You Must (Not) Let Go

Part 4

A bundle of tubing and cables cascaded down onto Bastila’s head. She shoved them roughly back into the hatch from whence they came, banging her elbows against the narrow enclosure of the service duct.

Her comm crackled to life. “Okay, Bastila. I’m at Junction D. What have you got for me?”

She consulted her diagnostics tool. “There should be a crank to your left. Switch it over.” She closed the coolant valve and soldered a bridge between two terminals in preparation for the changeover.

“Which left? There’s no crank here, Bastila.” Sihle, her partner for this job sounded a little testy with her. “Which way am I supposed to be looking?”

“It’s a--” Dammit, there wasn’t much time until the system overheated. “It’s a crank, not rocket science! Just find it and switch it to the opposite setting that it is now!”

There was a beleaguered sigh on the other end. “There are a million buttons and switches here, Bastila. Just telling me to “use the one on my left” doesn’t help me.”

Bastila swore under her breath, quickly undoing all the prep work she did before it caused a system failure. I hate working with people who can’t take instructions! It’s not the same without-- “There should be a big bank with many different controls and…” She tried to visualize it in her mind. “...an array of larger dials above three smaller ones spaced across the width of the bank. The crank you’re looking for is on the lower left below the dials.”

She listened to his heavy breathing as he clomped over to the bank in his full environmental suit. “Right. Got it.”

“No, don’t switch it over just yet!” Snatching a singed finger away from the hot solder, she redid her prior work hurriedly, ignoring Sihle’s frustrated muttering. “Alright, it’s ready. Switch it now.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

Bastila ground her teeth together, forcing herself to not make a response. They completed the rest of the job with as little interaction as possible, Sihle switching the music system in his suit back on and retreating into his own private world. Bastila packed up her meagre supply of worn and second-hand equipment, head throbbing dully with the headache that she’d had for the past six weeks and exited the facility. They passed each other on the way out, bidding each other farewell with civility if not friendliness. The circle of independent technicians was smaller than one might think in their chosen field of operation and there was no point in alienating someone you might have to work with at a later stage. Unless there’s been some word… Not for the first time, Bastila replayed the events of that morning in her mind, wondering what she could have said or done differently to make everything right, to convince Sera to stay, to make the torment of her own mind go away. If only she’d known the right combination of words or had the correct facts or… Bastila stopped, not wanting to go down that road at that exact moment and run the risk of bursting into tears in public. Again.

She paid the docking fee and walked wearily to her new ship. Well, “new” was perhaps a little generous. “Second-hand” as well. The scuffed and dented light multipurpose vehicle had probably been carrying families and workmen around the galaxy since before the Mandalorians first invaded the Republic. The entrance hatch clanged and squeaked a little as it sealed behind Bastila, making her wince. The ship was sound. She had checked it herself, not taking the dealer’s word at face value. It just didn’t sound like it was.

Sliding her equipment duffle to the floor, she checked her chrono, shucking off her work clothes with practised ease. She was running a little late if she wanted to meet the others on time but she’d be damned if she showed up to a social gathering smelling like work, even if she had spent the whole time in a duct surrounded by electronics rather than down in the muck and the grime. Even if some people called her a priss and teased her for her fastidiousness. We can’t all smell like sex appeal made incarnate when we’re hot and sweaty, now can w-- Bastila cut off the thought sharply, grief knifing through her. Maybe she should turn the ship around. She should be by the comm unit in case word came through. What if the detective called or Sera tried to contact her or-- She stopped herself, hooking the baseplate of the shower unit into place with her foot and turning the cold water on full blast, the icy shock freezing all bad thoughts out of her mind. For now, anyway. Soaping up, she turned over to the hot water, rinsing herself clean just as the water tanks sputtered dry. The shower components were stowed back into the wall as she ran a towel over herself. Unfortunately, she hadn’t left enough water to make herself a cup of tea. Bother. She’d just have to wait until the water recycler did its thing.

