Remnant of the Imperial Fleet, Dromund Kaas Orbit

Quinn insisted on coming aboard the flagship as soon as they'd docked. Vette kept her complaints to herself as he limped quickly-too quickly for his injuries-towards the bridge, shifting much of his surprisingly-solid weight onto her tiny frame with every other step.

A pale woman with gray hair falling out of her chignon turned around when the door opened to them.

"Malavai!" Vette recognized the voice as the Imperial woman from the transmission. The speaker hurried forward to embrace Quinn, who returned the gesture with intense relief. Vette had to stop herself looking back and forth between the two of them, their stark faces wearing near-identical looks of stress and concern, worry creasing each of their blue eyes and high cheekbones in just the same way. She could only assume this was Quinn's mother.

The reunion came to an abrupt end as Malavai pulled away. "Any word from Ishtaa? She should have flagged a shuttle by now."

Trepidation furrowed his mother's brow. "No, nothing."

Quinn withdrew further, sensing bad news. "What is it?"

There was only a fraction of a second's hesitation before she decided to cut to chase and say it. "We've called a full retreat."

"What?!"

"There's no other option."

"There's always another option." His face twisted into a well-honed scowl, the one he used when he was about to give incompetent recruits the lecture of a lifetime. "A retreat on whose orders?"

"Mine."

Vette nearly jumped out of her skin at the dark rumble that came up behind her. Quinn's mother visibly stiffened, though her face appeared neutral.

Quinn himself went quiet at Marr's declaration, but didn't wipe the scowl from his face. "Darth Marr," he muttered, bowing. Formality satisfied, he launched right back into his tirade. "My lord, Darth Ishtaa is an unparalleled asset to the Empire. I must insist that we-"

"Captain, I shall take your strategic commentary under advisement, but do not ever presume to insist on a particular course of action again." Having secured Quinn's livid, temporary silence, Marr went on. "Our situation has changed. The usurpers have called off their pursuit on the surface and regrouped in orbit. They are concentrating fire on our command vessels. Our fighters will keep them at bay, but time is running short. Between the coup and the ships already in my command, we may have taken near half the fleet, but it is comprised of smaller ships. We would lose any battle of attrition. A loss I refuse. If the Empire is to survive we must withdraw from orbit as soon as it is viable to do so."

"Leaving without her is not what I should call viable."

"Your loyalty is admirable," Marr said. "Your impertinence less so. I suggest you return to medical immediately, Captain, before you suffer more serious injury." He gestured to officers standing by.

Vette resisted as they tried to drag her and Captain Quinn off to the infirmary, but Quinn's mother shook her head, signaling for patience. She cleared her throat quietly to capture Darth Marr's attention.

The Sith turned to acknowledge the grey-haired woman. Vette got the impression that he was raising an eyebrow under his mask.

Lady Quinn hesitated before she spoke, as though she was reluctant to say whatever she had planned. "Captain Quinn's assessment is accurate," she said. "Lord Ishtaa's martial prowess is considerable. Losing her would be a detriment to our cause."

Marr's was incapable of speaking softly, but Vette heard a note of gruff respect in his reply. "I presume you have a reason for stating the obvious."

"Risking the whole fleet on her life would be irresponsible. Risking one ship, on the other hand, sounds like a reasonable gambit. Particularly a ship that isn't yours."

"You propose a rescue mission."

"Correct."

Marr paused for a moment. "Agreed. Assemble a crew and make haste. Take what resources you need to man your shuttle appropriately."

"Thank you." Lady Quinn turned to the nearest crewman. "Tell the crew to prepare my shuttle for departure. Advise medical to restock my supplies for emergency evac."

"Yes, ma'am."

She shot Quinn a look. Before he had a chance to open his mouth, she said, "You're not going to stay put, are you?" He began to stammer an answer but thought better of it. His mother turned to Vette with a slight eye roll, jerking her head in the direction of the shuttle bay. "Help him aboard. Don't let him do anything daring."

Lady Quinn turned on her heel and strode off, crewmen and petty officers scattering as she made her way to her ship with a storm in her eyes.

The Fathom, Praetorian class starship, Dromund Kaas near the Dark Temple

Jaesa suppressed a shiver as she stepped aboard. Her newly cropped hair had nearly dried, but her robes were still damp, and the arid, artificial cold of the ship was a sharp change from the jungle rains outside.

She shuddered again. Belatedly, she realized it wasn't a shiver this time – not a rapid, fluttering spasm in her bones, but a slow, heavy, wracking heave that left her curled in on herself. Her eyes burned.

Furiously, she wiped away the tears and forced her back to straighten. Her spine was made of durasteel. Her heart a desolate rock. She had made her choice, turned her back on the pain, the hope, the fear that came from attachment. She had cut it all away. But the excision left her bleeding.

The wound would have to be cauterized. It was not sufficient to cut off all ties from her old, foolish ways. She would have to burn away the ragged flesh that was left behind.

She turned inward and began to build a fire in her heart. She fed it seething thorns, gnarled with hate, and felt the flames begin to rise. She turned her fury towards the ones she had once loved.

If she could not stop caring about Ishtaa, she would hate her, and everything else she once held dear.

The Illyria, a Socii-class shuttle, Dromund Kaas

The ship thudded and lurched as the pilot tried his best to keep the ship aright in the increasingly treacherous rainstorm. Malavai winced as a sharp turn popped another one of his stitches. Melia tsked quietly, turning him to face away from her. She peeled away the blood-spotted undershirt and swiftly reapplied a kolto patch to the red and purple motley of his back. Malavai hurriedly pulled his undershirt back down as soon as she was finished, fumbling a bit as he grabbed for his jacket.

