The Measure of a Man

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IV: We Fight

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Several days ago...

They looked a proper mess, all slumping down the ramp of Jade's Shadow. Corsucant and Duro weren't far, thankfully, though the first few hours had been tense, dodging expanding vong patrols. Droma had handled bringing the Falcon in and no one missed the significance of that, even if it passed unspoken. They were a spectrum of injury - Jacen was untouched and hale, burdened only by a haunted look in his eye. Mara was uninjured, but exhaustion clearly drug on the redhead, dark circles under her eyes and a slowness to her step, though she claimed it was only lack of sleep. Jaina was the example of healing - her short stubble growing back on the left side of her scalp, around the blinking oncocidal injector. Light radburns left only a faint blush across her face. And Han, surrounded by his family, was the picture of survival.

He hobbled, one arm begrudgingly over Jacen's shoulder. Jaina offered to get his other side, but wilted a little under her father's unimpressed glare. Han's left arm was swaddled in a thick cast, from bicep to club-like wrap around his fist. It hid from view the gut-wrenching stump of his hand, fingerless and mangled. Bandages peeked and poked out of his loose tunic and baggy trousers and his face was swollen and eyes ringed in sickly green and purple bruising.

But his mashed lips slipped into a lopsided grin that crinkled his eyes and he pushed away from his son, wobbling and hobbling down the rest of the ramp. If he noticed his children tense and barely restrain from grabbing at him, he gave nothing away.

Mara held out a hand, keeping the twins back.

Legs stiff and barely hiding a constant wince, Han stepped onto the landing pad with a deep exhale of satisfaction, carefully and slowly raising both his arms - as much as his cast-swaddled left could rise.

"Mostly in one piece," he said, words blurry around missing teeth. "Miss me, Princess?"

A single stride away and as tense as a Muun tax collector, Leia Organa Solo stood as still as chiseled ice and just as warm. Her arms were folded tight under ber breasts, shoulders hunched in, expression as hard and plain as durasteel. She wore her brown hair up in a loose bun, half-falling out to frame her face. Only her eyes moved, flickering over her husband from head to toe.

The last time they'd been in close proximity, Jacen recalled with uneasiness he shared with his twin, almost a physical presence in their bond, their parents had shared only shouted words.

"You are an idiotic and useless pirate," Leia pronounced.

Then she was in his arms and he in hers. No tears - the twins knew their mother too well for that, that it would be later she'd let it hit her more. Han clumsily returned the embrace with his injuries, unable to match his wife's intensity, but his relief and joy flooded through the Force. The two exchanged words in low tones, lost to time. Leia dug her fingers into Han's hair, grown longer.

Gently, Mara placed her arms around her niece and nephew, tugging them to her side.

"They'll be fine," she murmured, low. Jacen nodded and Jaina hummed in affirmation.

"I'll kill you myself," Leia swore, voice muffled with her face buried in Han's shoulder.

"Yeah, definitely," Jacen agreed.

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Han had refused bacta. He didn't have time to marinate, he said, and besides - his hand was the worst and bacta wasn't going to do anything about that. He did, however, allow Luke to offer the services of the Jedi Headquarters and their small but expensive medcenter. Rillao, another healer - though one with a medical degree - looked him over, tutting and clucking under her breath as she unwound Mara and Droma's handiwork, leaving bloodstained bandages in bright painted hazardous waste incinerators. She worked quickly and efficiently while Leia watched and Mara and the twins waited outside for Luke.

Then the whole clan gathered together, all save the very youngest. In fresh new bandages and with a glove fitted over his cleaned and debrided hand, Han rested easy on a reclined bed with his family gathered all around. Leia sat beside him, leaning forward to hold his good right hand in both of hers. Mara leaned against Luke, both sitting on an unused bed to the left, while the twins stood sentinel on the other side of Han.

"Y'know, on the scale of Nil Spaar to Vader, that Tsavong managed to raise the bar."

Leia extracted one hand to swat at Han's shoulder.

"I'm serious! Spaar's rolling in his grave right now, I'm sure." Han frowned. "Hey, and Thracken too. Huh. Four times."

"It's your winning personality," Mara remarked, drier than Tattooine.

"Something like that." Han sobered, looked around at his family. "I'm…look, I haven't been the best. Father. Or husband." He exhaled roughly, blinking hard for a moment.

"Dad-" Jaina tried, but he shook his head.

"No, let me finish." He tightened his grip on Leia's hand. "I shouldn't have run away. It was selfish. I was selfish. All I could think of was Chewie-" his voice caught, turned hoarse.

"We miss him too, dad," Jacen murmured.

"I can still hear him, sometimes," Luke admitted.

"I won't do it again," Han said harshly, anger spiking - directed at himself, Luke could feel. "You're stuck with me."

"I accepted that a while ago," Leia sighed, before leaning in to gently press a kiss to his bruised and split lips. "You need to talk to Anakin."

Guilt swept the room, noxious and thick from Han's pained expression.

"I do. I will. When he's on Coruscant. It needs to be face-to-face."