Pottering over to the cockpit area, she checked the navigational computer - still on course and running smoothly - before digging in the narrow closets towards the rear of the ship where her cot was for a suitable outfit. Her hands brushed over a shirt, brighter and more colourful than anything she herself typically wore. It was foolish. When they found Sera she would most likely have plenty of time to pack a bag of essentials before she was allowed to see her again. But it felt wrong, not having any trace of her in Bastila’s day to day life. She fingered the material. It wouldn’t look odd, would it? They were roughly the same size, even if their sense of style was different. She took the shirt and several other items out of the closet and dressed, examining the end result in the tiny mirror on the inside of the closet door. Satisfied, a note of bittersweet comfort in her chest, she settled into the pilot’s seat for the rest of her journey, hand caressing the empty co-pilot’s seat next to her.

~~~

Mission met her at the door to Carth’s apartment on Coruscant. The instant the door opened, the sounds of Canderous baiting Carth into an argument - About doilies? - floated out into the elegant hallway Bastila was standing in. The young girl bounced out of the door, then caught herself and arranged her face into what Bastila presumed was her idea of a genteel hostess.

“Ahem. Would you come in?” The words were said in a fake posh accent. “Ooh! Fancy booze! Thanks, Bastila,” she said in her normal voice, reaching to take the bottle from Bastila’s hands.

Bastila lifted it out of her reach. “This is for the man of the hour.” (“Aww…”) “Why are you answering the door?”

Carth appeared behind her, hands full of lacy scraps of material. “Yes, why are you answering the door?” He poked Mission in the shoulder. “Go be useful and help Zaalbar in the kitchen. You put that back where you found it, Canderous, or so help me!” he said, voice increasing sharply in volume.

“Faugh! It is unbecoming for a warrior to allow his domicile to be festooned with this...” Canderous plucked contemptuously at a doily carefully arranged along the armrest of a chair, “frilly garbage.”

“They’re from my mother-in-law. The doilies stay!

”

The Mandalorian scoffed loudly. “Where’s your spine, Carth! What kind of a man are you to let someone else dictate what happens in your own house?”

“The kind that likes to stay on good terms with his family members! Bastila,” he said, turning back to her, “sorry for not answering the door in time. I’ve, uh, been trying to wrangle these two since they got here--”

“Hey!”

“Say that to my face, you coward!”

“--And it’s only kinda working.”

Bastila chuckled, heart warming. She’d forgotten how much she’d missed all of them. “It’s no trouble at all. Here.” She held out the wine for him to take. “Congratulations on the promotion. The vintage is from when you joined the Navy.”

He drew her into a hug. “Thank you, Bastila. This means a lot to me.”

“They couldn’t have picked a better man. You deserve it.”

He dropped his voice so only she could hear. “Has there been any news, have you heard anything?”

A lump formed in her throat. “Not yet.”

Carth tightened his arms around her, giving her a brief but comforting squeeze before patting her on the back and letting her go. She surreptitiously wiped at her eyes while he examined the bottle, running his thumb over the date.

“Has it really been that long?” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “Fuck.”

Mission playfully punched him in the stomach. “You’re just lucky she didn’t get one for your birth year, geezer.”

“Mission, don’t be silly,” Bastila said with a straight face. “I could never hope to afford something so ancient.”

“Alright, you two. Don’t you know it’s impolite to insult the host?” He flapped the doilies threateningly at them. “You two get before I decide that you both need to clean the toilets.”

Canderous rolled his eyes behind Carth and threw a balled-up doily at his head. “Get me a beer, weakling.”

“Get your own damn beer! And get and get those tin can boots of yours off my caf table! You’re scratching the polish!”

Mission tugged on Bastila’s sleeve, pulling her towards the kitchen. Bastila followed, leaving behind the truly fascinating tableau of conflicting masculinity, knowing from experience that Canderous would keep the argument going for hours.

Zaalbar and Juhani were hiding in the kitchen, chatting about sports while Zaalbar arranged some snacks on a platter.

““Hello, Bastila,” Zaalbar wuffled. “How’s the move going?”

“Oh, about the usual,” Bastila said, helping herself to a beverage from the fridge. “We’ve collected more things in the past two years than I think either of us realized and it’s difficult deciding what to keep and what to throw away.”

“Don’t forget we are always happy to help.” He flexed his arms a little. “I’ve got to put these muscles to use someti-- Mission, those are for later. You’ll ruin your dinner.”

“I was just testing them,” she said, her mouth full of salt cracker and cream cheese.

“Where’s Jolee?” Bastila asked.

“He said something about needing to ask a man about a Wookiee,” Juhani replied. “I do not believe he was being completely truthful.”

“Yeah!” Mission said, spraying cracker crumbs everywhere. “If he wanted to see a Wookiee, he could see one right here!” She slapped Zaalbar in the chest.

“Mission, it’s just and express--”

Carth stomped through the kitchen door and shut it behind himself with a huff, making the small space rather cramped.

“Come back here and face me, you spineless wimp!”

“I’m hiding from the barbarian in my living room. Got any more of those crackers?”

Mission cheered from her position on top of the kitchen counter while Zaalbar grumbled and passed the platter across.

“No offense,” Bastila said, swiping a cracker as the platter went past, “but why did you invite him in the first place.”

“Unfortunately, I must agree with Bastila. Canderous is… not the most gracious of guests,” Juhani said delicately.

Carth sighed. “I didn’t think he’d show up.” He swatted at Mission’s feet swinging into the doors of the kitchen cupboards. “Get your ass off my counter top. And stop chewing with your mouth open!”

“Hey!” Mission said, doing neither. “We,” she indicated herself and Zaalbar, “are small business owners now. We don’t have to listen to what other people have to say.”

“Mission, please stop chewing with your mouth open. Nobody will take us seriously,” Zaalbar complained.

Bastila smiled at the exchange, then felt a pang run through her. This was all wrong. Everything felt off and out of balance. Sera should be here with them all, egging Mission on and defending Canderous’ right to be an ass. Her fist tightened around her drink. Even the absence of the two droids felt wrong. There was no HK threatening to start a firefight over some imagined, or most likely completely made up, slight to his Master necessitating the removal of the weapon he’d invariably managed to secrete on his person, no T3 scuttling around with people’s drinks on his head, or Mission sitting on top of him, actually. No Sera catching her eye from across the room and giving her a wink, holding her hand and squeezing it gently while talking to someone else, slipping her arm around Bastila’s waist and kissing her neck when no one was looking…

Juhani nudged her gently, interrupting her train of thought.

“Are you alright?” she said, softly enough so as not to be heard by the others.

Bastila flushed, embarrassed to be caught moping. “Oh, uh, yes. Yes, of course! I was just…” She stopped, uncertain how to continue. “I was just thinking,” she finished lamely.

“I presume you have not heard anything more about where Sera might be?”

“No,” Bastila said, her heart aching. It still stung to think about. “Why? Have you heard anything? Anything at all?”

“Unfortunately, not. Although, the hyperspace routes of the Outer Rim seem to have gained a reputation as being dangerous to travellers. Moreso than a few years ago.” Juhani frowned. “Are you alright by yourself all the way out there? You would not rather stay with one of us for a little while?”

“I appreciate the offer but all of our clients and work is in the Outer Rim. And all of this is only temporary. Once… once Sera comes back home--”

A minor commotion in the living room spared her from having to continue.

“Hey, Carth!” It was Jolee. “Look at what I found out in the… What the… Where has everyone gotten to?”

“Dad? I brought the ice!”

“Jolee, this is perfect.”

“Oh, hello, Canderous. How’s the mercenary business going? And where is everyone else?” Jolee chuckled. “Did you finally snap and stuff all their bodies down the ‘fresher in pieces?”

“Not yet, old man.” He raised his voice. “Hey, Onasi! We’ve got your son! You better come out if you know what’s good for you!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Bastila huffed in annoyance. “You’re all cowards.” She grabbed a beer from the fridge and strode out of the kitchen.

Jolee was standing slouched by the entrance, pretending to look like a regular senior citizen rather than a wily old Jedi. Dustil was next to him, bag of ice next to him on the floor, looking unnervingly more like a freshly-shaven version of his father every day. Canderous was still lounging on the couch with his boots on Carth’s precious caf table.

Bastila chucked the can of beer at his head. “Here. Now behave!”

He caught it before it could hit him. Unfortunately. “Ha! I should have known you would have been the first one to break.” He opened the beer and took a sip. “You always were a grumpy little bitch when Sera wasn’t giving you a good fu--”

His words were cut off when the rest of his beer was pushed out of the can at high speed into his face. Bastila smiled placidly as he coughed and spluttered, beer pouring down his face and neck and into the undershirt he wore beneath his armour.

“Why you--!”

“Now, now, Canderous,” she purred, “there’s no need to lose your temper.”

Jolee roared with laughter, slapping Bastila on the back vigorously, knocking the wind out of her. “You should know better than to cross someone who knows how to fight back!” He continued to laugh, thumping her back all the while.

“You all are fucking weird,” Dustil muttered as he walked past them into the kitchen. “Dad! You in here?”

