Author's Notes: Special thanks to deltalphavictor58, Ceres McClure, and Queen for their critiques of Chapter 29. You all brought forth some gaps I didn't realize I had, and I hope that Chapter 30 fills in the points you all noted. I came to the conclusion that I will not be including an epilogue in the story simply because the epilogue I had in mind was nothing but a summary of the tale, and I didn't want to write a redundant chapter.

Before you delve into the final chapter of Knight of Honor, I wanted to take the time to write a proper thank you to everyone who has read my humble tale. For those of you who have left reviews, I will always be grateful for your criticism and your support. It's hard to believe that I had worked on Knight of Honor for approximately three years, and it's finally come to a close. I've met some wonderful friends through this story, and I honestly have no idea what my Muse will bring me next to write. With my most heartfelt gratitude, I want to thank each and every one of you so much!

As always, I continue to hope that I am doing justice to the spirit of Star Wars as well as the respective authors and characters from which I borrow. Again, I gratefully accept constructive criticism as a means to help me develop my skills further as a writer.

Disclaimer: I make no money, and I only write about what I enjoy. I own none of Karen Traviss' characters, and I hope she is not too upset that I have borrowed them to help tell the tale. Crimson Squad, the Tochin people, Gan Pohin, Moff Harkin, and anyone else I create are mine. Everything else belongs to George Lucas. All opening chapter quotes are my own design, unless otherwise specified.

Chapter 30

I've failed you, Sir. The last two men of my squad have died in surgery, and I have been diagnosed as being disabled and unfit for service. Having a destroyed thigh means I'm useless now, and spending the last of my years behind a desk is no way for a soldier to live. I hope my replacement serves you far better than I have.
Excerpt from TK-2857's suicide note

91 Days after Order 66
Tochin Moon III

Gillard slowly turned around in the center of the bright room. The walls were layered in soft, pastel textures of yellow and peach. The window was wrapped in a fabric that resembled something like creamy lace with small flower designs embroidered in the material. A similar fabric was draped over the four wooden posters of the bed, connecting to a canopy top above the mattress. False flowers and vines were wrapped around the corners of the bedposts, making the bed seem more organic than it was.

Gillard finally pulled his eyes away from the bed, noting that it looked like something out of a fantasy story, yet it was every bit the kind of thing he should have expected to see in her room.

Moving his attention elsewhere, Gillard started to study every possession and every trinket. He had no idea what he had anticipated to see upon entering Arlesse's personal bedchamber, and at this point he was certain anything would have been a surprise. He didn't even know why he was here, but he could only conclude that it had something to do with finding closure.

Just like everything else in his existence that had slipped through his fingers, the life he thought he could fabricate had also been ripped from his grasp before he could truly hold it. He had lost the people who would have helped him achieve his idea of a content existence. First, it was the personal squad that had been assigned as his guardians, then TK-2857 had taken his own life yesterday, and still the hardest person for him to accept as gone was Arlesse.

Clenching his right hand into a fist, Gillard flinched at the way the skin of his arm pinched, and he was thrown back into the memories of how his idealistic dream had ended so abruptly. He still didn't understand what had happened in that hangar and how a couple of soldiers had so easily taken out his entire squad of sixteen men. And for as much as he was angered over that loss, his thoughts constantly saw Arlesse's lifeless body lying on the floor. Everything in that moment had been taken from him, and his only consolation was that he had finally admitted to Arlesse how he had found affection for a woman like her when she had done nothing kind for him in return.

Through his tunic sleeve, Gillard touched gently upon the bacta patch and reminded himself that healing was still taking place beneath as the bacta slowly treated the blaster wound. And, in a way, he came to understand that it was a metaphor for his own emotional healing because he had fought so hard against living the life his parents had shared, that he didn't even notice he was forcing those same arrangements onto those around him. It wasn't until this morning that he saw just how full-circle his life had grown and how everything he swore he would never do was everything he had done instead.

Letting go of his fist and relaxing his fingers now, Gillard brought them towards the small novel shelf in what had been the princess' bedroom. He ran his fingers over the bindings on the flimsies, certain that she, herself, had done this very motion numerous times before. His eyes read the titles, absorbing bits and pieces about who Arlesse Psach had been. While the names of the stories were different, each of those flimsi novels were the same story told in different ways with different characters. Every one of those tales offered an adventure and a romance that brought the reader into the escapism of reality.

