Clenching his jaw in frustration, Johun spat out a harsh accusation. "You just want to believe the Sith are gone forever! That's why you refuse to see what's right in front of us."
"And you want to believe the Sith still exist," Farfalla countered, though his voice echoed none of the anger in the Padawan's challenge. "You want to strike out against those who killed your Master. Your desire to avenge him has blinded you to the facts. If you were thinking clearly, you would see that there is one part of the story that calls the entire account into question."
Johun blinked in surprise. "You have proof they're lying?"
"It's right there in the report you filed," Farfalla informed him. "They claim that a Dark Lord of the Sith slaughtered their friends. But somehow they survived the encounter. How is that possible?"
"They… they escaped into the trees," Johun stammered, knowing how foolish the words sounded even as he said them.
"You are a Jedi," Farfalla admonished him. "You know the power of the Force. Do you really believe they could have escaped the wrath of a Sith Master simply by running into the forest?"
He would have hunted them down and butchered them like zucca pigs, Johun admitted to himself. "Maybe he wanted to let them live for some reason " he suggested, still unwilling to surrender the point.
"Why?" Farfalla asked. "If a Sith Lord survived the thought bomb, why would he leave witnesses behind who could expose him to his enemies?"
Johun had no answer for this. It didn't make any sense. But somehow he knew-he knew-the mercenaries were telling the truth.
"Johun," the general said, sensing his inner conflict. "You must be completely honest with yourself. Do you really believe we can trust these mercenaries?"
Johun thought back to the prisoners in the cell and the endless string of lies pouring from their mouths. He thought about his own warning to the guard watching over them: Don't believe anything they say. And Johun finally realized what a fool he'd been.
"No, Master Valenthyne. You are right. They can't be trusted." After a moment he added, "I… I would like to speak with Irtanna and Bordon when they get back. To apologize for what I did to them."
"I'm glad to hear you say that, Johun" Farfalla said with a wan smile. "We Jedi are not infallible. It is important that we stay humble enough to admit when we make a mistake.
"Unfortunately, apologizing in person will not be possible," he continued. "I have been summoned to Coruscant to meet with Chancellor Valorum. Since you obviously cannot be trusted to follow my instructions in my absence, you will be accompanying me as my aide."
The proclamation had been framed as a punishment, but Johun's heart leapt at the words. In effect, Master Valenthyne was offering to take him on and mentor him.
"I… thank you, Master," was all he could say. Not sure what else to do, he gave a short bow.
"It's what Hoth would have wanted for you," Farfalla said softly. Then, louder, "We'll leave as soon as I finish making the arrangements for others to take over command of the fleet while I'm gone."
"Why does the Chancellor want to meet with you so urgently?" Johun asked, suddenly curious.
"Now that the Brotherhood of Darkness has been defeated, the Galactic Senate wants to put an official end to this war. There is important legislation on the table that could change the face of the Republic forever. Valorum wants to discuss it with me before the Senate votes."
"And this legislation will affect the Jedi as well?"
"It will," Farfalla answered grimly. "In ways you cannot even begin to imagine."
Zannah's feet hurt. Her calves ached. Her thighs burned with every step. Yet somehow she ignored the pain and pushed herself to go on.
She'd been walking ever since Darth Bane's ship had disappeared over the horizon, leaving her alone once again. Her mission was clear: make her way to Onderon. To do that, she had to find a ship to get her off Ruusan. That meant finding other people. But Zannah had no idea where any other people might be, and so she had simply chosen a random direction and started walking.
She was too small to pilot the swoop bike Bane had used to whisk them across the landscape. At first that hadn't mattered: She'd used her newfound talents in the Force to propel herself along, running so fast that the world passed by her in a blur of wind and color. But while the Force may have been infinite, her ability to draw upon it was not. Her skills were still developing, and fatigue had set in quickly. She had felt her pace slowing as her strength ebbed, and though she tried to summon the power of the dark side again by tapping into her deep reserves of anger and hate, her exhausted will could only call up the faintest flicker of a response.
Now she'd been reduced to a tired little girl plodding across the war-torn Ruusan landscape. Yet she refused to surrender to despair, instead focusing all her energy on putting one foot in front of the other. It was impossible to say how long she continued her forced march-how many hours or kilometers she endured-before she was rewarded with what she sought: the sight of a shuttle in the distance.
Hope gave new life to her weary limbs, and she managed a clumsy, limping run toward the vessel. She could see people milling about the craft: a young woman, an older man, and two teenage boys. As she drew nearer the woman noticed her and called out to one of her companions.
"Bordon! Tell the boys we've found someone who needs help."
Minutes later Zannah found herself inside the vessel's cargo hold, sitting on a supply chest while wolfing down nutrition bars from a ration kit and chasing them with a piping-hot cup of chav. One of the boys had thrown a thick blanket over her shoulders, and the entire crew was now hovering protectively around her,
"I've never seen someone so small eat so much," the woman said with a laugh.
She didn't look like she'd come from Ruusan originally. She had dark skin and short black hair, and she wore a bulky padded vest under her jacket. There was also a blaster pistol strapped to her hip, making Zannah fairly certain she was a soldier of some type.
"What did you expect, Irtanna?" the older man said. In contrast to the woman, he looked like he was probably a native of Ruusan. He had broad shoulders, leathery skin, and a short brown beard. He reminded Zannah of Root, the cousin who had raised her as a little girl back on her homeworld of Somov Rit. "The poor thing's nothing but skin and bones. When was the last time you had a decent meal, girl?"
Zannah shook her head. "I don't know," she said around a mouthful of food.
She'd only accepted their offer of a meal out of politeness. Ever since she had arrived on Ruusan she'd been living on roots and berries, her body constantly on the edges of starvation. She'd been doing it for so long that she'd gotten used to the pangs of a perpetually empty stomach, adapting to the point that she was barely aware of her hunger. But the moment that first bite of real food hit her tongue, she remembered her appetite, and now her body was determined to make up for weeks of poor nutrition.
"Where are your parents?" the woman called Irtanna asked.
"They're dead," Zannah answered after a moment's hesitation, setting down what remained of the ration kit. The food was delicious; the simple physical pleasure of eating was a glorious sensation. But she couldn't allow herself to be distracted by it right now. She had to be very careful with what she told these people.
The man crouched beside her, bringing himself down to her eye level. When he spoke, his voice was soft and sympathetic. "Any other family? Brothers or sisters? Anyone?"
She answered with another shake of her head.
"A war orphan," Irtanna muttered sadly.
"My name's Bordon," the man told her, "This is Irtanna, and these are my sons Tallo and Wend. What's your name?"