Leia nodded. "That's probably for the best."

There was comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts, processing how very close their small family had come to another incalculable loss. Jacen and Jaina shared their relief and their parents apparent reconciliation, though Jaina loaded her own sardonic amusement over Jacen's spectacular resumption of using the Force. His response was a mental shrug, a 'what-can-I-do'.

Your lightsaber… Jaina pushed to him, joined with memories of the weapon, the sound of its hum, the glow of the blade.

Worth it three times over.

Gently, Mara cleared her throat.

"I think now might be a good time," she said, leaning further on Luke, resting her head on his shoulder. Her eyes were half-lidded, her general exhaustion seeping from body language and Force presence both. Luke peered down at her, raising an eyebrow.

"You're sure?"

"I'm…pregnant," Mara announced, quiet, almost shy. Full of pride, full of anticipation, but tentative, like to say the words aloud, to say them to anyone else might snatch away the wonder of it all. Her smile, sleepy, was as bright as a main sequence star. "I thought some good news might be nice."

"Good news?" Jacen exclaimed. "Aunt Mara, Uncle Luke, that's - that's-"

"Amazing," Jaina finished for her twin. "Wow. That's. Wow."

They spoke over each other, Leia coming around Han's bed to embrace her brother, her sister-in-law. Han painfully adjusted himself to sit higher, beaming while the twins ran the idea of cousins through their head. Mara fielded questions - how are you, how are you, when, how long - and Luke laughed at Han's warnings to start saving up sleep now.

It was enough to cut the edges from Han's brush with death. Enough to forget, for a moment, the reasons to be in the medcenter, enough to overlook Jaina's own injuries and Leia's stress lines and the way Luke settled into a distant frown when the conversation lulled. Beating back death with new life - the cycle of the Force itself.

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Now...

One more time, the Jedi came together. From across the Galaxy and right next door, they joined as flesh and blood or as half-height holograms, or disembodied voices over a comlink. Expensive, but the Jedi Headquarters had the funding and the space for it, and the facility had been built with an eye to the future. A future with Jedi spread all across the stars, answering the call of service and far from Coruscant. There'd need to be ways to conclave and consult, to teach and demonstrate, and the main amphitheatre in the HQ was made for it.

Luke waited at the center of the chamber, sitting with his palms flat on the raised dais. There in person were his niece and nephew; the twins together and off to the side, conversing in quiet tones. Lowbacca had made journey to Coruscant, wanting to check in with his injured friend, which Jaina outwardly huffed and scoffed at. All the same, she exuded an obvious pleasure at seeing the wookiee again. Kenth, of course, made time in his otherwise busy schedule with the Navy and Tresk Im'nel, looking harried, fidgeted where he sat halfway up the tiers. Kyp Durron, freshly from the massacre of Duro lurked in cowled shadow, clammed up tight as a Hutt's purse. Mara, looking tired but glowing, watched each new arrival.

Holos of Jedi flickered to life as they joined - Cilgal and the Solusars from Yavin, along with Ikrit and of course, Anakin. Tresina Lobi, Madurrin, Kirana Ti - there was Harlan Ysanna and Lyrret, with both of their images streaked and flickering with interference. Jaden Korr and Michel Diath, Raltharan and Fahjay, Eelysa and Berd Lin and Waxarn Kel.

Dozens of Jedi, from Knights to Masters, young and old.

Yet there was little joy to be found. Even in reunions between friends who hadn't seen one another for months, even years - a pall of grim purpose spread and bloomed in the Force until Luke finally exhaled a breath, pushing off from the dais and standing. His movement caught attention and the low-level hubbub faded, eyes physical and holographic turning to him.

"I wish this was a happier gathering," he admitted. Fifty Jedi, fifty, one of the largest gatherings of the Order since before the Fall. Only the convocations called at the start of the war surpassed this one. All of them his students, by degrees. Some he'd seen grow up, some he'd helped through the darkest times of their lives. Some he did not know as well as he wished he could, some he feared for because of how well he knew them.

"Wish in one hand…" muttered Ganner Rhysode.

"Ganner," Kyp spoke the younger Knight's name lowly, but with warning.

"No, let's talk about why this isn't so happy," Octa Ramis cut in. "Isn't it so great for the Jedi to have this nice get-together?" Physically present, the young woman swept her hand around, encompassing the amphitheatre built to hold several hundred. "Don't worry about all the empty spots, I'm sure they just couldn't make it today."

"Don't make their deaths into your weapon! Have a little humility!"

"Humility is what's got us into this mess," Ganner shot back, glaring at Fahjay's holo. "We're crippling ourselves with all of these debates and deliberations. We're wasting time meeting like this. Master Skywalker, you want to warn us? Consider us warned. We all saw the Warmaster and we've all felt the deaths. Unless there's a plan-"

"Have you ever known me to waste time?" Luke asked mildly.

A few of the more belligerent Jedi glanced away, but Octa Ramis's face twisted, an ugly combination of sorrow and anger.