Sliding one of the novels free from its placement, Gillard opened the plain-bound flimsi and thumbed his fingers through the delicate pages that contained nothing but words. He studied how the novel was pristine and well-kept, a sign that Arlesse had treasured her belongings, and he understood why nearly instantly. These stories were her freedom, the keys that opened the unknown world to her. Even though they were fantasies and fables, they gave her imagination and her mind the chance to roam free and leave behind the political world that she had been brought within.

Placing the novel back into its proper place on the shelf, Gillard found his eyes diverted to a colorful child's flimsi novel. It was set on a bedside table, and it was obvious that the collection of stories had seen better days. Compared to the pristine care of the other novels, Gillard found it odd how this one had been put through a war, yet it remained proudly on display.

Slowly opening the cover that had seen far too many repairs, the binding cracked with the movement as though vocalizing its pain for being called upon to be read once again. Gillard flipped through each page slowly, taking notice to the detailed drawings of the characters for each story. Certain pages had the corners folded down, and after a few moments, Gillard saw a pattern emerge. Those stories contained the fables that offered an adventure in bravery and chivalry as well as a subtle romance where the beautiful maiden had found her love.

Closing the novel, Gillard focused now on the small holo portraits that were scattered over Arlesse's dressers. There was one with the princess as a child looking no older than five years old as her father proudly held her on his lap. They were both dressed in the formal attire that royals were known for wearing during special occasions, and Arlesse's yellow dress was adorned with the kind of lace girls that age tend to wear. Looking deeper into the portrait, Gillard realized that the occasion was a day where they had celebrated her birth, as lavish frosting from a specially decorated cake had been caught in the corner of the scene.

Bringing his eyes to the child version of Arlesse, Gillard saw that she hadn't changed much throughout the years. In the portrait, her dark hair was neatly pulled back from her face in a yellow ribbon that matched her dress, and the curls of her hair had apparently been tight her entire life. Her blue eyes seemed large on her young face, and her cheeks were noticeably rounder.

The other holos on the shelf were similar in nature. Some of them contained Arlesse and her cousin, Janelle, in various stages of their lives. While looking through the portraits, Gillard could very easily see how Arlesse had begun to gradually slide into the background throughout the poses that she and her cousin shared. In the holos where they were both young children, they sat side by side and truly were equals. However, as Janelle's exquisite and unique beauty began to blossom, Arlesse slid further behind her, lowering her eyes from the portrait-taker's lens as though she was finding herself unworthy of being so close to her cousin's beauty.

Gillard understood even more now who Arlesse Psach was and why she had refused to turn away from her clone, the one man who had probably never been exposed to Janelle Napith and probably never had the opportunity to compare Arlesse to her cousin.

"She was a distraction to you. You know that, Gillard."

The moff spun quickly at the sound of his most trusted advisor's voice, the man who had taken on a father's role for him after he had developed his own network of political contacts on Coruscant. Leaning on a wooden cane, the advisor stood in the doorway looking much younger than his sixty-two years appeared. His thick, gray hair matched the beard and moustache on his unwrinkled face and while he was a shorter man, he held himself with great dignity. The advisor's brown eyes were filled with a strange pity while they glanced between Gillard and the multitude of trinkets that were scattered throughout the bedchamber.

"How did you know I was here, Omul?"

The older man waved a hand as though it was nothing and took a step into what was once Princess Arlesse's bedroom. "It would be obvious that a man who had just lost everything would take a step backwards into the past one last time."

Gillard turned his attention to a more recent portrait of Arlesse and her father. While there was still a noticeable sadness in her eyes, there was something warm between father and daughter, and Gillard remembered what she had told him about Vollan Psach being a parent, the way a parent is supposed to be.

"You fell in love with an idea, Son," Omul told him, his cane thumping on the floor as he moved a couple steps closer and brought his eyes to some of the portraits that had grasped the moff's attention.

Gillard turned to him, clearly confused.