~~~

Mission was curled up on Zaalbar’s lap, the tiny snores emanating from her chest overwhelmed by the much more thunderous noises coming from her furry friend’s mouth, hanging open in slumber. She’d protested loudly when Carth had adamantly refused to allow her and Zaalbar to fly home this late in the evening and proceeded to nod off shortly thereafter. Juhani was cleaning up in the kitchen, despite Cath’s insistence that he would do it himself later, most likely needing a moment on her own to mentally recharge after being around so many people for an extended amount of time but not wanting to leave them all just yet. Dustil had disappeared hours ago, citing a need to get up early for work but Bastila suspected that he was meeting friends for drinks somewhere. Carth, Jolee and Canderous were sitting at the dining room table, smoking some noxious cigars that Jolee had “procured” while they gambled, playing what appeared to be a very serious and manly game.

They’d all toasted Carth’s promotion shortly after Dustil and Jolee arrived, after the obligatory fuss and greetings and catching up, then repeating all of the above when half of the group hadn’t heard the other half of the group because they’d been too busy greeting and catching up in amongst themselves. Or arguing over the proper place to throw empty cans and not to “drip beer all over my carpet, dammit!” in one particular case. Juhani and Mission had made sure that everyone had a drink in hand (more fuss and bother when Dustil and Jolee had become engrossed in a conversation about infiltration techniques) and they had all (finally) stood in a rough circle and raised a glass to Rear Admiral Onasi.

Bastila had snorted at that, once for herself and again on Sera’s behalf. Carth had been very patient with their ribbing, only drawing the line when Jolee and Canderous started slapping him on the behind while Zaalbar pointed and laughed. Things had settled down to their usual, rowdy standard after that. It had felt good, chatting and laughing, talking to people like normal, and the ache of Sera’s absence had only hit her a few times during the evening. But it had been fine. There’d been people around her to pull her out of her gloom and keep her distracted for long enough for the moment to pass.

Mission and Zaalbar had both approached her separately, asking if she’d heard any news and if there was anything they could do to help. Even Canderous had… Well, Canderous had told her that of course Sera was still missing if only the half-blind idiots of the Republic Security Forces were looking for her. They couldn’t tell their arse from their elbow, et cetera, et cetera. A real warrior would have found her by now. She had told him to get to it then.

And now it was getting late and there were things she needed to do tomorrow that required her to be at least partially awake. She got to her feet, being careful not to wake the two fast asleep next to her, and said goodbye to the rest of the group.

“Hold up there, my dear,” Jolee said around the cigar in his mouth. He rose from the table with much grunting and groaning. “I’ll walk you back to your ship.”

“Oh, no, Jolee, there’s no need of that. It’s not that far at all.”

“Don’t be silly. My old bones need a stretch before I become ossified to that chair.”

Carth placed his cards face down on the table. “You want us to wait until you get back?”

“No need.” Jolee jostled Mission awake and guided the half-asleep girl to his chair. “There!” he said, placing the cigar in her mouth. “A perfect copy! Nobody will be able to tell the difference!”

Mission sleepily spat the cigar out. “Ick.”

“That’s cheating, old man,” Canderous growled.

“Yeah, what are you trying to do to us?” Carth chimed in. “Take us for everything we have?”

“You big babies frightened of a little girl. Look!” He gestured towards Mission, whose eyes were drifting shut. “She’s barely awake! You’ll be fine. Now, my dear,” he said to Bastila, “shall we depart?”

He retrieved her robe and guided her to the front door, closing it behind them just in time to hear Carth and Canderous’ cries of dismay as Mission took her turn. He looked at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and burst out laughing.

Bastila arched an eyebrow at him. “They won’t be happy with you once you get back.”

“Pah! Losing a few hundred or so credits won’t hurt either of them. Besides,’ he said chuckling, “maybe they’ll even manage to sharpen their game a little. But I’m more worried about you, my dear.”

“About me? Why, why would you be worried about me?” she said, even though she knew why.

“I know what it’s like to grieve someone who is still alive, Bastila.”

“This is not the same!” she said, stabbing a finger in his direction. “Sera isn’t… She hasn’t… She hasn’t left me or fallen to the Dark Side or some other nonsense. She is going to come back home to me, Jolee. That is what is going to happen!”

“But you don’t know that.” He held up a placating hand, forestalling the tirade she could feel building within her. “I hope with every fibre of my being that Sera comes home safe and sound tomorrow. But she may not and not for lack of trying on her part. What are you going to do then? At what point do you decide to let her go and continue on with your life?”

“How can you even ask me that? Do you have any idea what she means to me? How could I ever “just let her go” as if she were, as if she were nothing? As if she were--”

Jolee touched her shoulder gently. “I’m not trying to hurt you or get you worked up. And I don’t want you to drop your relationship with Sera or pretend like it never happened. All I want you to consider is your own well being. Because you are here and she is not. And I don’t want you to put your life on hold if weeks and months of waiting turn into decades. Also…” He lowered his voice, looking at her with a more serious expression. “If you get any leads on where Sera might be, no matter how far-fetched or dangerous, please don’t hesitate to ask for help. I swear I will do everything in my power to follow up on them and bring her home to you.”

