FicWad

"They arrived quite suddenly," Master Ma'Ning's voice replies from Lorana's comlink, calm but with an edge to it that she's seldom heard before. "Captain Pakmillu wishes to contact the Chiss and ask them if they know anything of these people, but I would rather not do so, at least not yet, since our hour has not yet elapsed and Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo was quite firm about being the one to contact us."

"What are they doing?" Lorana asks, swinging her legs over the edge of the cot she has been lying on in the infirmary of D-1's medcenter for most of the past half hour. Unable to explain how she and Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo had survived the dark energies released in the moment of Jorus C'baoth's death (which had reduced his own body to ashes, only his lightsaber surviving his violent demise) and unsteady on her feet, she had been sent to the medcenter and ordered to rest until the hour they'd been given had elapsed. Since the other Jedi seemed determined to take the young Chiss Commander up on his offer to stay put until enough information could be gathered for them to ascertain whether or not they would be putting either the Republic or the Chiss Ascendancy at risk by continuing on with their mission, she had agreed without complaint. But now that this new threat has suddenly arrived, she's bitterly regretting her decision to rest somewhere so far away from D-1's bridge.

"So far, it's just waiting," Master Ma'Ning replies, startling her out of her worrying. "Captain Pakmillu informs me that their ship design is radically different from that of the Chiss, which suggests to me that these people, whoever they may be, have nothing to do with them."

Chas Uliar, who is also present in the medcenter, checking up on Dillian Pressor, notices that she's standing up and frowning, and immediately starts heading her way.

"Do you think they could be the Far Outsiders who attacked Zonama Sekot?" she turns away slightly and asks, pitching her voice low to avoid drawing any more attention to herself and trying to ignore the sick feeling gathering in the pit of her stomach.

"Hard to say," Master Ma'Ning admits, and she can practically feel his helpless shrug. He continues to speak, though, and his next words are much more reassuring. "I would guess not, though, judging from the mechanical nature of these ships and what I have been told of the living ships of that world. I find it hard to believe that ships of this nature could have posed so great a threat to the world described by Master Kenobi and Padawan Skywalker. The entire planet was conscious, sentient and aware within the Force."

Lorana closes her eyes briefly, breathing out a soft but heartfelt, "Thank the Force! I am not sure, but I suspect that the Chiss have had a run-in of their own with the Far Outsiders. And I have a bad feeling that the encounter was an ugly one. I think Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo would have contacted us and suggested we pool our resources, if these were the same beings. But that just leaves us back at square one, wondering who these people are."

"What's going on?" Uliar asks quietly, interrupting her train of thought and causing her eyes to fly wide in surprise.

Lorana hesitates for a moment, not wanting to say anything about Vergere, the missing planet of Zonama Sekot, or the mysterious Far Outsiders. But then it occurs to her that she doesn't necessarily have to, in order to explain what's going on. And, after all, all of Outbound Flight truly is in this together. "An unidentified fleet has arrived," she tells him. "Over two hundred ships, at least a hundred of which seem to be warships."

"Who are you talking to?" Master Ma'Ning asks over the comm, sounding curious.

"We're trying to figure out whether they're Chiss ships, Chiss allies, or someone else entirely," Lorana continues, ignoring the question for a moment but sending him a wave of reassurance through the Force so he'll know that it's alright.

"What are their reactor emissions like?" Uliar immediately asks. "Is it a similar spectrum to Mitth-whatever's ships, or something different?"

"Who is that?" Ma'Ning asks again, his voice growing a little bit louder. "Jedi Jinzler? Could you get him to repeat that?"

"Reactor Tech Uliar says we might be able to deduce their identity or affiliation from their reactor emission spectrum," Lorana replies, a smile of relief spreading across her face.

"That's a good idea. Captain Pakmillu has been trying to compare what we can see of their ships with all known hull designs, but it's taking far too long. I'll get someone on that. It should only take a few minutes," Ma'Ning replies, and Lorana can feel both his relief and his enthusiasm in the Force like sudden burst of warmth.

"We're on our way there," Lorana replies, still grinning. "I know everyone thinks I need to rest, but I believe I've rested enough for the day. And since Reactor Tech Uliar's an expert in these things - "

"We have experts up here, too, young one," Ma'Ning cuts in, his manner gentle but his voice firm. "Experts with immediate access to the data and to computer stations who're already at work on the issue. Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo will expect to hear from you when our hour is up, and somehow I doubt he'll be pleased if he has to be told, then, that you've worked yourself into exhaustion and can't be disturbed. It would be best, for now, if you would concentrate on recovering from your ordeal and leave the alien fleet to - "

He breaks off suddenly as an oddly piping melodious voice, or possibly two of them, abruptly begins to speak in the background. "What's that?" Lorana demands, shocked.

"They appear to be hailing us," Ma'Ning replies, surprise driving the gentle warmth from his voice. The alien voices grow louder as the Jedi Master moves, his robes rustling slightly as he strides towards one of the bridge speakers.

Lorana listens closely. It's a strange language, highly musical, with a distinct singsong component to it. It sounds nothing at all like what she remembers of the highly densely layered, if also surprisingly musical, speech of Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo. "Uliar?" she whispers.

He shakes his head, his forehead creasing in concentration. "Never heard anything like it before," he whispers back, shaking his head helplessly and nervously raking his right hand across his almost militarily short dark blond hair. Then, tilting his head to one side, he narrows his eyes in consideration, allowing that same hand rise absently to his smooth, prominent chin, stroking the skin there thoughtfully, as he adds, "It doesn't sound like the kind of language near-humans like the Chiss would come up with or even be able to speak very well, though. Commander Mitth-whatever's language was very liquid and resonant, but it sounded more like four people talking rapidly at once, with way too many consonants. It was musical, but there was a guttural aspect to it, too. To me, though, this sounds more like two flutes playing different but related tunes. It's all high piping sounds like you'd get from a woodwind instrument. I can't hear any consonants at all."

Lorana nods in agreement. "Master Ma'Ning?" she calls. "Did you hear that? It doesn't sound like - "

"I heard. But it appears to be a moot question. They seem to be readying their weapons. Please get to Dreadnaught-Four and report to Jedi Master Evrios in the weapons blisters. It looks like you'll have to finish your rest later." There follows a click as he shuts off his comlink.

Lorana sighs in frustration, scrubbing a hand through her hair. "Yes, Master Ma'Ning," she murmurs as she returns her comlink to her belt.

"We're in trouble, aren't we?" Uliar asks quietly.

"We'll be all right," Lorana assures him, trying to convey a confidence she doesn't quite feel. First Mitth'raw'nuruodo, and now this new threat . . . and with Outbound Flight's defense essentially resting squarely on the shoulders of a few handfuls of Jedi. /Great. That's just great. Maybe I should have tried to save Master C'baoth, instead of simply taking him out before he could hurt anyone else. Those battle melds are tricky things . . . /And quite suddenly she gets a very bad feeling about all of it. "I need to get up to D-Four to assist Master Evrios," she tells Uliar. "This fleet may be a serious threat. You may want to gather up all of the patients in the various medcenters scattered throughout the separate Dreadnaughts and the younglings of all the crew members and get them all down to the storage core. You can put them in the Jedi training center. Since it's at the center of the ring of Dreadnaughts, it's the most heavily protected and shielded part of the combined ship. And there should be plenty of room down there - the core's quite large. I doubt very much if Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo is going to leave us to face this threat alone, but it is an extremely large fleet. Getting all of the noncombatants and nonessential personnel inside, where they'll be safest, is just a logical precaution. Can I count on you to make sure everyone gets inside?"