"Yes. Yes we have. This whole war, you've just wasted time. You tell us to sit around and think and to hold back and to wait for your lead and now Daeshara'cor is dead, and Miko is dead, and so is Swilja and Dorsk and Markre and - and -" Octa let out a sob, ducking her head and burying her face in her hands.

Each name was a slice to his heart, because as much as Octa and others might blame him - Luke blamed himself just as much. The questions lurked, unanswered and unhealthy. He knew they were fruitless to consider, he knew it was better to put it out of his mind, that the best honour he could give his students is the respect they were owed as men and women, as adults, as beings that could be trusted to make their own decisions.

But it lingered. Did he teach them enough? Did he overlook some critical factor that might have changed their fate? Could he have done something different, so that they might never have been in that circumstance? In that fatal, final moment?

The problem with saving the galaxy was that it was very hard to put that back in the box.

Mara called it a complex.

She might have been right.

"The vong killed them," Kyp countered. "Every one of them. That's on the vong. That's on the Warmaster. Not on anyone here."

"So is it time to fight, then?" the question came tentative, from the delicate Bith musician Ulaha Kore.

"It always was," Ganner snapped back at her.

"Ganner," Kyp said again.

"What, Master Durron?"

"Stop acting like everyone here is your enemy. You're better than that. We're all better than that."

"If the Warmaster can seed divisions into our own Order, we've already lost," Luke agreed. It was strange that Kyp would caution calm and unity - but the other Master had been notable by his absence in the past couple of months. His Dozen, leaderless, had fallen under Ganner's command instead and there hadn't been hide or hair of the usually fiery Jedi Master until he surfaced again on Duro with Han.

Ganner visibly gathered himself, then inclined his head toward Ulaha.

"Sorry, Kore. I…sorry." The Bith nodded back.

"We all agree that the Jedi need to do more," Luke pushed forward, unwilling to let the stressed tensions in the chamber snap again. It could be cathartic, maybe, to lance that boil, but he feared that with there was much fear in the mix. Much. Luke took a deep breath and Mara reached out for him, bolstering his strength with her own. Reaffirming his resolve.

"No matter what we should do, the vong aren't going to be content to let us find that. Not after Elan and not after the Warmaster's decree. They've continually tried to make this war personal-"

Octa Ramis' shoulders shook again.

"-and they've succeeded. I can't ask anyone to put aside their fear for their friends. I can't give commands that I can't follow. I still worry for where this war will lead…but there are possibilities that worry me more."

Kyp descended down a tier, moving closer to the stage and lowering his cowl. The man looked older, years older, with tired eyes and lips pressed thin.

"You're afraid of the vong winning."

"That's ridiculous," Jaina retorted. "The vong? Winning?"

She glanced around, to her brothers, to her uncle, to the many Jedi, almost all older than she. Whatever she saw cracked through her surety.

"You can't be serious," she said again, quieter. "They aren't winning."

"They aren't losing," Anakin replied, voice modulated by holo and distance. "That's for sure."

"They're not," Kyp confirmed. "And you know more than any of us, Master Skywalker."

From Kenth, he was privy to the Navy's intelligence. Through Mara, he had access to Karrde and other information networks. Through Tresk, friendly ties with the Senate and diplomatic corps. Friends, allies, contacts, built through decades and the Rebellion.

"The picture isn't pretty. Most of the Outer Rim is effectively lost. If it's not under vong control, it's cut off from most of the rest of the Galaxy. The Hutts, last heard from, are besieged on Nal Hutta." He'd not felt uncertainty like this, true unease like this, since the Imperial Mutiny and the Reborn Emperor. A gut-deep feeling that everything might not be ok. That the end might really be staring back at him. He'd gone far, to stop Palpatine. Maybe too far.

He wasn't sure Palpatine was the greater threat, when compared to the vong. Not anymore.

"None of this is news…" Mei Taral drawled, joining in from Booster Terrik's flying casino, Errant Venture. "What's changed? It's the Imperials, isn't it?"

"The Exiles? We're not taking them seriously, are we? Those maniacs?"

That was Luxum, the Shard Jedi bleeding incensed indignation like a pulsar, despite Ken's firm grip on her synthflesh hand. Both had been ordered back to Coruscant in a degree of disgrace after their ill-informed attempt at 'infiltrating' the Exile world of Eboracum. Luxum's synthdroid body had been rebuilt, both severed arms replaced, but the Shard hadn't shown an ounce of contrition that her partner Ken had.

"The Exiles are quickly gaining favor in the military and government. There's a lot of respect for how they fought at Fondor and their willingness to work with the Senate, instead of against it." Kenth added his own thoughts, tapping finger against his lips. "Their influence is spreading."

"It is." Luke agreed.

"And that's bad?" Jaina narrowed her eyes, looking between her younger brother and uncle. "Anakin, Uncle Luke…and wait, Master Durron, you were all part of bringing them out of their corner."

"I was, and I regret it every day." Kyp sat heavily, almost slumped onto a chair. "As the Exile's influence grows, ours wanes. They'll be the marker to live up to. They'll be the ones the public looks to."

"If they're good at killing vong, I don't care."