Bastila gave a small smile, touched by his concern even as her heart still ached from his previous words. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Jolee.”

They arrived at her boxy ship, looking dowdy and forlorn in the visitor’s docking bay.

“It’s not exactly the Ebon Hawk, is it?” Jolee muttered.

“No,” Bastila said, running her hand over the fading paint on the hull. “But it’s big enough for two and that’s all that counts.”

~~~

Life continued. Moving day came. Bastila continued to work odd jobs, nothing that would take her too far from home, while packing up their belongings and transferring most of it to a cheap, but hopefully reliable, storage facility in the region. The rest of her time was consumed with the arduous duty of contacting all relevant persons, clients and suppliers as well as everyone involved in investigating Sera’s disappearance, and advising them that she could no longer be contacted via the comm unit in their little apartment and would have to use her ship’s comm frequency instead. Not that she received any messages of interest. Most of them were from marketers and insurance salesdroids, on-station cleaning firms offering a free demonstration of their services and a company that offered facial tentacle enhancements that were All-Natural™ and Long-Lasting™ (Bastila didn’t quite know how she and Sera had been put on their mailing list). Multiple messages, varying in appropriateness, from the incredibly persistent Officer Daro. It was just lucky that so far he seemed too lazy to actually make the trip all the way across the sector to pester her in person. Lucky for him. She no longer received any calls from Detective Brimarch, the individual in charge of Sera’s case, except when she went out of her way to bug them for updates on their investigation. And then she only received a very polite but unbending “push off and stop bothering us”.

The apartment slowly transformed, the warmth and cosiness of the life she and Sera were building together leeching away as each mark of their shared presence, every trinket, every bit of furniture and clothing, was removed, leaving behind a practical but sterile space. Mission, Juhani and Zaalbar all dropped by to help her with the last lot of boxes to be moved and furniture to be dismantled and packed away while Mrs Bima provided caf and snacks. Not that there was much left to move, most of her clothes and daily items already having made the transition into their new resting spots in her ship. It wasn’t terrible. Mission set her datapad to play her favourite music at a volume that Bastila wouldn’t have dared personally while they worked and even managed to coax them all into singing along (badly) as they cleaned the apartment top to bottom and returned it to a pristine state, ready for the next occupant.

It was later now. They had just finished packing away all their cleaning supplies and all that was left for Bastila to do was lock up and return her keycard to station management. Mrs Bima stood with her, looking around the empty room.

“It’s quite eery, isn’t it, dear?”

“Yes,” Bastila said. “It isn’t… this isn’t quite the way I pictured leaving here.” It had been the last promise she’d made to her mother before she died; that she wouldn’t spend her life floating rootlessly around the galaxy as her parents had. And yet here she was, barely more than a year since she and Sera had stood here together the day they moved in. They hadn’t even bothered to unpack that day, anointing the living room with their sweat and love until they were pleasantly sore all over and aglow with the hope and promise of everything the future might hold. “I thought we would only leave if we wanted to start a family,” she muttered quietly.

“Well, I am going to miss you,” the older woman said. “It was so nice having a young couple next door rather than some rabble, coming and going at an ungodly hour, making an awful racket. I only hope we don’t get anyone too odd moving in.”

Bastila smiled, knowing that they hadn’t always been particularly quiet neighbours. “I’m certain you’ll get along just fine with whoever moves in.”

Bastila dropped the keycard off at the office on their floor and they all went down to a restaurant in one of the lower sectors of the station after, one that she and Sera hadn’t been to yet. The others kept the conversation going, keeping things light and cheerful long into the night. Bastila knew that they were trying to keep her distracted from the slow dissolution of her life and was eminently grateful. Tired of all the stress and the sorrow, she let herself forget her troubles, at least for now, and enjoy the evening and the company of her friends.

But they couldn’t stay with her indefinitely and soon they were gone, each returning to their own lives, leaving Bastila all alone. She trudged down to the visitor’s dock where they’d moved her ship earlier, paid the fee and left the station. Setting the ship on a very slow course to her next job, she recorded the day’s events in her father’s holocron, making special note of a story that Juhani had recounted that she wanted to tell Sera, had a bit of a cry and prepared for bed.

That night she dreamed of Sera, a not unusual occurrence in the time since she’d walked out the door, promising to be back soon. Bastila woke, her heart pounding, the ghost of Sera’s lips and fingertips still on her skin. For a moment, it was almost as though she were right there, that all Bastila had to do was reach out and grasp hold of her. But she wasn’t, of course, and the bed, smaller though it was than the one that they’d picked out together for the apartment, stretched out vast and empty next to her. Bastila closed her eyes, trying to hold onto the feeling of her lover’s presence for just a little while longer.

~~~

“No, I’m not going to call you back. You’ve put me off for weeks and I want to know what progress you’ve made in finding my partner.”

There was a sigh over the comm and Bastila didn’t need the Force to be able to feel the detective on the other end rolling their eyes. “Ms Shan, these things take time. You can’t just--”

“That is the only thing you have told me ever since you took my initial statement. Have you followed up on the Perseian pilgrims that were found near Yaga Minor? Or any of the other ships that were supposedly in the same train as the Ebon Hawk? Or what about looking into where she allegedly bought flowers from because, I promise you, there isn’t any place by Dua Sovv’s yard where she could have picked them by hand.” Bastila took a breath. “Have you even started looking for her?”

Detective Brimarch was silent for just long enough to turn Bastila’s insides to ice. “Ms Shan, have you considered that your partner might not want to be found?”

Bastila felt the ice in her stomach turn into a ball of fiery anger. “Are you completely mental? There has been absolutely no evidence to suggest anything of the sort and an overwhelming amount pointing to the fact that she was involved in a well-organised hijacking. One of possibly several that have occurred in the region, if all the people I have talked to are to be believed.”