Uliar gives her a hard look. "This alien fleet is our problem too, you know."

Lorana resists the urge to grimace, nodding curtly instead. "I know," she concedes. "But someone has to get the sick and the hurt and the very young out of the way, in case it comes down to a fight. And I'm needed elsewhere, or else I'd do it myself. Please, Uliar. You can come up after me when you're done, if it'll make you feel better."

"All right," he finally grudgingly agrees. "But I will take you up on that offer."

"Fair enough," she nods, and then immediately heads for the door. Pausing in the doorway to look back at Uliar - who is already striding back towards Pressor - she reassuringly calls out, "Try not to worry too much, Uliar! Between Mitth'raw'nuruodo and the Jedi, I'm sure that we will be able to straighten this all out, one way or another."

***

"They're probably not answering because they don't understand you," Car'das explains as patiently as his pounding heart will allow. "As I said, they're from the same region of space that I am, and we don't know the language of the mighty and noble Vagaari."

"You will soon learn it," the Miskara promises him coldly in return. "In the meantime, you will serve as translator."

Car'das grimaces slightly, unable to help himself. That's all he needs: the people on Outbound Flight assuming he's a renegade or, worse, a traitor. Whatever necessary . . . "Of course, Your Eminence," he replies, bowing his head to hide his sour expression even though the Miskara most likely can't see either thing from wherever he is, on the ship. "I stand humbly ready to serve the Miskara and the Vagaari people in any way you wish."

"Of course," the Miskara instantly replies, as if even a breath of hesitation on Car'das's part would be unthinkable. "Tell me first: how deeply within the vessels will the fighting machines be stored? Will they be at the surfaces, or deeper inside?"

"Deep inside," Car'das tells him, not knowing whether that's the right answer or not but not about to take the time to try to actually think about it.

"Good," the Miskara pronounces with a great deal of satisfaction. "Then we may destroy as we will without risking our prize."

An unpleasant sensation tingles across Car'das's skin. With a hundred Vagaari warships blotting out the starscape around him, the Miskara's words are as close to a death sentence as anything he's ever heard.

And he's the one who's pointed the Vagaari in that direction.

Oh, no! That was the wrong answer. What have I done?

"Now: speak this," the Miskara continues, startling him out of his thoughts. "'You of the vessel known as /Outbound Flight/: we are the Vagaari. You will surrender or be destroyed.'"

***

" . . . or be destroyed."

Lorana looks across the weapons blister at Evrios, at the tight set to his mouth. The first voice from the unknown ships had definitely not been human. But this one just as definitely /is/. And the deeply resonant human voice (she cannot quite suppress the irreverent thought that its owner could make a good living as a holovid villian, with such a darkly rich, smooth, powerfully mesmeric, low voice) also happens to be speaking Basic. Which cannot, by any stretch of the imagination, possibly be a good sign. "A captive from the Republic?" she finally suggests, wincing at little at the half hopeful and half doubting tone of her own voice.

"Or a traitor," Jedi Master Evrios - a slighter smaller (if still obviously athletic), slightly younger human male than Master Ma'Ning with classically chiseled facial features graced with almost incongruously bright blue piercing eyes (currently shining out from underneath a rather overlong fringe of silky fine hair of medium-dark nutbrown, rich and dark) framed by a pair of boldly triangular prominent eyebrows and high cheekbones balanced by a strong nose, a square jaw with a stubbornly jutting triangular chin with a slight dimple, and a generous mouth with a visibly thicker lower lip kept from seeming pouting by the discipline, strength of character, and sly hint of good humor stamped indelibly on that face - grimly replies, his full mouth narrowing to a forbiddingly narrow slash. "Either way, it's going to make this that much trickier."

"Not at all," Master Ma'Ning's voice counters from the comm speaker, strain making his bluntly Corellian accent even more prominent than normal, much as has already happened with Evrios. "There's nothing even a traitor could have told them that will have prepared them for the kind of coordinated defense a Jedi meld can offer. And I am certain the meld can be established, even without Master C'baoth's presence to guide and direct it. We've practiced this often enough, after all. Master Kenobi even helped guide us through half a dozen drills - all of them successful - without C'baoth's presence."

"Bendu Knight Kenobi is no longer here, though, Master Ma'Ning," Evrios points out, his voice still grim.

"But Lorana knows how to instigate and ride the meld. Master Kenobi was teaching her before his departure, and she was a very attentive and apt pupil," Ma'Ning counters firmly. "You can trigger and direct a battle meld on your own now, can't you, Jedi Jinzler?"

"I think so, Master, yes," she hesitantly replies, not bothering to hide her uncertainty. "If we all reach for the meld simultaneously, I believe I can provide the impetus needed to link our minds and wills together."

"With a hundred or more warships at their disposal, though, I can't see them worrying overly much about how tight our defense is," Evrios counters, shooting her a concerned look.

"Patience, Master Evrios," Ma'Ning merely replies, his voice glacially calm. "Trust in the Force. All will be well. You will see."

"They're moving forward," Captain Pakmillu's voice urgently cuts in. "All weapons stations stand ready."

Lorana takes a deep breath as she stretches out to the Force for strength and calm. This is it: the first genuine test of the Jedi control system Master C'baoth had spent so much of his time teaching the rest of them, with Obi-Wan Kenobi's uneasily given but careful and thoroughly explained aid.

"What in the name of - ?" Abruptly, Evrios hunches closer to his sensor displays. "Master Ma'Ning?" he then anxiously calls out.

"I see them," is the Jedi Master's grim response. "So this is the sort of enemy we face."

"What is it?" Lorana calls out, alarmed, swiveling her chair to her own displays.

"Look at the warships," Evrios replies. "See all those plastic bubbles on the hulls?"

Lorana feels her chest tighten with revulsion and shock. "There are people in there!"

"Living shields," Ma'Ning confirms, his voice thick with determination and contempt for the builders of those shields. "The most evil and cowardly defense concept ever created."

"But what do we do? What /can /we do?" Lorana demands, a sudden trembling in her voice. "We can't just slaughter them!"

"Courage, Jedi Jinzler," Ma'Ning replies, his voice as hard and unyielding as stone. "We'll simply have to shoot between the hostages."

"Impossible!" Evrios immediately insists. "Not even with Jedi gunners could such a thing be done. Turbolasers simply aren't accurate enough!"

"I am not a fool, Master Evrios. I may be occasionally blind, but I am not a fool," Master Ma'Ning replies, his voice as hard and cold as ever. "We will not fire until we're close enough for the necessary accuracy."

"And meanwhile we just sit here and take their fire?" Evrios counters, voicing Lorana's own concern.

"Hardly," Ma'Ning replies, an edge of cold anticipation creeping into his determined voice. "The Vagaari have a surprise in store for them. All Jedi: prepare to meld. Stretch out to Jedi Knight Jinzler and to the Force . . . and then I want you to stretch out to the Vagaari as well. This is what we're going to do . . . "

***

"They make no answer," the Miskara says accusingly, as if Outbound Flight's silence were somehow Car'das' fault.

