her but looked fascinating, so her gaze promptly flicked back to Erril with an inquisitively arched eyebrow. She wouldn’t mind hearing what the book title was either.

“I would have loved keeping my master’s ship. Honestly it didn’t have time to build up a legacy like that, so… it might have punched less to lose it, but it was ours and we had plenty of pride in it. It was impounded in that last mission… And then.. there just wasn’t much getting it back. I don’t know if having it would have made missing him harder or easier.” She shrugged her shoulders. “That feels like a life ago. We can pick something different if you’d rather, but I would love to hear.”

[Erril Winterhold]

Harder, Erril thought, glancing around the cabin. Everything around them was a reminder of the times he’d spent doing this sort of thing with his master, and any other thing. It wasn’t awful to remember, it’s just that it… wasn’t anymore. Erril had hoped that one day he could stand with Jray and talk serious and simple matters with the sort of reflectiveness and calm – and humor – that he had always seen whenever Aero was around. But all that was gone now.

The younger Jedi hadn’t missed the glance at the navi-computer, and was about to make a shabby attempt to change the subject to that when an alert sounded on the console.

Perfect.

Erril reached up and took the book off the top of the side console, handing it to Kaytren. ”Here, hold this for a second… And hold onto your seat too, I think we can shave about two hours off the trip if we get this right.”

The cover of the book was a black background with an embossed silver logo on the face of it, with words underneath that read Fulcrum of the Rebellion. Erril didn’t comment on the book, however; he was watching a dial on his pilot HUD, and the second it blinked red he reached up and dropped the ship out of hyperspace. The second the subspace tunnel dissolved, a red sun came looming into view at a shocking speed and they were almost immediately pulled into it’s gravitational pull. Erril instantly wrangled the control yoke to keep the ship in line, since they hadn’t bled off nearly as much speed as their normally would in a hyperspace deceleration. At their rate of turn inside the gravitational pull, even the powerful inertial dampeners didn’t totally block out the differential strain – a locker in the corner of the cabin popped open and nearly a dozen books tumbled out.

”Oh my rescues!” Erril exclaimed. ”I thought I locked that.”

The distraction was momentary, and hardly caused his control of the ship to waver. After a solid five seconds, another alarm sounded, and a graphic appeared on the HUD showing their trajectory relative to a pre-designated course of some kind.

”Spacer’s mark. Here we go!”

The part-sephi reached nearly to Kaytren’s side of the console and flipped to switches before jamming the throttle to full and dragging left on the yoke. They didn’t break orbit, or even turn left for that matter, but their angle of sling grew shallow as they approached the trajectory on the HUD. As they were about to turn into it, Erril reached up and reengaged the hyperdrive. The glow of subspace mixed with the red light of the sun for a brief moment as they jumped to hyperspace, bathing them both in a ghostly green light. Then they were gone from regular space again, whirling down a new tunnel. Erril pulled up a grid on the HUD and displayed their new flight path, which blinked green as it traced along the edge of several outlined stellar bodies. The young Jedi snapped his finger and hopped out of his seat.

”Outstanding! I’m so sorry, I meant to tell you that was coming, it just happened right as you got here. That should cut about two hours out of our trip though.”

As he spoke, Erril walked back to the corner where the locker had popped open during the slingshot maneuver and began collecting books off the floor. ”These are all from the library on Uvena Prime, you know. Most of it was entirely destroyed but some of us dug pretty deep in the aftermath looking for survivors. I found a reading room in the library that hadn’t entirely burned or collapsed. These books were in it. They might be the only books to survive the whole temple.”

After closing and carefully locking the hardbox in the corner of the cabin, Erril returned to the pilot seat and motioned to the one he’d handed Kaytren. ”That one piqued my interest the most. It’s a novelized documentary about some key historical figures in the pre-alliance rebellion.”