“Please stop trying to interfere with our work, Ms Shan. These kinds of things are best left to the professionals and you’re not helping your partner any by going around asking your own questions.”

“I see. I suppose I am to sit in my ship like a penitent little girl while the luminaries of Cassander P.D. divine the location of all these missing persons from the depths of their caf cups and the entrails of their doughnuts?”

“There’s no need to be rude, Ms Shan. You wouldn’t want us to be distracted by your insults and overlook a crucial piece of evidence that might lead to the safe return of your partner.”

“Is that a threat, Detective?”

“Not at all, ma’am. Hope you have a pleasant day.”

The detective ended the call without any further ado, leaving Bastila glaring impotently at the ship’s comm unit. She had been in the middle of making herself another lonely dinner after a long day of unblocking every single toilet in an office block (the builder had used too small waste pipes when the complex had been constructed, possibly on the developer’s instructions to reduce costs) when she had given into temptation and called up Detective Brimarch’s comm frequency. It was foolish. She hadn’t really thought that there might be any more new information, not after so long without any contact from the good detective, but she hadn’t been able to help herself. She was so lonely and life was so dull without Sera there that chivvying up Detective Brimarch had become something of a hobby. But now she was fuming. How dare they… How dare they! I put my faith in their ability and willingness to do their bloody job and care about my beloved’s whereabouts and they couldn’t be bothered! I have half a mind to--

A hint of carbon hit her nose and she swore under her breath, quickly removing her now burnt stew from the heating coil. “Extra crispy” Sera would call it. “Adds depth to the flavour.”

“Bollocks,” she muttered, taking a cautious taste. She made a face. “She talks a load of complete nonsense sometimes.”