"You should, Octa, because they're worse than the vong could ever be." Kyp exhaled, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Master Skywalker, I know that the Exiles offered safety and refuge for Jedi in their space, but I'm urging…no, I'm begging you to reject that."

Luxum's shouted 'they offered what' was drowned out by a sudden flurry of other voices while Ganner looked like he'd been struck between the eyes.

Neither he nor Mara had quite expected where Kyp would lean today, but from this…was close to Luke's read on the other Master. It was no coincidence he vanished out of public sight right after Senator Shesh's initial summit with the Exiles, nor was it one that he stopped commanding his Dozen or that when he did turn up, it was with Han and several tens of thousands of refugees.

Kyp had seen exactly what Luke had.

The Exiles could be just as bad, or even far worse than the vong. That potential was in them, all of them, nearly born. That same depth of brutal, callous disregard for life, zealous obsession and blind devotion slithered behind the professed tenets of the Exiles, ready and waiting to burst out as infamy.

Luke had seen that it wasn't yet. Kyp, he knew now for certainty, saw that it was inevitable.

Maybe it was naivete. Maybe Luke hadn't shaken that save-the-galaxy complex that Mara teased him about.

"I won't," Luke pronounced. Luxum burst to her feet and stomped out. Ken followed, apologetic, to calm her down. "We need allies, now more than ever. The Exiles, like the vong, are a fact now. They can't be ignored or avoided. The role that we, as Jedi need to take up, is not just one as defenders, as soldiers-" he nodded to Jaina, who sat a little straighter "-or as warriors. We need to be symbols again. We need to be what Jedi can be and should be. Something to strive for. Examples." Luke reached to Mara, who placed her hand in his and squeezed. "This war is going to test the galaxy and test all of us like we've never been tested before. The Jedi have to rise to this challenge and we must exceed it."

"For who? The people who stab us in the back and sell us out? The people we bleed and die for who sell us out to a monster? Jedi for Jedi, we should protect ourselves."

Jedi for Jedi. A more terrible slogan Luke couldn't invent. He remembered his vision, of the galaxy teetering on an axis, at the spread of inky darkness against the sputtering of the light. Tsavong didn't just strike a blow at the body of the Jedi - he stabbed into their soul. Octa's pain was shared by every Jedi and if that feeling propagated, that kind of insular, reactionary defensiveness spread, then all was already lost.

"The vong can't change who we are as Jedi. When this war is over, we need to make sure the galaxy that survives it is one that's worth saving."

Later, after the meeting had dispersed, after preliminary plans had been laid and more debates had sprung to life, flared, and been banked, Luke found his sister waiting for him in his study. Mara left to see Doctor Oolos, the Ho'Din concerned about possible complications between the pregnancy and her still-in-remission disease. The twins wandered off and the Jedi in the HQ were scattering back to the stars and their responsibilities.

She asked Luke about his surety in accepting the Exile's offer of sanctuary to Jedi. She nodded while he described the need for a 'great river', a means for Jedi in danger to escape and slip away to safety and how the Exiles could be a keystone in the galactic north for that.

She sat quietly while he laid out his own concerns over the newcomers, his impressions on their leader and his belief that they could be more than they are.

Leia listened and when Luke was done, she rose and mentioned that with SELCORE's expansion, there was a good chance they could liaise with the Jedi as part of this 'great river' initiative.

Then, before she left, she fixed her brother, her good, honest brother with her fullest attention, with the weight and intensity befitting a former Chief of State of a galaxy and asked him to do his very best to keep her children far, far away from those monsters from beyond the stars.

He knew she did not mean the Yuuzhan Vong.

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For the first time in twenty five years, the slightly overgrown tarmac outside the Great Temple was filled with vehicles. Most of them were inter-system shuttles, for hops around the moon or to other moons. There were speeders, both land- and air- and a handful of hyperspace capable transports. The accumulation of time, as some were donated, some were brought and mothballed, some left by owners who passed away into the Force and still more that were true Rebellion vintage.

The vong were spreading out now, after their announced pause at Duro. More and more hyperlanes were cut in part or in full. It was getting dangerous to slip past the lines or even to pass near them, as dovin basal gravity mines were spread out further and further and patrols of rocky, yorik-coral craft became more regular. Anakin had his XJ and there were a few other fighters, but all the real career pilots of the Order were off-world and far away. The best chance was to slip away, not fight their way out.

It wasn't like Uncle Luke didn't have plans to evacuate the Praxeum, given Yavin's location - it was more that those plans went from 'soon' to 'needs to happen yesterday' without warning.

Thanks, Jacen, Anakin sighed. All the lectures from his brother, and then he goes and throws the vong Warmaster out of a window.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Did it say something about Anakin that when Jacen recounted the story for the rest of the family that his first thought was "He should have made sure the Warmaster was dead'?

Possibly.

The Warmaster putting a bounty on every single Jedi's head sort of proved that intrusive thought right. Murder was murder, but a military commander like that? Invading a world? Malik Carr almost died to Sergeant Ascratus and no one batted an eye there. Better than Tsavong Lah had died. At least then the vong would've been in turmoil over finding a new commander, instead of sitting comfortable behind their fleets and securing worlds they already took.