"Perhaps they're still consulting among themselves, Your Eminence," Car'das suggests distractedly, shifting his eyes back and forth across the sky. The Vagaari ships have started to close the gap between themselves and /Outbound Flight/, moving together into groups of tight-formation clusters that will provide them the protection of overlapping forward shields.

They are obviously preparing to attack.

And still nothing from /Outbound Flight/. Or from Thrawn, for that matter. His ships have to be around here somewhere, blast it all! Where could they possibly be hiding that he hasn't already scanned with the macrobinoculars, though?

"You will give them a new message," the Miskara orders, startling him out of his madly circling thoughts. "'The time for discussion is ended. You will surrender now or - '"

And then suddenly, in the middle of the sentence, his voice abruptly dissolves into a confused burbling.

Car'das frowns, pressing the comlink to his ear. The whole bridge seems to have collapsed into the same helpless babbling, though, as if the entire crew has suddenly suffered a mass mental attack.

Which is, he suspects, exactly what has happened.

He looks out at Outbound Flight again, an unpleasant shiver running through him. He's heard the stories about all the ways Jedi can use their mind control tricks to confuse attackers, including everything from creating false noises in their ears to making them unable to properly focus on controls or weapons systems. But while the stories have also claimed that a group of them together can use that power on this massive a scale, he's never heard of something like that actually happening.

Until now.

And with that, he knows, it's all over. The final card has come up double-down-nine, and the rest is as fixed and inevitable as a planetary orbit.

With the comlink still pressed to his ear, he settles down to wait for the end.

***

"So your tales were correct, as were the boastings of Jorus C'baoth," Mitth'raw'nuruodo murmurs. "The Jedi have used their power to reach across the distance to the Vagaari and numbed or destroyed their minds."

"So it would seem," Doriana agrees, feeling a little numb himself. Even if it's just the Vagaari commanders and gunners who've been affected, and even given the fact that the aliens would have had no forewarning of what was coming, it is still a terrifying feat. And it's being performed by a relative handful of Jedi Masters and Jedi Knights. Resisting the urge to shudder, he finally asks, "And our part is to sit by and do nothing?"

"Our part is to do that for which we have come," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies. Reaching to his board, he keys a switch. "It is time for the Vagaari to die."

"The Vagaari?" he echoes, stunned, feeling anger and panic both rising in him at the announcement. "Wait a moment - are those our droid starfighteres?" he demands incredulously, spotting movement outside the Springhawk's canopy that can't be explained either by the presence of the Vagaari or Outbound Flight/. Gripped by a sudden feeling of betrayal - after all, he had been the one who agreed to turn command of the starfighters over the Chiss Commander, going against Kav's will in the matter because Mitth'raw'nuruodo had led him to understand (or perhaps simply allowed him to assume, as he now suspects) that they would be used in some diabolically clever plan to destroy /Outbound Flight - he indignantly protests, "You were given those for use against /Outbound Flight/, not some other enemy of yours!"

"I was not given the starfighters at all," Mitth'raw'nuruodo corrects him coolly. Ahead, the droid starfighters are already rising in waves now from their asteroid staging area, heading at full speed toward the clusters of Vagaari warships. "I will choose how and when to use them." Doriana is opening his mouth to protest again when he adds, with a hard look, "And you should walk cautiously in this matter, Commander. Remember: the droid starfighters aren't the only Neimoidian technology I've taken from the remains of your task force."

Doriana feels a sudden tingling on the back of his neck. He spins around, expecting to find the two droidekas Mitth'raw'nuruodo had taken from the Darkvenge standing behind them in full combat stance.

But there is nothing there. "No, Commander, the combat droids are not here," Mitth'raw'nuruodo assures him, his eyes glinting with cool amusement. "They're where they can be of far more useful service."

"And where is that?" Doriana demands, somewhat shakily, in return.

"Where else?" Mitth'raw'nuruodo only asks in return, smiling tightly. "On the bridge of the Vagaari flagship." Then, while Doriana is still gaping at him in horror, Mitth'raw'nuruodo reaches out and flicks the switch that Doriana knows will open the comm line between the /Springhawk /and /Outbound Flight/. Quite calmly, the Chiss Commander declares, "/Outbound Flight/: the hour you were given is at an end. I will consider the assistance you are offering against the Vagaari fleet that has recently arrived in this system as proof of your decision to cooperate. I have launched an attack against the Vagaari using the droid starships captured from the Trade Federation task force that was sent to destroy you. Unless you wish for your Jedi to experience the deaths of the beings whose minds they are now influencing, I would suggest you inform them to cease their efforts /now/."

***

The sudden multiple stutter of blasterfire in his ear sends Car'das twitching to the side, half deafened by the racket, and he bangs his elbow against the edge of the bubble as he hastily moves the comlink farther away. His head is still ringing as the rhythmic fire of the droidekas is joined by the sound of the more deliberate shots of the four battle droids' rifles. Apparently, Thrawn had a secondary control pattern lain in beneath the program Car'das set up earlier for the Miskara, one that has not in any way been interfered with by Car'das' programming. The sounds of shooting shifts subtly as the six droids begin to move across the bridge, mowing down the helpless gunners and commanders. Even as they are systematically chopping off the collective head of the Vagaari leadership hierarchy, the droid starfighters arrive, the first and second waves flashing by overhead without slowing, skimming the hull barely five meters from Car'das's face as they drive towards the clusters of Vagaari ships in the distance. The third wave arrives in full combat mode, their laser cannons raking the flagship with a brilliant sheet of fire. Car'das flinches back, but almost before he has had time to be frightened they, too, are past, leaving torn pieces of shattered hull material and white jets of escaping air in their wake. Blinking against the multiple purple afterimages, he peers through the dissipating gases at the other bubbles around him, half afraid of what he will see.

Somehow, though, the starfighters have managed to pull it off. In every single one of the bubbles within his view, the Geroon hostages are still alive - terrified, certainly, some of them clawing mindlessly at the plastic as if trying to tunnel their way out. But they are alive. With Outbound Flight's Jedi preventing the Vagaari gunners from defending their ships, and with the sharp-edged precision the droids' electronic targeting systems and close-approach attack have permitted, the starfighters have sliced their way neatly through the warship's hull between the Vagaari's living shields. And not just aboard the flagship. All around him, Car'das can see clouds of debris and escaping air enveloping the other nearby Vagaari warships, the haze scintillating with the fiery glow of the starfighters' drives as they finish each set of targets and moves on to the next. Already in this first attack, he estimates Thrawn's assault has taken out over a quarter of the alien warships. And still with no response from the remainder. Which means that question now is whether the Jedi control of the aliens will last long enough for the starfighters to finish the job. Switching on his macrobinoculars, listening with half an ear to the one-sided carnage still going on beneath him on the bridge, he focuses on /Outbound Flight/.