Bastila stared into the singed depths of her meal as a resolution formed in her mind. If Detective Brimarch wouldn’t look for Sera, she would just have to find someone who would.

~~~

It took longer than she liked to reach Coruscant. Constrained by the limits of her bank account, she had to plan her route out carefully, working her way towards the Galactic Core and building up enough of a cushion to be able to afford to bother various officials and politicians for several days without having to dip into their savings. Hopefully, she wouldn’t have too many bribes to pay before she got someone to initiate a search for her beloved.

She started at the offices of the Planetary Senator for Garqi, not thinking that it would achieve much (a lifelong politician, the man had a reputation for doing the bare minimum to stay in office) but it was best to follow standard procedure if only to forestall others telling her to go there rather than helping her. As expected, she got condolences, a charming smile and a handshake, a heartfelt plea to vote for him in the next election (she and Sera supported the opposition candidate) and nothing else.

Next she went to the Sectoral Senator for all of Cassander, hoping that she could convince them to reprimand and shame their Police Department into action. Unfortunately, Senator Lowysk was off-planet and would only return a few days later for some Senate hearings. Disappointed but determined not to be put off, Bastila made a note of when they would be back, hoping that their meeting falling on that particular day was an auspicious omen, and moved onto her next target.

She went to the Republic Security Forces. They said that it wasn’t their jurisdiction. She went to the Corps of Rangers. They said they had better things to do. Like investigate ration fraud apparently. She went to the Republic Offices of Criminal Investigations. They said there wasn’t enough evidence of foul play or negligence. She went back to the Republic Security and got kicked out of the building for banging her fist on an official’s desk. She went to the Judicial Department and lost her temper at a receptionist when she was informed that office hours were over and the building was now closed to the public.

She spent a restless and frustrated night on her ship, heading straight back to the Judicial Department at first light, apologising to the receptionist at the front desk. And spent the entire day trudging around the Judicial Arcology in search of permit number A38 that would allow her to lodge her request, only to be told at the end of it all that searching for missing persons was not within the jurisdiction of the Judicial Department and that she would have to file a missing person’s report with the Cassander Police Department. Managing to hold her temper (barely), she explained that she had already done that, months ago, and that the detective on the case was doing bugger all to find her partner. She was told, with a disinterested look, that these things take time, Ms Shan. You can’t rush these things, Ms Shan. Are you certain that you don’t know anything about your partner’s disappearance, Ms Shan? Bristling at the implication but holding her tongue, Bastila thanked them for their time and went in search of someone who would actually help her.

She visited the Transportation Department, hoping they would care about people being lost on their spacelanes. She visited the Department of Trade and Industry, hoping the same thing. She stood in queues. She sat in uncomfortable chairs. She spent hours on her feet, crisscrossing office complexes and riding in elevators until she was tired and aching. She started getting looks from passersby as news of her stubborn persistence and willingness to bother just about anyone spread around the district. Then she did it all again the next day, determined to find someone, anyone, who would listen to her pleas.

“Padawan. I did not expect to see you here.”

Bastila was stumbling blindly down the wide stairway leading away from the Senate Building, clutching at the handrail for support when the voice stopped her. She looked up in surprise at the small group heading in the opposite direction up the stairs and found herself staring into the placid eyes of Jedi Master Zhar Lestin.

“Hello, Master,” she said stupidly, too numb and emotionally drained from arguing with people all day to know what to say or think.

“Na’vena, would you mind running on ahead and telling Senator Nugua that I will be with him shortly,” he said to the young Padawan at his side.

“Not a problem, Master. It was good to see you around again, Bastila,” the teenager said sunnily before running off, green headtails bouncing behind her.

“Isn’t that Master Saldo’s Padawan?” She’d grown quite a bit since the last time Bastila had seen her.

“I am merely borrowing her for a time while Master Saldo takes care of business on the Outer Rim. And what of you, Padawan?” he said with a kind smile. “Are you here for business or for pleasure?”

Bastila frowned. “Neither. I’ve just returned from…” She stopped, not wanting to think about the meeting she’d just had. “I’m trying to convince people to do their job and find Sera for me.”

“Ah, yes. Master Bindo and Knight Juhani told us about Padawan Khan’s disappearance. A sad state of affairs, Padawan.”

Bastila could feel her eye twitching, her temper frayed from the day’s events. “Neither I nor Sera are part of the Jedi Order anymore, sir,” she said with a little more than a touch of heat in her voice. “And I would hardly call the complete and utter disregard for a person’s safety and wellbeing a “sad state of affairs”.”

“Forgive me, Padaw-- Bastila. It seems old habits die hard. I meant no offence.”

“Will you do it?” Bastila said, not wanting to owe the Jedi Order anything but Sera was more important than her pride or her anger at the people who raised her, had raised both of them. And she was running out of options. “Will you find Sera and bring her back to me?”

She knew his answer before he opened his mouth, the sad, pitying look in his eyes a familiar sight over the past few days. “I’m sorry--”

“It’s fine.”

“--Our numbers are so few these days and there are more important--”

“I said it’s fine!” Bastila said, sick with anger and disappointment and furious with herself for letting herself get her hopes up. “I don’t know why I even bothered asking. You clearly knew she was missing all this time and yet haven’t done a thing to get her back!”

“I wish things were different, child, but we simply cannot afford to waste resources on a single individual when our efforts could be better spent elsewhere.”

“Then what good are you? What good are any of you,” Bastila demanded, flinging a hand out angrily to indicate the entire Senate District, “when none of you, none of you, are willing to even pretend to lift a finger when one of the citizens under your so-called protection goes missing? If you can’t even be bothered to care about a single person, what is the point of keeping any of you around?” A sob escaped her and she clapped a hand over her mouth, biting into the flesh of her palm to distract herself from her grief. I am not going to cry in front of a Jedi ever again!

Zhar stared at her in shock. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes but he made no move of any kind. Bastila’s shoulders slumped, suddenly feeling utterly exhausted.

“Thank you for your time, Master Jedi.”

She walked away, not giving him a chance to respond, leaving the Jedi behind for the second time in her life. She wandered aimlessly through the streets of the district, at a loss for where to go next. She knew that she should head back to her ship, plan her next move, but she couldn’t bear dealing with the message from Mission or Juhani asking how things had gone that would inevitably be waiting for her. Or even a quick visit from one of her friends that were currently on the planet. Bastila loved them all dearly (well, maybe not Canderous) and she knew that they were only doing their best to look after her but she just couldn’t take it at the moment. So she wandered, not wanting to be found. Picking a diner at random, she walked in and took a seat, closing her tired and stinging eyes.

“It isn’t that I expect them to, to just drop everything and find my partner for me but I expected something, a little more than just “no thank you”.”

Bastila flicked an eye open and winced. The viewscreen was playing the clip from her interview with the news crew outside the Senate Building and to her chagrin it was in fact painfully obvious that she had been on the verge of tears ever since her complete failure of a meeting with Senator Lowysk. She sank further down into her seat, face reddening, as the clip continued to play in its full, embarrassing entirety. Eventually, the clip ended and they returned to the studio where the talking heads proceeded to dissect her almost-meltdown for the whole galaxy to see. (In fact, there were several other interviews in the rotation that were all touched on equally and the news program was a local affair that was only broadcast to the Senate District anyway but it didn’t feel that way in the moment.) The waitress came to take her order and Bastila had to sit up straight like an adult again, making a quick mental calculation of her finances before ordering her meal.

She sat while she waited for her caf, contemplating what the hell she was going to do next. Detective Brimarch was surely doing absolutely nothing. None of the other law enforcement agencies seemed to be interested at all. And Senator Lowysk… The hoped-for meeting had been a disaster. Not that the Senator was particularly rude or dismissive but they, like so many others, seemed to have come to the conclusion that Sera was dead. And if she was dead, there was no point in wasting time looking for her. It was absolutely crushing, pouring her heart out, pleading her case with every fibre of her being only to be met with disbelief and disinterest. Even the Jedi Order, who should be bloody well aware that Bastila would know whether Sera was dead or not, couldn’t spare the effort to even pay lip service to the idea of searching for Sera. You would think that at least they would be concerned at “Sera Khan” going missing. But that was the rub, wasn’t it? “Sera Khan” wasn’t a great military general or dangerous menace to the Republic because Sera wasn’t interested in being any of those things. And, therefore, the Republic and the Jedi didn’t have much interest in her.

Her meal arrived. The caf was bitter but it was hot and sweet, just what she needed after a long day on her feet. The double bean burger looked juicy and tender, slathered in sauce and a multitude of vegetables just the way Sera liked it.

“Happy birthday, love,” she said quietly before taking a large bite. Juice ran down her chin, flavour bursting in her mouth. Sera would have loved it. This wasn’t the way she had pictured spending Sera’s thirtieth, at all, the few plans she had made having fallen through for obvious reasons. But if by some miracle Sera had managed to be there it would have been perfect. It would have been everything she could have asked for.

“I came here today because my partner went missing more than two months ago now and the, the police department in charge of looking, in charge of her case are doing absolutely nothing to find her and that just isn’t, it’s completely unacceptable.”

Bastila sighed. Clearly there was no other news today because that bloody interview clip kept looping back around. Maybe somebody will blow something up and they’ll be able to natter on endlessly about that instead.

“That’s what you get for living on the Outer Rim.”

The voice came from the booth next to her’s. Two young Coruscanti, fresh out of their day’s labour by the looks of it, were sitting enjoying the spectacle of the destruction of Bastila’s life over caf and waffles.

“Where did she say she was from again?”

“Hmm, Cassander, I think.”

“I got a cousin out there. Nice weather.”

Bastila glared at the both of them, sitting all companionably close and carefree. Then she huffed and pulled her attention away. There was no point in paying them any mind. Not when she still had so many other things to think about. Maybe she should hire a private investigator. Some of the more unusual people that she’d visited seeking help, the guilds and the unions, had been a bit flaky, a bit too eager to utilise Sera’s disappearance for their own goals but maybe the promise of money would provide adequate motivation. Money that she didn’t have.

“Bugger,” she muttered, popping another slice of perfectly fried tuber into her mouth.

There also was no guarantee that a professional wouldn’t string her along indefinitely, draining her finances until she had nothing left. And even if pride in their own reputation kept them from doing so, she wasn’t certain she would know who the best investigator to hire would be in the first place. Jolee or Canderous might be able to point her in the right direction but someone good would presumably be someone expensive. So, even if she were somehow able to scrape together the necessary funds and she had reason to believe that whoever she hired was trustworthy, she still might only be able to afford someone as skilled as herself.

“I might as well do it myself then,” she said, then she clicked her tongue. “I’m turning into Sera, talking to myself all the time!” She’s not even here and she’s still a bad influence!

But where to start? She could probably get some more information out of the elderly pilgrim that had reported the hijacking to the authorities, although she only knew about that because she had happened to have spotted the report about their rescue when she had made the trip to Cassander to bang her fist on Brimarch’s desk and had used what Sera lovingly called “her magnetic personality” to browbeat the information out of the good detective. And she wasn’t completely certain of the pilgrim’s whereabouts, only where he had been heading to and where he’d been found.

“And I know for a fact that she is not the only person who has gone missing, which means that they are other people out there, other families that have been torn apart because of the negligence and the lack of care on the part of the Republic Security Forces and the entire judiciary.”

“Oh, her.”

Bastila’s ears pricked up. The new voice, the knowing, derisive voice, came from a somewhere only a little ways away.

“Hmm? Friend of yours?”

“Ha! She’s been bothering most of the Judicial Arcology for the past couple days. Got a real bee in her bonnet about this missing girlfriend of hers.”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Bastila peeped over the top of the high-backed seats of the booth. Sure enough, two booths down from where she and the cheerful waffle-eaters were sitting were a Duros and a Bothan in the same kind of no-nonsense but inexpensive suit that seemed to be favoured by the members of the Republic Offices of Criminal Investigations.

“I don’t know, man.” This was from the Duros. “I would be pretty pissed if Yuri went missing and no one bothered to look for him.”

“Nah, this chick’s long gone. That far out they sell your ship off and then sell you to whoever’s paying. Chick’s probably being worked to death on a construction site somewhere or stuck cleaning some rich asshole’s toilets.”

“Again: pretty fucking pissed.”

The Bothan shrugged and took another bite of his steak. “Not really much we can do unless the Senate finally grows a pair and lets us use the kind of force that’s necessary to wipe these motherfuckers out.”

“Hey, wasn’t Ken down in Audits working on something to crack down on sentient trafficking by getting some of these guys on tax irregularities?”

“Argh! No!” The Bothan raised his knife and his fork over his head in frustration. “That’s a pussy’s way of solving problems!”

The rest of his rant faded to a dull buzz, Bastila’s mind too focused on what she’d just heard. Finishing her burger, she pulled the slice of chocolate cake that she’d chosen for her dessert towards her. She ate mechanically, barely even tasting the rich, moist cake with decadent ganache and the generous scoops of ice cream piled next to it, her mind and stomach churning with what to do.