Anakin shook his head, self-conscious smirk on his lips. Sixteen and weighing big strategic questions for a galaxy-wide war. The trials of a Jedi Knight, right there.

"Fiver, you'll be alright?" His astromech tootled and whistled back. "Yeah, just run a randomization of my usual maneuvers. I trust you, buddy."

With luck, there'd be no need for Fiver to fly his XJ in any kind of combat. Anakin was planning to fly one of the shuttles up to the Exile's ship when it arrived, leaving Fiver to move not only the X-Wing, but also through remote links the handful of other fighters the Praxeum had in storage. The little astromech would have to cut them loose in case of danger, since it wasn't built as some kind of droid-remote-controller or anything, but for getting off the moon and into a hangar? Fiver could do that.

The shuttles were the priority. Not only were they carrying the next generation of Jedi, but also all the relics and databanks of Jedi lore recovered through all the painstaking work of archivists and archaeologists like Tionne and Tash Arranda. Tahiri had mentioned she was surprised that everyone was willing to entrust all this to these Imperials and Anakin mulled that over for a few days. She was sort of right - the Exiles were still brand new. Sure, Anakin felt he had a good read on those two Astartes, on Zalthis and Solidian, and Captain Thiel had been at the Praxeum for closing in on a month now, but that was three out of…a whole lot more.

He poked and prodded at it while they packed. Tahiri drew Sannah out of her funk some, though the younger girl was less chatty and more reactive. That was just fine, since Tahiri could talk enough for three people. They made a little team, just the three of them, bouncing around on tasks from Kam and Tionne. Ikrit helped them out at times too, managing to turn things into lessons. He made the three of them empty out an entire store room while wearing blindfolds and earplugs, which resulted in a couple of bumped noses and elbows but had Sannah laughing by the end of it.

Maybe Uncle Luke just trusted them that much? His Uncle had met, one-on-one, with the Primarch of the Exiles, and for several hours. Enough time to get a read on the man? Probably. It was Uncle Luke, after all, and his Uncle had a talent for seeing through to the deepest truth of a person. Master Durron would've had a very different fate, otherwise.

So that was an option - just trust that his Uncle trusted them that much and put it out of his mind.

That wasn't enough. They…hadn't always seen eye to eye, not in this war. Not at first. It had hurt, to feel like he was questioning Master Skywalker. Felt like he was siding with Kyp Durron and Ganner Rhysode and the more 'proactive' Jedi. It made his stomach twist when he felt, really felt like he was right and his Uncle just wasn't. It was like up was down and down was up, because Uncle Luke was never wrong about things and besides, Anakin was a kid and how could he possibly know better…

Except that he wasn't that much younger than his Uncle was when he'd set out from Tatooine and changed the whole galaxy.

This led to the question, then: did Anakin trust the Exiles? It was one thing to ride in their ships and fight with them on Obroa-Skai, because the only person who would be hurt, really, if they were treacherous was Anakin. His life was one he could risk, because it was his. That was fair.

Now there were thirty kids that he was going to be responsible for. Thirty kids. Master Horn's children, the Brizzit twins, Master Vaal's daughter… It was their lives that were at risk. Kids. Kids! Tahiri was definitely not part of that group as she'd never let him hear the end of it, but Sannah definitely was and she was one of the oldest at 13. Kids.

He trusted Zalthis with his own life, because that's something you don't just lose after running from rakamats and duelling vong warriors together. Trust him with the trainees?

Probably yes, actually. Zalthis understood when Anakin asked him to just disable the slaves on the library world. He seemed to understand when they talked, later, on Samothrace, about what it meant to be a Jedi, a little bit about what it meant to be Astartes.

And if he could trust Zalthis, he could trust Solidian too, since the two were a package deal. Captain Thiel wasn't that good at self-control that he could've kept dark thoughts away from the multiple Masters at the Praxeum either, so he passed too. Which meant that the new Astartes coming, under Aeonid's command, probably could be trusted too, and also Alebmos, and-

He finished preflight, going through it by rote, mind wandering.

A slightly more grim reason occurred to him, too. If the Exiles tried anything, they'd have several very angry Jedi Masters inside their own ship. That wasn't good for anyone involved.

Maybe he was letting Master Durron's words get to him, a little. The Jedi conference about the Warmaster's grudge and what to do going forward stuck with him. He hadn't said much, just listening in and watching his Uncle's holo. It was so strange to hear Kyp Durron preaching unity and moderation. And how much disgust flavored his tones when he talked about the Exiles!

Sure, they had a lot of problems. But Kyp made it sound like they were as deviously dark - or Dark - as Palpatine was.

Worse than the vong. Well. Maybe Kyp could let Anakin know when the Exiles blew up a couple planets and started throwing living beings into suns. Then they could compare notes about which was worse. Like Primarch Guilliman said to the Senate: he was willing to come and talk. The vong never cared to at all.