"The union between a moff and a princess sounded enchanting. Most people flock to the idea of a fairy tale wedding. You would have offered the galaxy the union of a high-ranked Imperial moff to a young and shy princess. People would have wanted to see the royal splendor and all the insanity that goes with it. Royal weddings are a reason for the common citizens to re-evaluate their own small lives and dream of that elusive happy ending everyone wants but no one ever finds. We both know that marrying her would have brought in a different kind of respect for you."

"Fantasizing for the public wasn't my intention, Omul. I feared how some of those Imperials would have shredded her innocence. Arlesse wasn't raised politically…"

"Which is why some of us advised you to have her removed from her position…"

"So she could die alone in a galaxy where she had no knowledge of how to survive?" Gillard interrupted. He briefly tried to imagine Arlesse living in a small dwelling amongst the same common people who knew so little about her. He wondered if they would have helped her or if they would have turned their backs on her because of who she was. He tried to imagine what would have happened to her if she couldn't or maybe wouldn't have helped them if they wanted her to rebel with them. He tried to envision her becoming part of the working class, trying to make ends meet when her knowledge had been so limited. Then, he forced himself to push aside his anger and grief for what he had lost. Arlesse was now spared from ever having to suffer in a commoner's life and would never have to fear being an enemy from both her own people and an Empire that had thrown her away.

Omul put a gentle hand on the moff's shoulder, bringing him back from the thoughts that he could see were brewing beneath his young friend's eyes. "She died anyway, Gillard. Her death would have come regardless. Arlesse Psach was comforted and sheltered. She never would have made an appropriate companion, especially not to an Imperial moff who was expected to enforce Emperor Palpatine's severe policies."

Gillard pulled away from his advisor again and touched his hand to one of the false flowers that adorned the canopy around the bed.

"Gillard, I know you don't believe me, but the princess would have been your political downfall. She disrupted your ability to see clearly and be a proper leader. Without her around to be a distraction, you can now take charge of this world the way you have been expected to do."

The moff glanced again at one of the portraits, not seeing a political threat but a young and uncertain woman who just wanted to live a life without complications.

He voiced his question softly, concern etched in his words. "Did anyone ever see her as anything other than a Tochinite and a threat to the Empire?"

Omul leaned on his cane, studying the young moff and spoke as though the answer were obvious. "Her father and her cousin tried to lead a rebellion…"

"And acted completely outside of Arlesse's knowledge," Gillard defended feeling his frustration starting anew. "They purposefully kept Arlesse unaware of their plans to ensure she would not be judged wrongly."

Omul sighed softly and then decided for a different tactic. He could see that he was approaching the subject from the wrong angle. Politically the princess was no threat, but emotionally, she would have unwound the moff's experience and training. "Arlesse never would have loved you, Gillard, and I know you know that."

Gillard turned abruptly to his advisor, but before he could speak Omul continued.

"Do you remember the day that you showed me her comlink before interrogating her? When we discussed if those messages contained threats, I told you that those messages were far more dangerous than any political coup. I warned you that there was a purity in her correspondence, and you were advised then to let her go."

"And, I was going to," Gillard admitted, "Until I saw the way Arlesse defended that clone in my interrogation. She was willing to risk her freedom and her safety for him, and I don't know why, but I wanted someone to feel like that for me. I had never met anyone like her before. Her honesty was so pure, so real."

"And, you thought that she could absolve you of the lies that created who you are," Omul concluded softly.

"I would have loved her…"

"No, Son," Omul said, shaking his head, "You loved the fantasy of being loved by her. If you loved her, you wouldn't have competed with a clone for her."

Gillard just stared silently, trying to understand what exactly his advisor was attempting to say.

"It wouldn't have mattered if she loved a clone or a man of her own world," Omul continued, "She was committed with her heart in a bond that might not have been legal but was very real. You always were a threat to that, no matter how benevolent your intentions appeared. Look around here, and you will see that she believed with an innocence that doesn't exist in the rest of the galaxy."

Omul set his hand again on the moff's shoulder, offering silent condolences for the opportunities that were not meant to be his. After a moment, he spoke gently, reminding Gillard that he still had work to do. "Come now. It's time for you to honor your dead soldiers and close the matter of Arlesse's untimely demise. Then, your new captain awaits his orders for himself and his squad. And, tonight we have to address the Senate. The princess is gone, and you have to sign off the execution order for the three guardians sitting in the prison. You must be the moff that Palpatine expects you to be or you won't be here much longer."