~~~

This is stupid.

Bastila pulled the service cap lower on her head as she walked past yet another office worker, clutching the handle of her cart tighter and tighter as though it could protect her from danger. It was getting late and the building was slowly emptying of workers and officials but there were always a few who stayed late, working themselves into an early grave for no good reason. That was how it had been every office complex she and Sera had ever worked in, whether for maintenance or janitorial work, and Bastila saw no reason for it to be any different in a government office.

She tugged uselessly at the cap again and then forced herself to keep her hands down and relaxed on the cart, aware that she looked like a nervous, jumpy hoodlum up to no good. This is stupid and dangerous and I should just complete the job and find another way. Which she could do, of course. She had taken the temp job at the Republic Tax Collection Agency Building for legitimate reasons and by legitimate means; she needed the money and she had experience cleaning large office buildings. Not much experience, to be sure. And their kind of cleaning usually involved a flamethrower and copious amounts of agricultural waste but that didn’t matter. She could finish the job right now, take her cart down to maintenance, collect her pay and walk away. It was that simple.

She kept going, her stomach churning. Her hands itched to check the map of the building that she’d picked up at the reception desk, make certain that she was heading in the right direction but she knew that doing so would only attract attention to herself. Keeping her gait steady and careful, not too fast to indicate a specific need and not too slow to suggest loitering, she moved from office to office, emptying out wastebaskets and cleaning any minor spills or stains that had been left behind by the day’s activities. She rehearsed in her head what she would do if someone queried her presence. If it was another cleaner, one that was supposed to be there, she would say that she had misunderstood her instructions, return to the lower floors and not return again. If it was someone who recognised her from the news clip or her rampage through the Judicial Arcology… Well, she would just have to play the sad, pathetic crank, too poor to hire a private investigator and forced to take on menial work to pay off her bills. It was depressingly close to the truth.

Enduring a nerve-wracking ride in an elevator with a pair of secretaries and a cleaning droid ironically meant for the upper floors, she arrived at the 20th Floor, Sector F, where the Auditing department was housed. An open area where the bulk of the department sat and worked stretched out in front of her, desks arranged in neat lines ending at a wall lined with glow panels creating an artificial bank of windows for the space. No prime space on the outer skin of the building for this department. To her far left a corridor lead away from the open space, presumably to the boardroom and smaller offices for the auditors. She stood stock still for a moment. The floor was quiet. To her ear there was no hint of any late workers or after-hours shenanigans behind locked doors. The scent of stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, as well as the ghost of the curried egg sandwich that somebody had had for lunch. That was good. It meant that this floor hadn’t been cleaned yet. At least, Bastila hoped that was a good thing.

She moved forward, resisting the urge to rush directly towards her intended destination for fear of appearing suspicious on the security cameras. It was agonising. Her goal was right there, not more than a dozen metres away and yet she had to keep up the charade if she didn’t want to have a very awkward conversation with a security guard later in the evening. Her hands shook as she emptied the ashtrays into her waste receptacle, sweat pouring down her face, making them clatter noisily as she replaced them on the desks. She dutifully wiped down caf stains, swept up crumbs and set chairs neatly on top of desks ready for the cleaning droid to vacuum the carpet, making her painstaking way across through the sea of desks towards the corridor. Reaching the far end, she cycled the room’s atmosphere to remove the noxious odours, pulled protective gloves over her hands and stepped into the corridor.