No - worse than that, when the vong pretended to want to talk, it turned out to be nothing more than a ploy to kill as many Jedi as possible.

Anakin ambled away from his XJ, pulling out his datapad and checking over his notes for what he needed to do for the day. Preflight on his X-Wing - done. Looking over two of the oldest shuttles to make sure they didn't have any chewed conduits and that the ion engines were responsive - check. Loading up the Gallofree with landspeeders and swoop bikes - check. Today was 'vehicle' day and he caught sight of Tahiri's cloud of blonde hair across the tarmac as she and Sannah and the other trainees brought down their luggage. Temerity was already in-system and coming fast, meaning tomorrow was probably it. The last day.

But to the whole 'trusting the Exiles with the whole future of the Jedi' problem - the last point was the uncomfortable 'who else'. The New Republic Navy couldn't spare a squadron to run the line and make it here. And if they did, there was a good chance the vong could track them right to Yavin anyway. Talon Karrde and his organization didn't have the centralized fleet that they used to and could pose a similar problem.

Yavin's strength was that it was, basically, unknown. The Empire had removed it from their maps shortly after the Battle of Yavin and no one had really noticed a nowhere, nothing system quietly erased from the Ministry's navicomputer updates. The local sector was quiet and sleepy and while the name 'Yavin' was pretty famous for being where the first Death Star blew up, no one really cared about the place as much as the event.

Daala found the Praxeum because she had inherited all the secret documents of the Empire. Which meant the Remnant knew where Yavin was, like the New Republic did, but it still stayed off common maps.

A lot of people thought of his Uncle as being naive, but Anakin knew that Luke had never once forgotten the tragedy of the Fall.

So for the 'who else' question. The Exiles were total unknowns. There was practically no way the vong had any infiltrators with them, at least none deep enough to matter. Their ships and their crazy 'warp' engines didn't care a single bit about hyperspace mass shadows, rendering all those cut hyperlanes totally moot.

And, when he thought about it, in a way, the Exile's own xenophobia sort of played into them being more reliable. Sure, they'd curl their lips and sneer at all the beings at the Praxeum, but they'd sooner die than work with the vong. And from the way Zalthis had seemed mortally offended at the thought of any kind of betrayal, it really showed how seriously their culture held to keeping their word.

Ironic, then, that the Exile's dislike of aliens actually kept other nonhumans safer.

"Wow, you're lightyears away," Tahiri said suddenly, right into his ear. Anakin jumped, whirling and she rocked back, beaming.

"Sorry, I was thinking." he replied, automatically.

"Well, don't. I'm the brains here. You're just the muscle."

He scratched at his head.

"Didn't you almost get eaten like, a week ago?"

"All part of a plan, obviously. What were you thinking about? Trying to think about, I mean."

Anakin nodded toward Aeonid's Thunderhawk, sitting off to the side and looking entirely conspicuous in comparison to the other, much more normal shapes of shuttles and small freighters.

"The Exiles, mostly. It seems…well, we're packing up the whole Temple and putting it up on one of their ships."

Tahiri's fuzzing energy faded a little, replaced by smoother seriousness. She pursed her lips, narrowing her green eyes and hummed.

"Yeah. That is something to think about."

Serious Tahiri was a rare thing, but it was a good look for her. It made her look older, less like a girl and more like, like a Knight. Although. She didn't entirely need to drop the toothy grin and bouncing energy to do that. Like him, she was in a jumpsuit, though sans the boots he wore. Jumpsuits were sort of just the thing they always wore, usually the matching orange or tan ones. Comfortable, durable, loaded with pockets, they were kind of the unofficial uniform of a Jedi trainee.

His fit different now. Tighter in the chest even after going up a size and he didn't have to cuff the ankles once. Tahiri's fit different too. It was a little distracting - he'd glance over at her and there'd be a different person where she was standing. Then it would click - oh right, Tahiri.

Emerald eyes flicked to ice blue.

"What?"

Oddly warm, Anakin looked back over to the Thunderhawk. "Nothing."

"Right. Anyway, Master Skywalker said it'll be fine, so - it'll be fine! Stop frowning. Your face will get stuck like that and then I'm gonna have to look at it all the time."

Anakin laughed. It was that easy. Master Skywalker says so, so it is.

----------------------------------------

The gunship was…cute? It landed next to Aeonid's Thunderhawk on hissing plumes of steam and exhaust, a far cry from smooth and silent repulsorlifts. It looked rather like someone took Thunderhawk and put it in a trash compactor, until it mashed the wings in, the fuselage down and all that pressure made it stumpy and fat. Storm Eagle, Aeonid called it, and it launched in advance of Temerity, arrowing down to Yavin 4 with two presences that Anakin recognized.

The mid-morning of Yavin 4 was humid, but with a cool breeze from the north that belied the jungle around. It had rained last night, after Anakin finished preparing Fiver and his XJ along with the other starfighters, leaving a tinge of ozone and petrichor in the air. Temerity entered the Yavin system late last night, while he'd been asleep, and even now was thundering ever-closer from almost halfway across the system.