Gillard took a heavy breath and one long, last look throughout the room. He knew he could never undo what had been done, but if he wanted Palpatine to remain distant he would have to convince the Senate that all rebellions on Tochin had been extinguished. He had to make it perfectly clear that although this latest attempt had resulted in casualties, there was no longer a desire from the people to rise up again. His life of lies had come back to claim him once more, and fabricating the story about Arlesse inadvertently being caught in a hail of blaster fire from the former palace guardians was another lie that was concocted to keep the Tochinite people subdued. He only hoped that they would believe the falsehoods about how she had been horribly disfigured when she had been killed and that it had been best to have her cremated upon being returned to the palace.

Following Omul into the hallway, Gillard turned and sealed the door behind him. He set the lock on the room so that no one would ever enter it again and everything inside it would remain preserved. He wanted something pristine left of the only woman who had never lied to him, and he would forbid anyone from ever tainting her memory.

91 Days after Order 66
Mandalore

The small datapad was full of white pinpricks that covered a black screen, and as it moved, it copied the image of the sky behind it. When it stopped moving, a series of letters in the Basic language scattered over the screen, labeling the larger planets and some of the constellations.

A small finger touched upon one of those constellations on the datapad and a small paragraph filled a corner of the screen. It described the legend and the origin of the constellation as well as the stars that made up the night-sky portrait.

The finger closed out the information and then touched upon a planet that was distant within the constellation. Facts about the planet filled the screen, and the process remained the same as other planets and constellations were viewed.

"Did you ever travel here?" her voice now asked, as her finger moved over one of the planets, suddenly curious about where her husband may have traveled during the war.

There was a quiet laugh, mixed with an accent that was unique but familiar. "No one goes to Nal Hutta, not unless you want to become a Hutt's slave."

"Oh," she replied, feeling somewhat foolish.

"Les'ika, you've been insatiable with this quest for knowledge, and you're constantly reading every fact on that device that you can find."

Pulling the datapad down from the sky to rest on her stomach, the young woman stayed on her back in the sprouting, fresh grass and looked sideways to the pair of dark eyes that were staring into hers. Even with the faint light of the moons in the night sky, she could see the playful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I'm trying to learn everything, Jas. I feel like I've been in a tiny box my whole life."

"You will learn all that you need and want," he replied, studying her profile in the dim light, "But you need patience and time."

Arlesse closed her eyes for a moment and came to understand that there was a lot that they still had to figure out. While traveling through hyperspace during their escape from Tochin, they took on the problem of finding a name to use to address her, especially in public. It was agreed upon that Les'ika was fine for using amongst themselves, but she would need a new identity, something that would further hide her royal bloodlines. The two of them had established that they would take Gan's surname of Pohin and then it was up to Arlesse to decide on her first name. She chose Lessa in honor of the nickname that her parents had used for her and to make it easy for everyone to still call her Les'ika.

Setting the datapad beside her on the uneven and newly-growing grass, Lessa Pohin pulled gently at the fabric of the high collar around her neck. While Jas had not been able yet to acquire beskar'gam or a buy'ce for her, he had been able to find appropriate clothing that was the start to her set of armor.

After they had settled on Mandalore, she had safely stored her lavender gown in their humble residence, preserving it in a suitcase. Jas had been curious about why she kept the garment from her past life, and she had told him that it was because the clothing was technically her wedding gown and traditionally such attire becomes saved as an heirloom.

Now Lessa was still trying to grow accustomed to having her neck hidden behind the protective fabric. She had always worn open collars and had always allowed her star pendant to be seen. However, she knew that she would have to make alterations to her comforts in order to remain hidden from any potential threats.

While the material of her new clothing was soft to the touch, it was just…unusual and hugged her body differently than any gown she had ever worn. The tunic and pants kept her body temperature regulated so she had no need for multiple layers, and the boots weren't much different than what she had worn during her days in the palace. What she actually liked about the outfit was the piece of clothing that Jas had told her was a kama, and it felt most like the skirts she had worn her entire life. Unlike Jas' kama that was short and functional, though, her kama wrapped around her hips and draped down past her knees in a material that was light but strong, more flowing like the outer-layers she used to wear on top of her skirts.