***

It is not only like nothing Lorana has ever felt before, it is like nothing she has ever even dreamed that she could, much less would, ever feel or need to prepare herself against feeling. Even as she cuts the lines of power that have been holding the Jedi together, dissolving the meld and pushing the minds and spirits of her companions back away from awareness of one another and out of the Force itself, she can feel it happening. Echoes of pain and destruction, spreading out in the Force from the same place where they have been working to sow confusion among the Vagaari commanders and gunners, the alien minds she has so recently been wrapped around beginning to explode abruptly into death. And not just a few deaths, either - small ripples of sensation that might have throbbed painfully but controllably against her consciousness. No, these deaths come in a thunderstorm torrent, wave after wave of fear and agony and rage that crash into her even as she desperately attempts to place herself between that devastating flood and the vulnerable minds of the other Jedi, hammering against her already overstretched senses and trying to swamp both her mind (and, hence, her body) and her spirit with the bitter sensation of mass death.

Dimly, she can feel herself staggering, her hands clutching blindly for something to hold on to as her body reacts instinctively to her pain and disorientation. There's a sharp pain in her shoulder and head; distantly, she realizes she's fallen out of her chair onto the deck. She can feel herself twitching uncontrollably; can sense the others' worry for her through the Force even as she strives desperately to keep them from reaching out either to her or to the Force, so that they will not experience what she is catching the barest edge of and therefore feed into her weakness even as their own agony would inevitably bleed into hers. A thousand and more alien voices shriek through her brain as their life forces are snuffed out, with a thousand and more waiting behind them, and it is far more terrible even than the loss of Master C'baoth to the Dark Side, but Lorana is quite certain that, if she were to be forced to experience all of those deaths as well as the reactions of the other Jedi, she would lose herself in the holocaust of pain and rage and perhaps even lose her life. So she does the only thing she can do and holds on with grim determination, blocking out both the concern of her fellow Jedi and their access to the Force and riding out the shockwaves of death, letting them carry her away slowly but surely from the source of all that suffering . . .

***

Beside Doriana, Mitth'raw'nuruodo takes a deep breath. "Ch'tra," he orders.

And, moving as a single unit, the Chiss fleet surges forward, adding their power to that of the waves upon waves of droid starfighters that are still methodically cutting their way across the unresisting Vagaari ships.

Perhaps a heartbeat and a half later, Outbound Flight turns to join them, its massive and deadly turbolasers targeting the Vagaari warships with an almost delicate precision, every single shot somehow impossibly managing to strike only where the transparent bubbles of the Vagaari's living shields are not.

And, in that moment, Doriana understands that all is lost. He has failed his mission so completely that what Lord Sidious will, in his anger, do to him will doubtlessly succeed in making him wish that he had never been born. Voice hollow with despair, he asks, "You never intended to strike against /Outbound Flight/, did you? You lied to me and my Master. The plan you said you had was just a ruse to gain my cooperation, so I would make Kav give you those droid starfighters, so you could use them against the Vagaari."

"No," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, voice and manner both serenely satisfied. "I did not lie. If Outbound Flight had indeed proven itself a threat to the Chiss Ascendancy, then I would have responded accordingly. But it was not. Only one Jedi aboard was a genuine threat, and he only because of the interference of your Master. With Jorus C'baoth gone, I have gained a strong and worthy ally in Outbound Flight and its Jedi, which means that I do not need to enact any part of the plan that I devised to deal with Outbound Flight/, should it have proven dangerous. The Vagaari, on the other hand, are a genuine threat, both to the Chiss Ascendancy and to your Republic. They are a far greater threat than the Jedi aboard /Outbound Flight could ever be. And since they have, in their greed, chosen to attempt to attack the Chiss, in attempting to attack our new ally, they are being dealt with accordingly."

"But we made a bargain!" Doriana snarls in protest, for once not bothering to try to hide his anger. "You spoke to Lord Sidious: you know the danger the Outbound Flight Project poses to the galaxy, with a mission flight that charts an inevitable collision with the invasion forces of the Far Outsiders! You were to neutralize that threat by destroying Outbound Flight for us!"

"I never made any such bargain," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, clearly unperturbed by Doriana's anger. "I agreed only to do what I deemed necessary to eliminate whatever threat might be posed by the expedition. And you are in no position to make demands, Commander. Or must I remind you that, to my new allies aboard /Outbound Flight/, you are a traitor? Jedi Bendu Lorana Jinzler knows the name of Kinman Doriana, and she believes that there is at least one Sith at large in the galaxy. Do you wish to be their prisoner now, rather than mine?"

Half sick with fear and rage, Doriana shakes his head, mutely, and Mitth'raw'nuruodo immediately turns away from him, back towards the battle that is now unfolding before as well as around the /Springhawk/. With his mind chasing in circles, trying desperately to think of a way to save himself, Doriana suddenly catches sight of the control board that Mitth'raw'nuruodo is abandoning, with its one oddly prominent red-rimmed switch. And, once he has seen it, he finds that he cannot tear his eyes away from it. It might be nothing, of course. But it's the only thing left that he has. And, even if it earns him nothing, it certainly can't make the hopeless situation in which he now finds himself any worse, or so he finally decides. And so, with a cry, he flings himself forward, lunging for the control board and reaching out frantically to flip back the cover and press the switch.

His cry alerts Mitth'raw'nuruodo, who has just enough time to whirl back around, his red eyes flying wide, and cry out, "No/, you fool! You will only throw your life away! /Don't touch that button!"

But it is already too late. His hand is depressing the switch before Mitth'raw'nuruodo can even finish giving voice to the warning.

The last thing that Kinman Doriana ever sees is a brilliant flash of blue-white light, as he trips the switch that has, ever since the attempt that Vicelord Siv Kav made upon the Chiss Commander's life, been armed with a simple but effective and deadly biological protection against attempted use by any other than Mitth'raw'nuruodo himself. The same amount of high-voltage current normally carried by a Chiss shock net instantly pours out of the activated safety device, dumping itself into Doriana's body.

For Kinman Doriana, death is both instantaneous and, compared to what Darth Sidious would have done to him, relatively painless.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo can do nothing but stand and watch, hands knotted helplessly into fists. When it is over and the human's body drops lifelessly to the deck, he breathes out, "Ktah!" a furious and heartfelt invective over the needless waste of life (especially a life still holding so many unplumbed secrets!). Then, shaking his head, he steps forward and reaches past the body to depress not the deliberately eye-catching and carefully booby-trapped red-rimmed button but instead the smaller and violet-rimmed switch that is below and to the left of it.

***

An odd formation catches Car'das' eye as it shoots into view outside the Chiss combat cruiser that he's fairly certain is the Springhawk/: a pair of starfighters flying in close formation with a fat cylinder tucked between them. No, not just one pair, but ten of them, and all heading at full speed towards the sizable percentage of the Vagaari fleet that is still untouched by battle, all of which are currently scrambling madly in an attempt to get past the edge of the artificially projected gravity well so they can make the jump to hyperspace and flee the battle. Frowning, he watches as the starfighter pairs make their way through the ranks of untouched Vagaari ships, homing in on the civilian transports that the Miskara had brought along with his war fleet, all of them enormous and ungainly ships wholly lacking in the bubble-ports of the living shields. He is still gazing through the macrobinoculars and frowning in confusion when a wave of ordinary droid starfighters suddenly blast past the specially modified group of paired starfighters and target those civilian ships. Only they're not simply /attacking the ships, blasting away with laser cannons and energy torpedoes. They are literally hitting the enormous vessels, slamming at full speed into their hulls and vaporizing in brilliant flashes with the force of their impacts. A second wave of droids does the same while he's still gaping in disbelief over the fate of the first wave, this group striking different sections of the hulls of the oversized ships. Then a third and a fourth wave comes through the smoke and debris, these groups pouring laser cannon fire and energy torpedoes into the damaged sections of the ships.