Certainly a downside to those 'warp' drives. Anakin imagined having to sit in his XJ's cockpit for hours on end, just to get from planet to planet within the same system. Then he imagined Jaina and figured that if anything would make his sister go Dark, it might just be that.

He couldn't keep a smile from his face as the waist hatch slid open and the now familiar shapes of Astartes in full armor tromped out. The first three Anakin didn't recognize - new faces across a span of ages. Then came Zalthis, bigger than Anakin remembered - probably because of the armor. And behind him Solidian and Anakin sucked in a breath at the nasty, vivid webbing of scars that crawled across half of Solidian's bare scalp.

The first three Astartes made for Aeonid, who waited nearby in Jedi robes. Kam Solusar waited to welcome them as well, but otherwise everyone else was well occupied with final packing and preparations. Tionne had the children playing a game of combing through the Temple for any last things that might have been forgotten.

Zalthis and Solidian, though, made straight for Anakin. Beside him, Tahiri tensed a little.

Not quite sure how to greet them, Anakin was about to give a shallow bow when Zalthis thrust forward his gauntlet, hand open. Ah, that - Anakin reached to shake, but Zalthis skipped past Anakin's extended hand and grasped his forearm in a strange grip.

"Anakin," Zalthis growled, voice much deeper than he recalled. "It's good to see you again, my friend."

Belatedly, Anakin returned the gesture, clasping Zalthis' enormously armoured forearm in return. Sol inclined his head and Anakin noticed with interest the distinctly blaster shape of a cannon slung over Sol's shoulder.

"Shee-eesh," Tahiri whistled. "So it's not just Aeonid who's gigantic."

Zalthis released Anakin's arm and turned to Tahiri, peering down at the blonde who stared right back up at him.

"Tahiri, this is Zalthis. And Solidian. Zal, Sol, this is Tahiri, my best friend."

Sol inclined his head again, but Zalthis actually bowed at the waist.

"Tahiri. Anakin spoke of you."

Her emerald eyes narrowed.

"So you're the one who got to go on adventures with my best friend."

Zalthis blinked.

"That…may be an apt description?" he ventured. Solidian snorted.

Tahiri rolled her eyes.

"Well, you're here now, so that means you better get used to me. Package deal, get it? Me, him. Both of us. Got it?"

Was that actual anger in her voice? Anakin reached for her and Tahiri rebuffed him. Rebuffed him. Her presence was like a rubber wall and his gentle probe rebounded and all he felt from her was exasperation. Privacy, please, it said.

"Very well. Any friend of Anakin should be a friend of mine."

Solidian muttered something in the Exile's language, Zal snapping back a reply that caused the other Astartes to look chastened. Pushing past it, Zalthis gestured toward Aeonid and the other Astartes.

"I should introduce you to the others. Our squad, in fact."

The pride brimming from both of the Astartes was so bright Anakin half expected them to glow. A few topics of their conversations came back to him and Anakin sucked in a breath.

"You're actually Astartes now, aren't you?"

Zal's smile was not like Alebmos', where it suited the weathered old Lexicanium through incongruity. When Zalthis smiled, Anakin saw the boy behind the muscle and armor.

"We are. Captain Thiel approved us right after Obroa-skai."

He remembered Zalthis describing the process, in general terms at least. All the surgeries and implantations, all the things done to take a boy and turn them into a genetic supersoldier. Honestly, it all sounded fairly barbaric and tortuous, but the way Zalthis talked about it, it was clearly the greatest possible honor he could imagine. There was a timeline to it as well, as an initiate - trainee? - no, neophyte - moved through the process. The last step Anakin couldn't quite recall, but it was the one that let them where the full armor that Ascratus and Aeonid wore, not the cut-down and slim armor that he'd first seen Zal and Sol in.

"Wow! Congratulations, both of you. That's like becoming a Knight, isn't it?"

Zal nodded.

"As we discussed, very nearly so. Sol and I are part of Captain Thiel's company now. First Adaptive Tactics Company, Second Squad."

They joined Aeonid and Solusar and the other Astartes. Zalthis introduced each in turn, matching names to faces. The oldest looking and most weathered, who looked somewhat like he had fallen face-first into a bucket of vibroblades was named Tercinax. A blonde with tight curls and what seemed to be a perpetual sneer was Varien and the third, complected similarly to Solidian was Amalius.

"I requested Second Squad as insurance," Aeonid was saying. "There is no reason to suspect the Yuuzhan Vong, but Alebmos is an important asset."

"You're all welcome here at the Praxeum," Kam Solusar replied. "We're already in your debt for helping us on such short notice and for putting one of your ships at risk."

"No debts, Master Solusar," Aeonid denied. "You took me into your halls and offered me training without reservation. The Primarch wishes to be fast friends with the Jedi - this is acting as allies should."

Kam reached out - and up - and rested his hand on Aeonid's shoulder.

"You're helping protect our children. That's a debt, no matter what."

Tahiri muttered something under her breath. Annoyingly, she was still blocking him off so Anakin couldn't even guess at it.