"You're sure she's on foot?" the pilot asked, not for the first time.

"Certain," Quinn said, attempting to button his shirt. "There's no transport in that district that's not com-linked. She would have hailed us by now if she had transportation." He realized abruptly that he had done up one of the buttons out of alignment. He gave up rather than fix it, eyes straying all across the viewport with growing alarm.

Melia grimaced, pulling her son down to sit properly when he craned to look out the window. "Nothing on the scanners?"

"Not a sign, ma'am. Running heat and motion sensors on a 100-meter radius, limited accuracy another hundred beyond that. If she's here, her signature's too faded for detection."

"The rain here isn't cold enough to mask her body temperature or cause hypothermia. She might be in shock, or suffering blood loss. And she's likely not mobile if we're not reading motion. Something must have happened to her."

"She could be inside," Quinn said in a hard voice.

"Negative," the pilot shot back. "Your blue friend cracked their surveillance systems. If the lady is in there, we'd have heard."

Quinn gritted his teeth. "Keep looking," he said.

Kaas City

Ishtaa opened her eyes—or rather, one very swollen eye—only to close them against the torrential rain. She groaned and tried to move to no avail. Her muscles were like blocks of ice, cracking and groaning at the first push of weight. She strained with all her might to roll over. With an effort that felt like it would tear her lungs apart, she managed to roll onto her side. Unable to move any further, she lay completely still and fought to control her breathing. Every shallow gasp of air, the slight expansion of her lungs, made her ribcage ache in protest.

She let her jaw go slack, relishing in the stream of water that came pouring down her throat. Her mouth was sticky and hot with dehydration. She let the water wash everything away.

Illyria, above Dromund Kaas

The ship began to beep and whine, red lights flashing their alarms.

"Ma'am, the ship can't take much more of this. We should return to orbit."

Quinn gritted his teeth. "No."

Now the pilot was growing angry. "With all due respect, Captain, this is getting absurd. We have gone above and beyond to find your Lord Sith. She's not here. We should return to the fleet while we still can."

Quinn looked away from the pilot. If he looked at him any longer he was going to split the bastard's lip for his cowardice. All thoughts of the pilot dissipated from Quinn's mind, however, as soon as he set eyes on his mother. She was holding herself strangely. All of a sudden, she had gotten very quiet.

He touched her shoulder gently. "Mother?"

She made no response. She remained still, eyes transfixed on something far away that only she could see.

Quinn gave her a light shake. "Mother?"

Her face was still and white as marble. Her lips scarcely moved as she spoke. "I see her."

"What?" Quinn raced to the viewport, following his mother's line of sight. "Where?"

"Not here. But I see her. I know where to find Ishtaa."

Quinn stared at her for a moment, uncertainty written across the lines of his forehead. They had no idea where Ishtaa could be. There were dozens of rooftops she could have gotten to, all of them flooded with rain and strewn with rubble—every portion of the Justice district littered with the shattered echoes of battle. There was no way to know for sure where Ishtaa was. There was not enough data.

There is the Force.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Quinn felt a flicker of recognition. It was only the tiniest glow, but it was right. He felt the light kiss his skin, warm and soft as sun breaking through the clouds on a bitter day. She was right.

Quinn didn't know when he had closed his eyes. When he opened them, his decision was clear.

"Lieutenant, give her the controls."

"What?"

Quinn glared down the pilot's protest. "Give her the controls," he ordered. "Make yourself useful and ready the med bay."

The pilot swallowed and nodded, rising from his seat shakily. "O-okay. Yes. Yes, sir."

Melia slid into the pilot's seat as soon as it was vacant. Muscle memory kicked in and she began to steer, expertly making adjustments to switches and levers, guiding the ship lower and closer to the buildings.

Quinn saw her face light up in quiet victory a few moments later.

"There," she said, pointing. Her voice trembled. "I see her."

Quinn squinted, struggling to see through the sheets of rain. Then his stomach dropped.

He saw Ishtaa sprawled and soaking wet in a shallow pool. Her clothing was covered in shards of glass. Blood and rain had matted her hair to her face.

"Take us in," Quinn said. He hurried to the back of the shuttle, casting about for something he could use to get Ishtaa dry and warm. He found a uniform greatcoat tossed sloppily over a crate. He grabbed it and made for the side door, waiting to spring into action as soon as it opened.

He threw himself out the door. Heedless of the rain or the minor lakes splashing all around, he sprinted towards his lord. He crouched down when he reached her, checking her pulse.

"Ishtaa," he said. A roll of thunder drowned out his voice. "Ishtaa," he said a little louder. "My lord, can you hear me?"

The howling wind swallowed any sound she might have made. Her head lolled over to the side, submerging part of her mouth and nose in the water. Quinn straightened her head and arranged the greatcoat over his arms. He cradled her neck and the backs of her legs and pulled her body towards him to lie upon the thick grey wool. He wrapped the coat around her and picked her up. He cringed against the strain in his back—fought the pain of barely-healed wounds trying to reopen.

Melia met him at the door of the shuttle, scanner already in hand. She herded Quinn towards their makeshift medbay and helped him to set Ishtaa down on the stretcher.

Quinn smoothed the wet, bloody hair from Ishtaa's face as his mother scanned. "You're safe," he said, as much to himself as to the unconscious woman before him. "You're alive. You're alive."