And then, with a sudden chill, Car'das abruptly understands what it is that's happening.

The first two waves of starfighters hadn't actually been trying to breach the armor plating of the Vagaari civilian vessels, though it may have seemed that way to a casual onlooker. Their goal actually had been to simply create dents in the hulls of those ships at very specific points - points where a certain extremely intelligent young Chiss Commander with a strong grasp of architecture had been able to extrapolate, from studying a captured Vagaari treasure vessel, where the interior blast doors of a Vagaari civilian vessel would be positioned. Now, with those doors either disabled or warped enough to prevent a proper air seal, the rest of the starfighters are free to open up those oversized vessels to space. And, since the outsized civilian ships lack the distinctive bubble-ports that act as holding pens for the slaves that the Vagaari warships use as living shields, they can do so without having to dodge or work around any innocents who might be aboard those ships. Car'das is still shaking his head over how ingenious the plan is when those oddly paired starfighters catch up with the civilian vessels with their newly blasted holes and disappear into their breached hulls.

Car'das immediately presses the macrobinoculars tighter against his face, but for a long moment nothing happens. Then, abruptly, a haze of pale blue bursts outward from the openings, nearly invisible amid the floating clouds of wreckage. He instantly finds himself grinning hugely as he watches that blue haze spread out from the Vagaari ships into space. He has no idea what it is that Thrawn has managed to do, but he is, nevertheless, quite certain that he's just witnessed the final turning point of the battle. Everything else, from here on out, should only be a matter of mopping up after the mess.

And Outbound Flight is, miracle upon miracles, right there in the thick of things, helping the Chiss see to that cleaning up.

***

"The Vagaari aboard the largest of the vessels lacking in the bubble-apertures that hold the living shields will all be dead," Mitth'raw'nuruodo quietly announces over the comm to /Outbound Flight/, confirming the end of the battle. "They were targeted with a very special sort of weapon. A very terrible sort. Once inside the protective barrier of a vessel's outer armor, they explode into a killing wave of radiation. The wave passes through floors and walls and ceilings, destroying all life. While I regret the necessity of using such a weapon, I am certain that the situation called for its deployment. I am grateful for the assistance you rendered, in targeting the warships so that they could be disabled without harming the prisoners of the Vagaari, and in pursuing the other vessels as they sought to flee the battle. Though we will need to destroy the Vagaari remnant aboard the disabled vessels in shipboard face-to-face combat, it does not appear that any of the war vessels or civilian craft have been able to escape to deep space, where they otherwise would have been able to rebuild and, in time, perhaps even regain enough strength to pose a threat to this region of space again."

"Understood, Commander," Jedi Master Ma'Ning replies, nodding at him over the display. "The Jedi would like to offer their support to the parties you will be sending aboard the disabled Vagaari war vessels, though I am afraid that Jedi Knight Jinzler will be unable to join us. She . . . overtaxed herself slightly during the course of battle and is currently resting."

"Your help will be appreciated, Master Jedi. Please let Jedi Bendu Jinzler know that it will be better if she rests now. We will need to talk of other matters later, after the disabled vessels have all been secured, and I would prefer it if she could be present for that discussion," Mitth'raw'nuruodo replies, inclining his head gravely in return.

"Of course, Commander. Jedi Jinzler is strong in the Force and she has the resiliency of youth on her side. I'm sure she'll be able to join us for those talks. But I'll see to it that she understand the need to rest now, while she may," Ma'Ning agrees, lips quirking in a soft smile.

"Good," Mitth'raw'nuruodo simply replies. Then, his manner becoming more businesslike, he continues, saying, "This, then, is what we shall do about the disabled ships . . . "

***

Lorana Jinzler floats in a haze of mental agony, only semi-conscious of her body and her surroundings. She is dimly aware of a familiar voice filled with somewhat less familiar concern, all but babbling while telling her that the Jedi all say she needs to withdraw mentally from the battle and get back behind her personal shields, that the battle is going well and is well in hand now between Master's Ma'Ning and Evrios and that Chiss Commander Mitt-whatever, that he's pretty sure she's saved Outbound Flight singlehandedly and he will gladly take back every bad thing he's ever said and every less than flattering thought he's ever had about Jedi and the Force in general if she'll just get it together now and pull back behind her shields, like the other Jedi say she needs to, away from all the death and suffering on the alien ships (which Commander Mitt-whatever has said are Vagaari ships, belonging to a race of entirely nomadic space-faring pirates who survive by moving through inhabited systems and seizing and devouring all of the treasure and portable resources of that system, including enslaving or slaughtering the sentient inhabitants, before moving on to the next target), and get better, because these convulsions are getting pretty old and it's hard to get an uncooperative and only semiconscious Jedi all the way down from the bridge to the nearest medcenter and son of a bantha, couldn't they've put one of the medcenter's closer to the bridge already?! You'd think they would've been smart enough to figure that Outbound Flight'd run into trouble sooner or later and that the bridge would be a pretty kriffing big target . . .

The hindmost part of Lorana's brain informs her, at some point during this increasingly worried and therefore increasingly loud and seemingly aggravated flow of words, that it's Chas Uliar who's doing the talking and that her still occasionally twitching body is being moved - being carried, actually, thrown unceremoniously over a pair of slim but evidently still strong shoulders, her body draped around him like a stole or a human trophy. The shock of the revelation is enough to make her startle, her body momentarily twitching even more strongly as she fights (and fails, therefore increasing the sensation of pain in her eerily disconnected flesh) to push through the cloud of mostly mental and emotional pain surrounding her and reconnect enough with her physical form to be able to protest that she's a Jedi Knight and she can certainly walk and doesn't need to be carried around like a sack of prisht fruits. Other than the slight increase in twitching, though, her body utterly fails to respond to her commands, and Lorana finds herself in the somewhat perplexing position of wanting to respond to Uliar verbally - to be able to reassure him that he doesn't need to worry about her because she's sure she'll be all right, just as she's sure Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo will help them finish taking care of these Vagaari pirates - but honestly being unable to do so. For a moment, then, she's ashamed of her own weakness, thrown back into old habits of self-doubt and self-flagellation, but only for a short time, for Uliar's anxious words recall her as to where she is and why, and, when she remembers the backwash of elemental pain and suffering unleashed by all of the sudden, violent death aboard the ships threatening to attack and destroy both Outbound Flight and the smaller Chiss fleet, Lorana also remembers how she had purposefully fought to place herself between all of that agony and anger and frustrated hatred and the other Jedi who had been participating in the battle meld, helping her to distract and scramble the minds of the commanders and warriors aboard those vessels so that they couldn't follow through on their threats and attack.