[Kaytren Li]

Kaytren closed her hand around the book and briefly glanced down at it; fascinated but not sure how she felt about the topic shift. She considered whether or not to say anything, but promptly found that whatever had been on the tip of her tongue wasn’t relevant anymore. Erril clearly had a course of action in mind, and they were hardly communicative enough for her to feel helpful at an instant’s notice, so… the Corellian woman pressed back into her seat and watched with nostrils-flared interest while he had at it. He was showing a little vibrance again anyway. Although—

’Oh my rescues!’

—Ah dear. Kaytren wasn’t the greatest fan of moving projectiles, so she may have flipped her hand back and instinctively locked a telekinetic hold on the tumbling books just in case, just as Erril leaned over to her side of the console for a pair of switches. They jammed on the throttle and swung, which may in turn have caused her left wrist to thud against the outer armrest side of the chair in the jolt of finishing up the sling-skip into a new tunnel. Ow. He knew his ship, though. She made sure the books were resting on the floor first, and then released her hold on them.

“Goodness! That was fun. I’m assuming the hull is reinforced enough for skipping.” It better be anyway; but she was guessing it was.

Kaytren spun her seat around and watched Erril start collecting the tomes. She absently rubbed the bruise on her wrist a moment and then flicked through Jas' suggestion of lightly running a thumbnail up each of her fingers in turn from the metacarpal phalangeal joint up to the fingertip; then the same with her index fingernail across her thumb. None of it felt perfectly like her brain told her it should, but blood pulsed through her veins, the Force was here in her, and nothing was wrong. Rebuilding reflexes and muscle memory just took time.

“I was there for, the.. until three days after, I think,” she told Erril in a softer tone when he rejoined her. Her mind wasn’t so much on the book anymore. “We landed at seven hours in. I never got far past the med camp between the Arbiter and the Mediator. We were just too… Well, you know how many hurt there were. I even asked two of the Grey to help. And they did; we all worked so hard we were taking turns or falling asleep on our feet by the end of it. Darrion told me how bad the lower damage all was. I don’t think I saw you, but honestly even if you were right there, I’m not sure I’d remember anything if it was in passing.”

Her gaze dropped to the book again, and she finally turned it in her hands, opening it to let the details sink in for a moment, and letting her left index finger run along the edges of the pages before she offered it gently back to Erril.

“I’m glad you rescued the books. Those are special and they might matter someday.”

[Erril Winterhold]

The younger Jedi smiled softly as he reached out to accept the book again. He thumbed through the pages and absently smoothed a dog-eared page.
”A lot happened in the first seven hours.”

Reaching up, Erril placed the book back on top of the navi-computer console.

”I remember the medical camp between those two ships though. You probably did see me but you wouldn’t have recognized me, I was as grey as a golem from all the dust – coughed that stuff up for the next week. But that camp was a gift from the Force. We had nowhere to put the people we were finding until those ships showed up…”

Rising from his seat, Erril stretched and glanced at the console. ”But you're right, and they're only slightly singed, so I guess they're no worse for wear than the rest of us. Umm… Our next hyperspace turnover should be in about two hours. Now that we’re actually moving though, I’d be happy to offer you a hot drink again on Gillan’s behalf. Might be our last chance for awhile depending on how things go.”

[Kaytren Li]

“I could only imagine that and I just hate it. I’m sorry. I wish I’d been there… I do. Although I’ve thought about that, and it wouldn’t have been any better if I was unlucky and dead, or stuck in rubble with a smashed leg somewhere. We called a favor and borrowed the ships. I was beyond relieved that worked out.”

She’d glanced down and considered saying more. There was so much she’d thought about that day, but none of it really helped. Kaytren’s eyes settled on the book cover again for a few seconds before she set it from her mind and breathed out. She stood up beside Erril with a serious expression that dissolved into a small grin.

”Yes, I would love that. We can talk about your rum runner notes… or budget an hour to just talk.. which would probably better really. But I think I should tell you that I like coffee; very much. And I’m Corellian. Our homeworld is a mess, but we still make legendary ships, people, and very good caf. It’s not for the weak. I’ll make us some if you want.”

[Erril Winterhold]

As the pair of them strode down the hallway to the galley, Erril chuckled and ran a hand across the panels of the Corellian freighter’s utilitarian wall frame.