The overall color scheme of what would be her underclothing to her armor was an off-white, more like the color of a faded beige, and Jas had promised her that after they would find her beskar, she could have the armor coated in whatever color or pattern she wanted.

Finally opening her eyes, Lessa pushed aside the extraneous thoughts about her clothing while looking into Jas' irises, and she found herself suddenly reminded of the moment when she had awakened on the Galaar Woor.

Her consciousness had started with a flutter in her eyelids. It was that heavy feeling of not wanting to awaken, but not being able to stay asleep. She barely had the opportunity to slit open her eyes when she felt a touch that was everything familiar and comforting. She recognized the contact of Jas' kiss and instead of immediately opening her eyes, she leaned into his lips. She felt him slide his hands behind her back and help raise her into a sitting position from the cushion she had been laying upon.

After a few long minutes they pulled apart, and she simply stared at him, lost in a confusing mix of emotions and questions. Jas had done nothing more than take her hands in his, and in that moment a surge of new sensations came over her as she realized that for the first time since she had been bitten by a Pallid Viper in the Tochin forest, she felt Jas' rough skin rather than the gloves of his armored outfits.

Jas didn't hesitate, and while one of his hands kept a grasp on hers, his other one moved to her face. He couldn't help touching her smooth cheek, finding himself lost in the warmth and softness of her skin. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own as they twisted into the curls near her cheek, trying to experience every sensation that he had been denied because of his commando and Mandalorian suits of armor.

"Is this real?" she had asked quietly in a whisper as though afraid speaking any louder would end the daydream she had imagined for so long.

"I'm hoping it is," Jas replied just as softly, as though fearing his own visions would come to an abrupt end. Then, he felt the overwhelming need to apologize and knew he could not hide how it reflected in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed Les'ika's forehead, bringing both his hands into her curls, allowing her tight locks to tangle around his fingers. Gently, he tilted her face slightly towards his, letting her see the agony he felt at his confession.

"Les'ika, I didn't want to hurt you, but Dusty insisted that my position in the hangar was the only one that could make the shot convincing. I had to make you look dead to Harkin, and it destroyed me. I knew the blaster was set on stun, but I feared the entire time that I might fall into old habits and set it for kill the moment my battle instincts kicked in."

Arlesse absorbed Jas' words, aware of the pain and truth in his eyes, and knew that he had not harmed her with any malicious intent. Still, she had to know more about the results of the actions that her guardians had done to free her. "What happened to everyone?"

"Dusty, Tarj, and Chora are fine, but we killed most of the stormtroopers," he told her, holding her eyes with his own. "There were only a couple left alive, but we made certain their wounds were mortal and that their survival wouldn't be for long."

His voice changed then, becoming determined and protective. "I personally confronted Harkin. I convinced him you were dead, and I put a career-ending blaster bolt into his stormtrooper captain. I had to make sure you were safe and that they would not try to hunt you down."

"Oh, Jas…" she breathed, not certain what there was to say. She had never imagined in her entire life that any man would risk his existence for her and defy a Galactic Empire in the process. She never once thought that holding his hand on Hazar's ship nearly a year ago would have led to his acts of pure devotion to her. Finding her voice again, she told him the only thing she could – the truth, "You really are my knight."

Jas leaned forward then, and they were both pulled by emotions that neither of them had any reason to deny as they fell against the cushioned mattress.

Blinking against the memories of that private moment, Lessa Pohin returned her thoughts to the outstretched meadow of their backyard on Mandalore and the dark evening she was sharing with a research datapad and her husband. She saw the concern that was in her knight's eyes about their conversation regarding her need to learn so much and noticed how quickly his smile had faded in those passing seconds. She had to reveal her own confession now, just as he had done for her about Dusty's escape plan.

"I did some research this morning on Mandalorian culture," she told him nervously, watching how his dark eyes could grow even more concerned and intense. "I'm worried that I'll fail you in the expectations of a Mandalorian wife."

"Les'ika…" Jas whispered softly, but Lessa hurried to cut him off.

"I'm supposed to be able to defend the homestead by using weapons and fight like a warrior, but…"

Jas repositioned his body next to her so that he leaned on his arm and looked down into her eyes from above. He waited for her to finish her thoughts, but when she didn't, he tried to respond as best he could. "No one expects you to be able to learn how to fire a blaster in one day or to know self-defense with just a couple lessons."