And it's at that point that Lorana abruptly realizes that she is in so much pain because she's overextended herself into the Force, becoming so caught up in the disturbances in the Force being caused by all of those deaths that she's essentially become separated from the physical reality of her own body. She's become so thoroughly snared in the reverberations from all of that suffering - all of those traditionally named Dark Side emotions: anger; fear; aggression; hatred; pain; and death and destruction - that she's essentially been seized by that dark maelstrom and yanked out of herself, her mind and spirit washed up out of her flesh as if upon an inexorably cresting tidal wave. Once she realizes that, things become both much clearer and much more complex, for while she could open her senses up more fully to the Force and so locate and reestablish contact with her body, sliding back down within herself and reintegrating into a whole and living being, Lorana can't risk reaching out to the Force without also risking becoming even more caught up in the echoes of all that rage and agony and death, in which case she might be pulled so far away from the reality of her living and (essentially) undamaged body that she could become so lost that she might never find her way back to herself again. This is a very real danger: she certainly knows of plenty of stories and documented instances of Jedi and other such Force-sensitives who have either been overcome so completely by the backwash of some hugely destructive event or else have become so deeply ensnared in a pocket of disturbance within the Force that their minds and spirits became utterly lost, leaving behind empty husks of flesh to die slowly but inevitably of sheer neglect. However, if she doesn't reconnect with her body fairly soon, there's also the equally real danger of becoming lost in the feedback loop of her own psychosomatic suffering over the suffering of the dying Vagaari, in which case she will become just as equally lost.

It's a conundrum and no doubt about it, one that seems to doom her no matter which way she might choose to act, except that there is . . . a thought, a . . . memory . . . something niggling away at the back of her mind, trying to catch her attention, and. if she can just figure out what it is, she might just be able to -

- oh. Oh. Force, that's right! She doesn't need to try to turn further out into the Force to find a way back to her body! She only needs to turn /inward /and find the atom-deep understanding of (and therefore connection to) her own flesh that she's recently forged, through the shared meditations and calming techniques that she learned while studying with Anakin Skywalker under Master Obi-Wan! If she just turns within and looks until she finds the place where that knowledge resides, then she can -

- ah. There. An exhalation of will and a voluntary inhalation of air, and that is all it takes. Awareness of her body rushes back in - the all too awkward angle at which her neck is hanging; the crick developing in her back from where she's been hanging, unceremoniously slung across Uliar's somewhat narrow (but nonetheless strong) shoulders; the fact that her right foot (the one dangling closest to Uliar's body) is thoroughly asleep and that the rest of her right leg is swiftly following suit; and all of the other little minor aches and warning twinges and simple physical awareness that comes with being fully within one's own body - and Lorana immediately stops twitching as she allows her awareness of the Force to dwindle away naturally to nothingness and the psychosomatic pain therefore cuts off as abruptly as a light source that has been switched off. Another deep, calming breath, as she double-checks to make sure that nothing is truly hurt and she is as physically undamaged as she has been assuming she is, and then, with a slightly hoarse cough that makes Uliar jump as if he's been shot, she says, "You can put me down now. I'm all right. And yes, I think you're right, they really should have designed the Dreadnaughts so that a medcenter would be near each of the bridges. But I also think I can walk myself the rest of the way. Don't worry, Uliar. I'm sure Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo will understand what we were trying to do to the Vagaari and will act accordingly. By the time we get down to the medcenter and have a reason to check in, those ships will probably all be neutralized and Master Ma'Ning will be helping Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo form boarding parties, to see to it that the prisoners are all unharmed and set free . . . "

When she'd first met him, Chas Uliar had struck her as a thoroughly unhappy cynic grown prematurely old and bitter during the years of trial and tribulation leading up to the final formation and okaying of the Outbound Flight Project. In the wake of all that has happened in the past few hours, including her sudden and seemingly miraculous recovery, though, Lorana Jinzler is entirely pleased to discover that the young man still has an extremely warm and generous and unshakably loyal spirit, under that armored veneer of jaded pessimism . . .

***

The main battle has been over for nearly an hour and a half when Mitth'raw'nuruodo finally notices the time. If all has gone according to plan, then Admiral Ar'alani and his brother should be arriving on the outskirts of the battlefield between one and two hours from now. And that means he should notify his allies aboard Outbound Flight of the approach of more Chiss ships. He spares a moment for a single regret - he would have preferred to have Car'das with him, when he went back aboard /Outbound Flight/; however, since that first wave of Vagaari warships were opened to space by the droid starfighters (and therefore are in no need of being boarded by teams able to deal with any Vagaari survivors), they haven't been primary targets for the sweep teams. And Car'das, of course, is on the largest of the Vagaari warships in that forward formation - before signaling his team. His warriors are well-trained. They will carry on without him, under the able direction of his second in command, and, if necessary, see to it that the warship holding Car'das will remain untouched until such a time as he can return to this duty. He is determined to be on hand when they retrieve Car'das, to judge, for himself, how much the young K'rell'n has suffered for the sake of Mitth'raw'nuruodo's plans, and so gain a better understanding of how matters stand between them . . . and whether or not the bond of loyalty he has been cultivating between himself and Car'das will prove strong enough to make them beholden to one another. In the meantime, though, his duty is to his new allies. Hopefully, this time he will manage not to make an ignominious showing. He already owes (Jedi Knight? Jedi Bendu? Jedi Bendu Knight? He doesn't believe that the titles are truly synonymous, given C'baoth's reaction to Lorana's addition of "Bendu" to the title given to Obi-Wan Kenobi, but he is not sure which variant is the most appropriate) Lorana Jinzler at least one formal apology. He does not need to strain this alliance by offering up any further insult to one who seems to be fairly high up in the chain of command, for the mission if not the actual combination ship.

This would doubtlessly be much easier if he were not already beginning to feel the strain upon his reserves imposed not only by the battle but by the strain of setting the battle up, his less than full recovery from the wounds he took during the last encounter he'd had with the Vagaari, and the injuries he suffered during C'baoth's rampage. Needs must, however, and so he returns to shuttles (the teams are traveling in far more shuttles than necessary, to aid in the recovery of slaves/hostages/living shields) and takes the smallest one, heading for Outbound Flight rather than the Springhawk/. Fifteen minutes later, he is striding briskly along a corridor in the part of the combination ship named D-1, allowing the fair-haired, green-eyed human who had spoken to him so frankly on his previous visit to lead him up to the bridge. The young man is apparently in high spirits and essentially talks nonstop the entire way, chattering quite enthusiastically and knowledgeably about both the purpose of the Outbound Flight Project and the resources allotted to the mission once Mitth'raw'nuruodo has primed him with a few strategic questions. It is most informative to get another person's point of view, regarding the ship and its mission, but the data Chas Uliar supplies is close enough, in its particulars, to what C'baoth and Lorana Jinzler told him previously to renew his worry regarding the direction that /Outbound Flight takes from this place. His first impression, evidently, was correct. An alliance - a true alliance, between both the mission leaders and the ship's crew of Outbound Flight and Mitth'raw'nuruodo specifically, with perhaps also the backing of Admiral Ar'alani and the current leaders of the Defense Hierarchy - is absolutely necessary, at this point, to stave off disaster, both for Outbound Flight (and perhaps even its Galactic Republic) and for the Chiss Ascendancy. He must be very careful to make a good impression. His duty to his people clearly outweighs any personal consideration he might otherwise be tempted to take. He is a warrior of the Chiss Ascendancy, a sworn protector of the Chiss. His curiosity will simply have to wait.