“I can hardly argue the ships. I’m still making my mind up on the people of course, but… I have my own nationalism to consider – Thustra produces some of the most sought-after tea and herbs in the galaxy. As your host I will offer to prepare you a cup as well, but if you prefer Corellian fare…” the part-sephi shrugged as he stepped into the galley. ”…that is your prerogative.”

As Erril reached into the locker-board for a pair of cups, he pursed his lips to pinch the smile threatening to form there. Profuse apology wasn't really in his nature, short of a substantial offense, and this didn't really qualify. His only other apparent option was to run with it, but... something just felt right about taking a stand on this particular hill.

[Kaytren Li]

The smile continued playing along the corners of her mouth while Erril latched onto the graveness and ran with it. Kaytren absently noticed that they'd fallen into step through the corridor together, and she found that worked rather well.

“If I was your guest, I would accept. It's the courteous thing to do.”

She took one of the cups from him with a dip of her chin in thanks, and politely found her own way around the sink and the kitchen area. The young woman found herself drawing a comfortably arbitrary precedent in the sand around this particular part-Sephi. Unnecessary, maybe, but it felt rather kind to herself, seemed satisfactorily amusing enough for them both, and was somehow the most promising and genuine foundation she could think of on short notice. It would do just fine.

“But as your companion in this endeavor; I think we should bring our own work and pride to the table, and I’ll manage my best along with you. I'll keep to my coffee. I will join you for a hot beverage and thoughtful conversation anytime we can do it without critical emergencies, though.” Kaytren frowned slightly at the cup in her hands. “Actually, those seem to happen a lot. But please consider it a standing invitation.”

She noted there were suitable enough supplies in a cabinet as promised, but a rather smartly-made caf pod and the tiny mesh infuser she had tucked into one of her myriad pockets was all that she really needed at present; useful little things. She did take some milk from the cooler, finding herself a little impressed and amused with the modest variety of pantry ingredients the nineteen year old seemed to have on hand... She was good at coffee, but she suspected that Erril was the better cook by a decent margin. Such a Sephi.

When she was ready, she took her cup, glanced at the table, and then sat cross-legged on the tile in the wider part of the galley floor space. Kaytren sipped her drink and found Erril's gaze. Her eyes weren't as memorable just now with the contacts, but there was a spark of action in her expression just the same; and the boldness that came from a little risk-taking.

“Maybe it feels childlike, but would you please humor me and come sit back to back with me? I want to give myself permission to be very genuine. Then pick any question to ask or anything to say. Or both. Just about anything is fair game. I doubt we'll offend each other — and if we do, I'd much rather we do it here.”

[Erril Winterhold]

She keeps her coffee kit in her pockets. That’s dedication.

They’d both politely turned down each other’s beverage of choice, which might have been a faux-pas in some other situation, but just then it felt like a resolute agreement, and Erril carried the barest hint of a lefthanded smile as he went about preparing tea for himself. It wasn’t his personal emergency stores of survival tea, but then again, the whole ship was sort of his pants pocket in a way, so he had an unfair advantage in that regard. Kaytren had come far more prepared than he’d anticipated, though, and if the coffee in her pocket was anything to judge by, she was probably prepared to do more than just survive in a difficult situation.

Maybe this really wasn’t going to be a babysitting chore. She’d long since proven her attitude, and now her preparedness was falling away from the debate. Erril rolled through the criteria she’d met that had caught Gillan’s eye to begin with; if she checked other boxes equally well… The young Jedi quirked an eyebrow at his tea cup as he poured into it from a very utilitarian kettle, as though it should be helping him reconcile what he didn’t understand.

The elder of the two Jedi had found her way onto the synthetic tile floor and settled there, which Erril knew well enough, but he only happened to glance up from preparing his own drink when she gave voice to her desire. It was a cursory glance to begin with, but Kaytren’s request registered about the same time he saw her, and he stopped still – apart from twisting his wrist back to stop the flow of tea.
There she sat, on the ground, waiting to sit against his back with a drink in her hand.