"Captain, if I might be allowed, I should like time to spar with Knight Solo."

Was that amusement on Aeonid's face? Couldn't be - the Astartes never wore anything but a mask of indifference, interest and intensity.

"Granted. Second Squad, you have your orders. I trust them to be enacted without my oversight."

Varien, nominally in command, saluted with the strange interlinked thumb gesture over his chest.

"Yes, Captain. Amalius, Tercinax, with me. Little brothers, go and play with the Jedi."

Solidian bristled but Zalthis laughed.

"You haven't seen a Jedi's bladework," Zal returned. "Call it play once you do, Varien."

----------------------------------------

Later that afternoon, Aeonid sparred with Master Katarn. Anakin, sweating like a Corellian between spice and sabaac, sucked down at least half a liter of water and glared at Zalthis. The Astartes looked enervated, not even slightly worn down. Supersoldier, transhuman, bred for war, geneforged - all those silly terms Zalthis used ran through Anakin's head and for a moment, he hated each and every single one of them.

"You've improved," Zal commended.

"It's been a month," Anakin groused.

"Still, compared to the last time…" Zal trailed off.

"'Course he did," Tahiri called from outside the ring. The jungles around the Temple were dotted with spaces like this, where the undergrowth was kept at bay and open, mossy clearings were kept for sparring practice. A thin wire boundary outlined the space, a handsbreadth off the ground, not enough to trip but enough to mark where an opponent was pushed out of bounds. The limitations pushed creativity, Master Katarn assured.

"It's Anakin, of course he's better."

She'd been shouting encouragement through each of his and Zalthis' bouts. At first Anakin had been pleased, but then she started to get..strange. Not so much complimenting Anakin or encouraging him but firing shots at the Astartes. Laughing when Anakin managed to tag Zal or jeering when Anakin evaded a particularly complex gambit.

It started to feel…mean spirited.

Which wasn't the Tahiri that Anakin knew. She didn't have a cruel bone in her body. She'd never teased anyone - other than him, of course - at the Praxeum. She made friends as easy as breathing.

Retrieving a towel and mopping his face, he watched Tahiri as she watched Zal and Sol gesture and demonstrate moves off to the side with her eyes narrowed and a frown pulling at her mouth.

Everyone was changing. Everyone was getting older and like he'd realized - he'd never really been a kid. Neither had Tahiri. Like how his jumpsuit didn't fit quite the same anymore, did the Tahiri he knew…not quite fit the young woman she was becoming? He swallowed hard, pushing the nauseating idea down. No. Tahiri was Tahiri. This was…she was just supporting a friend. A best friend. There was nothing else to read into here.

Sol was next into the ring, chest bare and fatigue trousers rolled to his knees. Sannah, shirking off helping Tionne, watched with odd focus. For a change of pace, Kam Solusar had allowed them to use training 'sabers, the kind that could only do a nasty sting if it struck you. Zalthis was fascinated by the weapon and how odd it felt in his hands and it was proper payback for how brutal their very first spar had been on Samothrace, when Anakin had been totally thrown off by the all-wrong weight and feel of a practice sword.

What goes around comes around, and he'd thrashed Zalthis the first round without breaking a sweat, leaving the Astartes adopting an exaggerated glower and with rapidly fading red marks criss-crossing his body.

Sol tossed the training lightsaber from hand to hand, the pale white blade flipping and wobbling in the air.

"This feels entirely peculiar," he announced. "I can scarcely believe this is a functional weapon."

Wordlessly, Anakin gestured to the neighboring ring where Aeonid and Master Katarn were a barely visible whirlwind. Sol barked a laugh.

They eased into their spar, Anakin taking pity on Sol and not going for the 'kill' immediately. Like Zal, the weight difference confused the Astartes and for all his size and uncanny speed, he was clumsy in adapting. Even half again as tall as Anakin, Zal and Sol weren't that much taller than Lowie. He hadn't paired off against the Wookiee all that much, but Lowie wasn't the only taller-than-average Jedi in the Order. What set the Astartes apart was their speed, which still sort of took Anakin's breath away. They moved as fast as a Jedi but without a hint of the Force. No one that tall and that bulky should be that nimble.

They were just settling into a smooth back-and-forth, Anakin giving pointers and tips to Sol on proper handling of a lightsaber when a sudden burst of alarm rippled from all three Astartes. Sol paused in the middle of a strike, unnaturally quick. Anakin stumbled, off-balance and expecting to make contact.

"Zal!" Sol cried, reaching up to tap a tiny, embedded earpiece.

"I heard it, Sol," Zalthis called back. "Captain!"

Aeonid, breathing hard, shut off his training 'saber, tossing it to Master Katarn.

"Vong," the Captain hissed. "Temerity reports a squadron decanted moments ago. Just beyond the gravity influence of Yavin."

"How long until Temerity makes orbit?" Master Katarn asked.

"Half a day. Perhaps slightly more. Varien barely outpaced in the Storm Eagle."

Anakin clenched his fists.

"Then we fight," he promised.