The resolve holds until only a few moments after their turbolift has delivered him to the bridge of D-1. Uliar asks him to please remain by the turbolifts for a moment while he sees if one of the Jedi is available yet. Mitth'raw'nuruodo barely has time to nod his agreement and assume standard military parade rest before the young man is striding over to one of the stations at the far side of the bridge, where he exclaims, in a startled, not entirely pleased sounding (in fact, sounding more than a little concerned) voice, "Jedi Knight Jinzler! I thought you were still resting in the infirmary!"

The laugh is a little bit tired but the good humor in it is unmistakably genuine, and, when she spins her chair around to answer Uliar, Mitth'raw'nuruodo feels as if his heart has frozen in his chest. "It wouldn't do any good. I would only be pacing and fretting there over missing such an important meeting instead of making myself useful here. Besides, I truly am alright, Uliar. I promise you that I am." Lorana's pale gray eyes are solemn as she gazes steadily up at Uliar, who eventually has the good grace to flush and look away.

"If you say so, Knight Jinzler," Uliar allows, still sounding a little bit uncertain.

"I do, Uliar. But come now! We shouldn't leave such an important guest standing by the turbolifts." Smiling softly, she slides gracefully out of her chair and then glides across the bridge to the turbolifts and to Mitth'raw'nuruodo. She stops barely an arm's length from him, her face brightening, apparently genuinely happy to see him, everything about her seeming to telegraph genuine good will, and then gives him an exquisitely polite (and entirely unnecessary) half bow. "Crahsystor Mitth'raw'nuruodo." Her accent is flawless, pure Chiss, and the blood roars in his ears so loudly as she straightens and gives him a warmly welcoming smile that he nearly misses her next words. "On behalf of the passengers and crew of /Outbound Flight/, I greet you and extend our heartfelt gratitude for the aid you and yours have given. Please, be welcome."

It will not occur to Mitth'raw'nuruodo until long after the fact that the graceful gesture of her slender right hand, at the end of this pronouncement, is meant half as a sign of polite greeting and half as an invitation to come further within the bridge. The motion is far too familiar: the lady of a house would gesture thus, on welcoming her mate home. His response is as immediate and involuntary as if he had one to welcome him, thus, on a regular basis. He captures her hand between his, pressing until their hands are parallel to the floor and ceiling, his left hand beneath hers, palm to palm, to pledge heart-loyalty, steady and supportive and vital and timeless as the earth, and the right above, back to back, to invoke the true union of two-who-are-one, infinite and eternal and unbounded as the skies. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, as if in surprise, but she still completes the gesture as promptly and perfectly as though born to it, placing her left hand carefully but unhesitatingly above his right hand, closing the circuit, answering pledge to pledge and invocation to invocation. "Kaime'sva'rairth." The gray eyes gazing steadily into his widen another fraction, taking on a sheen of searching, as if in question, and he is about to repeat the ritual binding, more firmly, when fate intervenes in the form of the Jedi Master he met so briefly near the end of his first visit aboard the ship. Jedi Master Ma'Ning is hurrying to reach the bridge (hurrying because Mitth'raw'nuruodo's request to come aboard Outbound Flight had caught its occupants off guard and because he, too, believes that Lorana Jinzler is still resting in the ship's infirmary) and rummaging in a pouch on his belt for a datacard, looking down at his hand rather than watching where he is going because the ship's crew have been well-taught and well-drilled and they all know better than to linger in the vicinity of the turbolifts, for fear of blocking them.

Master Ma'Ning looks up in time to see that he is about to collide with the young Chiss Commander, but not in time to stop himself from doing so. He does manage to pull most of his weight, but Justyn Ma'Ning is a tall and solidly muscled man, and so the accidental collision is still enough to throw Mitth'raw'nuruodo forward. Lorana's hands immediately slide away from his and fly to his shoulders in an attempt to steady him, but her thumbs skate over his collarbones and find bone-deep bruises left by her former Master, startling a pained hiss from him. The Jedi Master standing behind him rumbles what sounds like a curse and begins to apologize to him quite sincerely, but Lorana is frowning at him, obviously concerned, her slender fingers sliding purposefully up towards the base of his throat. Even that light pressure is too much. He jerks back before he can stop himself, trying to escape the gentle probing, and the look of sudden understanding on Lorana's face is heartbreaking. "How badly did he hurt you?"

Head whirling at how closely he has passed by disaster, Mitth'raw'nuruodo can think of nothing to do but to take a step to the side, away from her, turning his body out so that he can see Master Ma'Ning as well. "It is nothing."

"It is not nothing if you cannot bear to be touched! Have you not been seen to?" There is indignation in her voice - not at him, so much, as at the thought that he has not been properly looked after. Or so it seems, to his ears.

The thought that she might care so much about his health affects him so profoundly that he finds himself automatically withdrawing, slamming tight every shield, every barrier, that he has ever used to establish control over his wayward, gods-touched emotions. He can feel his face conforming to the mask of untouchable propriety, taking on a forbidding countenance, ice and distance in every line. Voice crisp with coldness, he retorts, "Time enough for that, later. It is not bad. The battle takes precedence."

She does not seem to notice either the sudden distance or the chill of his voice. Making as if to take a step towards him, she replies by demanding, "Let me see. Perhaps I can help."

He takes another step back before she can fishing the motion. "No."

"Commander - "

Flatly, voice glacial, face like carved ice, he repeats, "No. You cannot ask me to bare my flesh before you."

The refusal seems to pain her, and she instantly tries to protest. "But your collar - "

"I said /no/. Put it out of your mind." The harshness of the response seems to startle her, and the widening of her eyes reminds him of his own ill-behavior, prompting a slight softening of his expression. Voice less strident, he adds, "/Please/. What you ask is quite impossible."

Before she can reply, the deep voice of Master Ma'Ning quietly and in obvious warning interjects, "Jedi Jinzler. Remember where we are."

The reminder prompts a slight lowering of eyes. "Yes, Master Ma'Ning. Of course." Her gray eyes return to Mitth'raw'nuruodo's face immediately, though, searchingly, as she adds, "Forgive me, Commander. I do not mean to be forward. But I have some training in the healing arts. And it was my former Master who inflicted these wounds." The words, I feel responsible. Please, let me help you, are not spoken out loud, but her eyes make an eloquent plea.

"She could help you," Chas Uliar adds, as though he fears Mitth'raw'nuruodo might not believe her words without another's confirmation.

Awkwardly, trying to balance his own wrongs against the need for control, he finally replies by explaining, "I am sorry. But I cannot permit it. It is against custom. We are not kin, either by ties of blood or Family loyalty or shared dedication to the protection of the Chiss and the Chiss Ascendancy, and we are not yet true allies, though I hope that, at least, may change, and soon. In truth, it is for that reason that I am here, now. By rights, though, I should not touch you without being given explicit permission, first, and I should be gloved, as you are not of my clan or Family or my command, but warriors do not go to battle, thus. I ask your forgiveness for taking such a liberty. I do not mean to offer insult. This is a compromise of battle. I offered much worse insult when I threw you down beneath me, for which I am most gravely sorry."

"I do not take it as an insult. Either action. I take these things as hopeful signs, omens of an alliance that will make us as family."