The smell of black mountain dirt and pine needles in his memory was almost strong enough to overpower the mingling of tea and coffee vapors that hung in the galley. Erril remembered the feel of it under his palms; how the scent of that open air had filled his tired lungs with every breath; the jolt against his spine the first time Fraia had so casually dropped onto the ground to prop him up with her shoulders. She only drank water.
Erril turned back to his cup and kettle. Every fiber of his being ached to turn and demand why she would ask that of him – that one so very specific thing – but as he placed the kettle back on its magnetic base and turned it off, he could only glance around the other end of the room. Half of his wondered if he was about to cry; the other half wondered if he might catch a glimpse of a ghost, if he looked long enough.

Is it you...? Why would you come now?

Sliding his metal cup off the counter, Erril gradually found Kaytren’s eyes again as he meandered over to where she sat. He almost dropped himself down in the abrupt manner he remembered, but it wasn’t her. Instead he nodded, mustering the least coy expression of ascent he could manage, and settled onto the ground behind her, facing the wall of the galley between two sections of fortified cabinetry. He was more accustomed to sitting on his heels than crossing his legs, and he could feel how much straighter her back was than his just then. He let it be what it was – friendly but not familiar – rather than leaning back into her. He didn’t know this one yet… less so than he had assumed, in fact.

Words, questions; Kaytren wanted something from him. She was holding her hand out further than he had deigned to, and he felt as thought he should return the gesture. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? The whole reason for his objection to having her along? She’d held out her hand in friendship to others she’d known too little about already, and he was willing to bet credits to coffee that she’d lost her hand for it. No… if she felt a need to be genuine, then he needed to match that. He couldn’t go into a tense situation by her side not understanding her motivations.
The young part-sephi took a deep breath and a long sip of his tea, then he let the breath out, took in another, and squared his shoulders against Kaytren’s.

“Tell me about the Medium Council.”

[Kaytren Li]

The young Corellian woman held the borrowed cup in her hands without drinking, or breathing for a moment until she reminded herself, while she waited for the younger part-Sephi to settle his tea and responses. Something about the nerve she’d chosen to press on had cut him more sharply than she’d intended; that much was clear in her mind while she considered her own thoughts for a moment.

She’d spoken her invitation as a request, of course… which it was. But Kaytren knew perfectly well how strategic she’d been and that she had been the one to choose the starting point. Any real tension or rift to spiral from their conversation was a risk that she’d already taken into account and positioned herself for.

What actually gave her the right to push this one into a corner? While she felt Erril settling on the floor behind her back, the temptation to apologize for presuming grew briefly strong in her mind. But there had been so much preventable waste and death already, and she wasn’t about to set them up for any more. There was nothing Kaytren had any wish to apologize for. They would be fine.

See? Erril was on the same side as she was. When she felt his shoulder blades square up against her back, Kaytren sipped from her drink with a light grin of pride and appreciation for him, and maybe a little for herself too while she braced for round three or four of meeting her newest ally… And then he didn’t even fight her at all. That perplexed her for a moment.

She tugged her braid of hair to the front of her shoulder and sat neatly behind Erril, quietly thinking about the wind-worn sturdiness and reliability of sitting in a courtyard with a centuries old, three-times-fallen stone column behind her back, that had resisted all serious or nonsensical attempts at repair until it was allowed to remain the sturdy and repurposed thing that it was.

“It’s a pause.” She said after a few seconds while the image of a dozen rescued tomes flew at her mind like projectiles in the cockpit again. She’d frozen the tumbling books with a flick of her wrist and a startled smile, no matter that her same wrist was still smarting a little from hitting the chair.