Ken, Ken, which one belongs to Ken? She got to the end of the corridor, finding no “Ken” anywhere. Heart in her mouth and every foul word she had ever heard Sera utter on her tongue, she stalked back down the corridor, scrutinizing each door. It was three doors up from the entrance into the corridor, clear as day on the nameplate: Ken Freshwater. She had missed it in her haste. Cursing her own stupidity, she tried the door. It was locked.

“Fuck!”

Bastila clapped a hand over her mouth. The word had popped out involuntarily, bouncing loudly off the still office walls, shocking in its suddenness. She stood frozen, then relaxed. Nobody up here could hear her, she could be as loud as she wanted, do whatever she pleased, barring major construction work. Getting down on her knees, she examined the lock on the door. She wasn’t particularly an expert by any means but it seemed a fairly standard lock to her. She had seen Mission breeze past locks such as these many a time, even with doors she had full access to. Bastila ran a gloved hand over the lock. She thought she knew how to do this. Rifling in her pocket, she retrieved a pazaak card from the deck she’d bought down at the docks, inserted it into the crack between the door and the jamb… and dropped the card. Swearing, she snatched it up off the floor, shook her hands out and pulled the gloves more tightly onto her hands, wriggling her fingers to settle the ungainly material more neatly against her skin. She took a breath and tried again, working the card back and forth while she applied gentle pressure against the door, getting back up on her feet to gain better leverage. Right as she was about to simply blow the door open with the Force and hang the consequences, the latch clicked out of the locking mechanism and the door swung open.

Bastila caught herself before she pitched face forward into the dark room. She fumbled at the wall for the light switch and gazed around the room. It was a fairly mundane office, shelves and filing cabinets in one corner and a desk covered in files and personal items, decorative caf mugs and holo frames with a workstation in the centre. Now, where to start? She moved to the desk, realizing just as she touched the power button that she had absolutely no contingency plan if she couldn’t get into the system. Luckily, the display powered directly onto the main desktop, the overall security of the building itself apparently having been enough to put the workstation’s main user at ease. She connected her datapad and browsed through the system’s files, looking for anything, absolutely anything, that might be related to sentient trafficking or the illegal selling of stolen starships. And there it was. An entire folder containing everything Ken Freshwater had collected on the irregular movement of large sums of money on the Outer Rim along with what looked like a half-finished report on his findings. Bastila could have cried. She copied the whole thing across, including several folders of raw data pertaining to the region, just in case his collection wasn’t enough.

And now she had to get out of here. She disconnected her datapad and powered off the workstation, looking around to see if there was anything that she’d disturbed that would alert anyone to her intrusion. Satisfied that the room looked as it did as when she broke in, she switched the lights off and pulled the door shut behind her, testing to make sure it auto-locked as she closed it. She stowed her datapad safely in her bag, removed the awkward gloves and returned them to the cleaning cart, trundling it out into the open office area as she did so. And nearly vomited on the spot as a security guard exited the elevator and made their way over to her.

“Just finishing up?” they asked, their posture friendly and relaxed.

Don’t run. Just keep walking as you are, nice and steady. “Uh, yes. Just about.”

“Alright. Have a good evening.” They were walking past her, going to check the office doors.

“Thank you. You too.” Had she remembered to have one of Sera’s tawdry novels open on her datapad, one of the really saccharine ones in case anyone wanted to check it? Dammit, I can’t remember!

Bastila kept walking at her regular pace, projecting a calmness she didn’t feel, as she listened to the guard rattling each door handle in turn, waiting for them to grow suspicious and call her back. She reached the elevator before they did so, if indeed they were going to at all, and stabbed the button for the maintenance floor with more force than was strictly necessary. The elevator doors slid blissfully shut and she collapsed against the elevator wall, light-headed from panic.

The elevator rattled around her as it shot down through the building. She took a deep breath, slowing her racing heart. Nearly there… She enjoyed a peaceful ride down, the elevator only stopping once for a middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes and a mass of documents held haphazardly under three of her arms who swore profusely at the datapad she was reading and told Bastila to go on ahead. Shaking off the alarm from that minor perturbation, Bastila exited the elevator when she reached her destination, scanning the ID tag clipped to her uniform at the maintenance terminal. She returned the cart to the cleaner’s store, removing her personal effects before scanning the cart’s own tag and logging its return. There was still time for security to call her over for a few questions. Maybe the guard from before had called down to the security office and they were waiting for her at the exit. Shrugging her shoulders to try to relieve the sensation of being watched at every step, she changed out of the uniform that had been issued to her, keeping a beady eye on her bag with its precious cargo.

Lead weighed down her steps as she approached the maintenance desk. Was that guard leaning against the desk chatting up the maintenance officer there for her? She eyed the exit door. Just how fast could she run if she needed to? Heart hammering in her chest, she presented her ID tag to the maintenance officer.

“Six-thirty okay?” The guard didn’t even bother to look at her.

“Hmm,” the officer said, scanning her ID into the system. “I’ll have to check my schedule first.”

Bastila jumped when her datapad beeped loudly, the confirmation of the payment for the night’s work coming through quickly on Coruscant’s communications network.

The guard gave her a dirty look.

The maintenance officer smiled kindly. “You should be good to go. Thanks for your time!”

Bastila took her ID back with a shaky hand. “Th-thank you. You too!”

She beat a hasty retreat, not running exactly but not slowing down either, not until she was far from the building, lost in the sea of sentients milling the streets of Coruscant. Finally letting herself relax, she felt a tear trickling down her cheek. She’d done it. There was still plenty left to do before Sera was back safely in her arms, plenty of places to look, but it was a start.

***

Fucking finally! I thought I was never going to finish that! Also, "keep things brief" lol.

Now onto Part 5! I have started it a little bit but that's about it. And if it turns out to be like this part...

I'm also trying a collaboration with someone else, so we'll see how that goes. I probably won't put it up here unless I get express permission though.