The words are like a blow. Even many Chiss could not have made so perfect a reply! He is too stunned to do aught else but reply by route, "May it be that warriors' fortune smiles upon your wishes."

She tilts her head slightly to the left, in a considering motion, before startling him by flashing a dazzling smile and replying, "May warriors' fortune smile upon us all."

He is not sure what to say to that, so he merely inclines his head slightly, to show that he approves of the sentiment. When her smile does not dim and no one seems inclined to speak, he ventures to ask, "Should we not move away from here? This seems to be a trafficked area. And I have news that I wish to share."

"Will the news be long in the telling?"

The question startles Mitth'raw'nuruodo more than it should. He has become too focused on Lorana, so much that he's almost managed to forget the presence of Jedi Master Ma'Ning. It takes an act of will to keep himself from jumping, and he forces himself to turn to the Jedi Master slowly, raising a questioning eyebrow. "Pardon?"

"If the news would be long in the telling and you wish to return to your appointed task, Commander, then there is another, quicker way to share the information, if you wish. But only if you wish."

The already raised eyebrow rises another fraction, eloquent in a way mere words could not be. "Oh?"

Calmly, the older man and Jedi Master explains, "The Force can allow Jedi to speak mind to mind, and also to touch the minds of others. Unless the fate of a truly vital mission is at stake or the lives of others are endangered and can only be protected through such an action, we do not seek to intrude upon or to influence the minds of other sentient beings without permission - indeed, we cannot do so without permission from those who are sufficiently strong of mind and will - but for those who would permit it, it is possible to share thoughts and even memories mind to mind, in much more detail, with much more accuracy, and in much less time than it would be possible to share such information through spoken words alone. Whole languages and a wealth of data about unfamiliar societies can be learned, thus, in the space of a few thoughts, in mere heartbeats, especially if the two sharing are strong in the Force. And the Force is very strong in you, Commander Mitth'raw'nuruodo. You shine with it so that those with Force-sensitivity cannot help but see your strength."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo's gaze immediately swings back to Lorana Jinzler. "You can do this as well?"

She meets his gaze unflinchingly, even raising her chin a fraction, challengingly. "I can."

"And I am to believe that you could not lie to me, mind to mind?"

"I could hide information from you, did I wish to and possess shields strong enough to stand against you, should you wish to pursue a certain thread of knowledge. I could not actively lie to you. It is impossible to lie, mind to mind, when the communion is between two who are strong in the Force, unless the one who is telling the lie truly believes that the falsehood is the truth. Too much of the true essence of one's self is revealed in such a sharing for a deliberate untruth to be anything but glaringly obvious, to one who is strong in the Force. One may as well stand in plain sight before another and claim that one's skin is a completely different color than what it is, as to try to purposefully lie mind to mind to another who is strong in the Force."

"Ah." Shields, then, to hide the true tenor of his thoughts towards her and the fact that the word he spoke to her is the beginning of the ritual greeting of life-sworn companions and not the very similar word that functions as the beginning of the ritual greeting between allies so closely sworn that they have, in essence, mingled their clans or Families into one larger clan or Family. And distraction in the form of a great deal of willingly offered facts, to keep her from grasping the true extent of his shields. This should be interesting, if nothing else. A true challenge of his control. Eyes narrowing, he nods once, briskly. "I accept your proposition. You saved my life: I would be foolish, indeed, not to trust you."

"I'm afraid that I'll have to touch you. Your hand or better yet your head or face. I am unused to the feel of Chiss minds and the touch would provide a link I could not mistake."

"Ah. Perhaps we should sit, then?"

"If you wish. We can sit over there," Lorana offers, waving a hand out towards what he will soon learn is the weapons station. "You should bring whatever information you wish to share to the surface of your mind. It will make things easier."

Mitth'raw'nuruodo inclines his head towards the chairs she has indicated, careful to bury his nervousness deep, to reveal nothing but distant graciousness. "After you, then."

Some emotion too fleeting to capture skims with such swiftness across her face that he could have missed it entirely, given even a fraction of a heartbeat's inattention, and cannot even begin to puzzle it out, regardless of his careful watching, before she turns and strides across the bridge, walking among the spiral of chairs until she arrives at one near the center.

Mitth'raw'nuruodo follows silently, Jedi Master Ma'Ning and Chas Uliar trailing along, just as silently, behind him. Taking the chair closest to her on the right, he waits to see if she will lean forward to touch his face or hold out her hands for one of his hands.

She does neither. "What would discomfit you less, Commander?"

He takes a moment to consider it. The touch of her hand will likely call to mind his most recent impropriety, and he has no desire to share the true extent of that, though the shame of hiding such a thing burns in him as if he has swallowed acid. But to have her hand touching his face - ! No. He could not bear it. He will simply have to make his shields stronger. Taking a breath to calm and center himself (a trick he normally would never deign to resort to), he sinks the core of himself down into the deepest darkness of his most absolute shields, bringing up from behind his shields only that which he wishes her and her people to know of him and his. Then, as calmly and as expressionlessly as a marionette, he reaches out his right hand to her in offering.

She does not hesitate even a heartbeat, for which he will grateful, afterwards. Her two hands cradle his right hand, lightly, almost reverently, the contrast of her lightly tanned skin against his rich blue skin somehow starkly lovely. A handful of heartbeats pass, then, and he is about to question when she will begin when it happens.

The flavor of change. The touch of an alien catalyst.

A sensation of consummation.

Fire. Mitth'raw'nuruodo tumbles into a blazing star, clasped at the heart of her. All about him rages the storm of her being, like nothing he has ever known before. Her mind is a thing of unimaginable beauty, her spirit, her soul, a work of indescribable art, naturally magnificent and refined by purposeful training. He touches her and lets their thoughts and feelings mingle as he sinks deeper and deeper into the fire of her soul. There is discomfort to the point of pain, but it is somehow a welcome pain. Instinctively, he understands that it is the price of their mental union, and so he embraces it as a necessity, riding the pain down into her rather than fruitlessly resisting something he has already given his permission for. He can feel it as the surface of his mind, everything beyond his strongest shields, is laid bare before her, and he senses, as well, as she is, in turn, laid bare before him, the touch of her Force-sensitivity stripping his latent skill of all inhibition, until the richness and confusion of her thoughts, her knowledge, sink into his mind and pervade the deepest recesses of his soul. He clings to her, then, helplessly, reeling from all the information, a virtual sea of strangeness, swamping him with alienness. A careful touch, a soft whisper of instruction - pattern the information thus/, assimilate it /thus/, order it within your own mind and ultimately make sense of it /thus - and then he understands how to impose order onto all of that anarchy. He focuses on his sense of self, separates all that is him from the as yet unfamiliar chaos that surrounds him, and begins to trigger the mental processes that will integrate it within himself, just as if it were knowledge that he had gained himself, through much more mundane methods. Accordingly, the sea of strangeness begins to recede, its mysterious swell and flow ebbing into and becoming one with his own mind, the information contained therein adding its own stamp to the shape of his soul

The thought that this is the action of one truly touched by the gods is inescapable. He would laugh, but he is not sure how it would affect the bright flame of Lorana's soul.

When he surfaces fully into himself again, it is with a near-alien mournfulness at the forefront of his mind.

He bitterly regrets the absence of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker.

***