“'Council of Knowledge.' It means very different things to different people. I was outraged. I thought it was a trap at best, and a slow pit of corruption at worst. I wasn't very long knighted when I reported it to the Council. I thought we should… stop them… or something, but Master Kae sent me to watch first and see who'd planned it, what they did. It was an intelligence opportunity; I’ll give it that. Then you go and for the first three weeks there are tension headaches and edginess, people coming and going and looking in each other’s eyes while we grasp for something to say besides ‘So… you’re Darksided, then?’ But they behaved, and we behaved. Most of the time. These lost ones kept trickling in who would never in a lifetime go to the Jedi. People started comparing their training and teaching other things. Useful things. I can catch Kinetite now. Even the ‘Dark’ ones breathed better and started to look like real people when they’re not as worried that they’ll be stabbed in the back at any time. You can start all the way at the core and ask about evil and ethics if you want, but that doesn’t work as well. If you sit in the courtyard long enough, someone will play a pipe, and eventually someone will start a conversation, or a training match, or a dance.”

Kaytren sipped her coffee. She felt that she was talking too much now, but… that was part of why she asked him to sit facing the other way, wasn’t it? He could have a turn in a minute.

“That sounds idyllic, but I don’t mean it like that… I mean that whether you’re whole or hurt, you can breathe. So many of us haven’t done that in decades. Longer, since before either of us were born. It’s a pause. It's self governing at this point, because there are tired people there who’ve put down bloody red sabers, or blue or green or grey ones, and they will fight you defending it with their life and honor because they’ve never even seen a home before. And they craved it. It’s not forever… obviously. A few think it is, but I doubt it works that way at all. But while you’re there, you breathe. And while you can breathe, you can see yourself and everything else better. You can think. And for me anyway, but it’s not just me, I can use the time that I should’ve taken years ago, to realize and practice the things we don’t even teach anymore. Dantooine has a few healers? I’ve met one. He was very good… but with all respect, I’m still new at it and I am much better. Some of it's talent, but a lot of it is practice and what you decide to prioritize. Your file didn’t.. look like you spent all that much time at Uvena. They had not one! We'd completely forgotten how to do it because we've been so focused on reacting to war or getting ahead of it, that we sacrificed the time and focus it takes to become the thing we're supposed to be in the first place.”

She shrugged the top of one shoulder against Erril’s back.

“There's much more, but I can't fit two years into a few minutes. I worried once that it made me less Jedi, but I know better now. Even the Council knows; what's left of them anyway.”

[Erril Winterhold]

“Yeah, they clearly know what's best, don’t they.”

Erril regretted the bitter words almost as soon as he’d spoken them. At that moment he had more mixed feelings about the Uvena council than not, and he was immediately more than a little surprised that Kaytren would appeal to their authority as a backing for her own while they lay scattered in shambles amid the harvest of their own decisions. But deeper down he understood what she meant; she wasn’t ultimately looking to a particular body of individuals for support, she was acting in keeping with the spirit of The Code itself. His qualms with the present shape of the Order were the opposite side of the same coin from which hers arose, and he couldn’t ignore that. Erril was sitting back to back with a Jedi in true form – the real difference-makers of the galaxy whom he strove to uphold from the shadows – and he was mincing words with her over the point of least concern.

The young Shadow took a still breath, inhaling the warm vapors of his tea, and then took a sip, and started again.

“I’m sorry. Look Mas-L… Kaytren. I don’t disagree with you in principle; one of the things I like about the enclave on Dantooine is that they keep their ear to the ground for genuine needs rather than just getting caught up in the shortsighted parabellum that quite literally ate the Uvena Council alive. The Order has experienced a sort of philosophical renaissance in the last generation or so, and it has been a very mixed experience, but one thing I do know is that a lot of old teachings that were better off staying dead came back to life, and it makes me uncomfortable. The Old Republic Jedi died for their lack of awareness and willingness to admit that they were part of the galactic condition, and being about that work. So if that sort of mindfulness is being encouraged anywhere at this Medium Council, then… that’s good to hear.

“That being said, I can’t wrap my head around sitting and courting self-proclaimed evil-doers like that. I’m… you know, pausing to catch your breath sounds nice, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad the healing arts are being revived there; I truly genuinely hope that the Order as a whole will continue to become more of what we’re supposed to be as time goes by, like you’re describing, and actually be deserving of the galaxy’s respect again… But we accepted this life, and we know what the stakes are; we know what we’re up against that others never see, and the cost of not being vigilant. Do you really believe that someone who has embraced the Darkness as a way of life is going to just keep allowing you and those like you to say and do what you want – as true Jedi – without any reprisals just because you’re on neutral ground at that particular moment? You said Master Kae sent you in to gather some intelligence; what makes you think any Sith in that place isn’t taking notes as well, especially now that Uvena Prime has fallen? The illusion of created distance for the sake of greater understanding, while keeping company with corruption, is exactly what brought the downfall of the Old Order.”

[Kaytren Li]

“Of course the Sith are taking notes! Do you think that I… I’m sorry; that wasn't fair of me. But yes, I know everyone is taking notes. Every enemy or ally or the leaders of any power that remotely care in this galaxy... are all keeping the most relentlessly detailed record. I know.”

Her voice had been sharper than she meant it until she tempered herself with something like a laugh caught halfway between wryness and a touch of despair. Her fingers strayed a little to rub at her wrist or the side of her forehead, but the warm mug in her hands was like a grounding gift from the Force.

“Naboo has become something important for many reasons. It's much bigger than me, but we don't really have the time. There are men and women who’ll protect it. I would hope to, too, if it was needed and I could... But I am courting injury, not evil! I didn't mean to give you the assumption I think it's safe. I've been stabbed and shot at there. Not for the last time, I assume. Even if it was a perfect safehaven, I wouldn't want to stay there permanently anyway. That doesn't feel very Jedi at all. And aside from that—there is also an unspoken rule that if I, or anyone else who makes enough waves, stays perpetually there.. it provokes the really evil ones into making that space a target. So I leave from time to time to relieve the pressure... not just for quiet work like this, but publicly. And when I do....”

She shrugged. Erril had been taking his own notes. Maybe he knew enough already. If he didn't, did telling him about Sith resentment toward Jas Cal'ech or herself or anyone else really help anything?

“Evil doesn't like Jedi who challenge it enough. Light attracts attention. Darkness hates Light. There are already reprisals.... But whatever anyone wants to put blame on me for, I am not the one who crumbled Uvena. And everyone who matters enough is taking notes about what we do. Good! That’s exactly what they need to do. You mentioned the Jedi becoming deserving of respect again. I hate to say we were that bad, but... there's an old teaching quote. I can't remember whose it was now, but it was about reputations. If a single Jedi is less than we should be and a stranger takes it to heart, it causes damage that takes extreme patience and cooperation and visibility to repair... But if a whole.... all of us were doing something wrong? There is absolutely no safe or subtle way to fix that. Dantooine is too vulnerable and there are too many who hate the idea of me breathing, so I won't stay there for any longterm. I couldn't anyway. But one scion at a time, the other factions, Jedi or other, are all taking notes and watching the score. The evil ones are angry. The hurting ones want something better. Allies and politics are shifting. Everyone is taking note and they have got to be let do it for a while. You said the truth already. We accepted the stakes and the costs.”

Kaytren looked at the galley walls with all their timeworn care and practical treasures for a long moment before she sipped from her drink, thinking more about the straight-backed younger man behind her.

“Please don't feel cornered into telling me about him if it stings you... It's just that you knew him... and usually it seems to do them a little justice when we share what they spent so much life working to show us. I wish I could have met Master Jray. I would have liked to hear what he said now. Very much. I'd hope I can learn something from Master Truske and his kindly but still working and active-enough grandfather self, too... but I haven't heard as much about his judgement to form an opinion yet, and I don't have his student beside me, so... Here we are.”

[Erril Winterhold]

All around the firepit, light in hues of red, orange and yellow rippled in comforting asymmetry. They wandered over the soft green grass of the valley, the clothes and faces of the three individuals who encircled it, and also across the hull of the YT-1930 a little further away, which stood watch over the evening gathering like a stalwart sentinel… or like an old memory, conjured up to meet with a new one.

The firelight also reflected in the engaged eyes of those who spoke, and those who listened; Large reddish-black eyes that switched attentively from one face to another; warm brown eyes that augmented the reflected illumination with firelights of their own; steel grey eyes whose sharp gaze carved away the forgetfulness of time in recollection of events long past.

“You know,” said Erril with a pause, “I’m not sure if I’ve ever said before but that moment when you sort of pushed back against my little historically informed opinion, I think that was the moment I started to believe I might actually have something to learn from you.” The half-sephi grinned across the fire at his human companion. “It was certainly a relief to see you had some fire in you too, considering what we were flying into.”

A gentle lefthanded grin split Erril’s features as he glanced over at Rave. “I thought I knew a lot about life just because I’d seen so much of the galaxy, and because my situational awareness was very good.” The blue-green nautolan chuckled and shook his head while Erril’s eyes swayed back to Kaytren’s again, her firelit silhouette contrasting the broad dark landscape of the valley the Jedi had settled a decade ago and some change after arriving on Nexus. “Back in those dreamy days when I thought the goal was to sift until you found the one and only valid point of view. I think a child or two among ours are going to have to learn the same lesson somewhere along the way… it’ll be worth their while though. Who knows what they might become.”

The second eldest Jedi shared a helpless-but-hopeful grin with his sister, and then his eyes wondered back to the heart of the flames where his muse lay, and he resumed his telling of the story.

***********************

Listening to the other Jedi bite back at his comment, even if only for a moment before reinstating her composure, Erril felt an odd sense of relief. He’d read files, he’d heard her speak on a solitary occasion, and she’s expressed authentic familiarity with the particulars of field work, but Erril realized that up until that very moment he hadn’t actually seen her engage with any tenacity. A robust attitude was not a luxury when dealing with tense situations, it was a requirement, and now he’d witnessed it.

The odd moment of relief was a bare second of a revelation though, in the face of what came next. Erril had realized a few bits at a time up until that moment that Kaytren was indeed an authentic Jedi, but all that had done was reflavor and then add to his mounting concerns about her presence at the Medium Council – surely good will and sincere motives like hers would only paint a target on her back.

And then she explained. And then he understood.

The young Jedi’s hands slowly settled into his lap as he listened, the cup of tea momentarily forgotten as Kaytren explained to him that she had weighed his concerns in the balance – perhaps better even than he had – and was all but counting on the outcomes, at least in principle. Certainly the Sith on Naboo were taking advantage of the neutrality to take notes – of course they were! – but she was taking advantage of the same neutrality to give them something worth writing home about. Letting them see that for all their calculations and cleverness, there is a point beyond which the Light simply cannot be bent by the Darkness.

Could this questionably-conceived little social experiment on Naboo truly be in the process of becoming something so momentous? A place where a calm voice could speak the truth with irrefutable resolve? A dangerous game indeed, bigger than strategy and counterintelligence. Those were the things Erril dealt with – those things were all Erril knew – and that was why he’d missed it.

The Master’s final comment ripped Erril, along with a healthy serving of his unacknowledged emotional baggage, right out of his sudden revery. It was a question left unasked, but it was there just as poignantly for all that it lacked a tonal question mark. What would Jray think about that?

Why are all of my ghosts surrounding this woman?

Erril didn’t rush to answer. The best answer he could give – the answer her question deserved – required that he not rush into it, because Jray had never been one to rush. He sipped his tea again, breathing the substance of the ghosts who’d chosen that day to take their leave of his past. More deep breaths followed as he found the answer to Kaytren’s unasked question for her.

“Jray… dedicated his life to a calling, knowing that his calling was ultimately just a countermeasure. ‘I am only – ‘”

Erril paused before he could finish quoting a verse from the Creed of Shadows, and considered a more general way to relay the sentiment.

“He used to say that he was just footprints on the trail, and that he was there to show others that the path was clear ahead. His calling was to ensure that other Jedi could do the work of Jedi in relative safety, and he believed strongly that the work of other Jedi would ultimately be more important than his. So… if you’re saying that darksiders are going to Naboo to gather intelligence, and instead are finding themselves having to grow accustomed to being in the Light, then I think – I think Master Jray would just tell you to measure your steps, and watch your back. I don’t think he would oppose you though.”