Lessa sighed heavily, seeing that her pause had caused her conversation to go in the wrong direction, and she needed it back where it was supposed to be. "Jas, it's more than learning the mechanics of all that. Being a Mandalorian comes from a breeding I don't have. There is no mercenary blood in my lineage, and my family doesn't come from warriors."

"That's not true," Jas argued gently. He refused to let her believe she was useless. He had seen her grow stronger during their time together in the Tochin forest, and he knew she was capable of more than she believed. "Your mother…"

"Has, or had, a gift that I don't," Lessa countered, knowing that Jas was going to remind her about how Darian Psach was a Jedi.

Jas continued staring into her eyes, dropping that argument and instead waiting for her real fear to emerge. While he could see she had her concerns about everything she had mentioned to him, there was something much deeper that was the root to all this. After a few moments when she didn't offer anything, he decided to press for what he sought.

"Les'ika, what's really wrong?"

There was a long pause and finally she spoke quietly. "I don't want to kill anyone, Jas. I've seen too many people die, and I can't bring myself to end someone's existence. From what I read, though, most Mandalorians are mercenaries and people who take dangerous jobs for credits. How can I possibly be trained to have such little regard for another life? I don't want to become like Hazar."

Jas found himself unable to answer her immediately. Les'ika still continued to carry the life of an anonymous clone trooper in her heart, and that vode's sacrifice had not lessened in the year since that event. Then, she had been witness to the deaths of her family, as well as the people she had taken for granted in her past. Unlike his training that was instilled in him since childhood to fight a war, Les'ika had only been witness to unjust acts of execution. Remembering the way she had grown stronger in his presence during their time in the Tochin forest, Jas knew Les'ika was no weakling. What he saw instead was a woman of great compassion who had been denied her full potential, and he would see to it that she would survive after his shortened life came to its end.

Finally finding an answer that he believed would ease her concerns, Jas told her, "Being a Mandalorian doesn't mean you always have to kill, and defending isn't always about executing someone. I could teach you to use a stun blaster, and self-defense isn't about killing but about keeping someone else from hurting you. We can stay here where we are, quiet and isolated from the main civilization. We'll start a farm, growing whatever the land will give us or we'll find some trade that will give us a way to fend for ourselves. I swear that you won't turn into Hazar, but you'll be strong enough to keep safe."

Lessa reached her fingers to his chin and touched it gently. "Jas, I feel like I'm going to hold you back from everything you've been trained to do."

"Les'ika, I don't want to be a soldier anymore, and you saved me from that existence. I've lived for others' commands for far too long, and I heard that Palpatine uses the remaining clones to be little more than law enforcers and executioners. He thinks nothing of sending my brothers into situations where they will not return, almost like he's letting them die off purposefully. So, if you think you're holding me back, then I'd be a fool to leave."

Lessa felt a small smile return to her face now. "How do you always manage to make sense of me when I'm so lost?"

"The same way you never gave up on me during the war," Jas replied as he ran his fingers through her hair, joyful about not being locked in gloves or armor if he didn't want to be anymore. Even with the tightness of her curls, he was continually surprised at how soft her hair was. "You waited eight months for me, and that is the kind of devotion that makes a Mandalorian. Weapons and self-defense can be learned, but loyalty is ingrained."

"Did Gan teach you that?" she asked softly.

"No," he answered, tracing her jaw with his finger and leaning towards her. "You did."

"I'm leaving in the morning."

Both Jas and Lessa suddenly pulled back from their initial intentions, sitting up abruptly. They brought their eyes to the source of the familiar voice that had interrupted them, and neither was surprised that he had been able to move silently to where they were.

Dusty stood with his arms folded over his chest and wore a practiced smirk on his face that was actually enhanced by the starlight night. He did not have armor plating over his tunic or pants, but he was dressed in the style of soft clothing that most Mandalorians preferred. All he had to do was attach the plating, and put on a buy'ce, and he'd be ready for whatever Mandalore or the galaxy had to throw at him.

Unable to resist, Dusty kept his gaze on the two of them and teased, "I'd tell you to get married, but you've already done that. Looks like wedded bliss is working out well, though."

Lessa reached for the datapad and gathered it in her hands, trying to make herself appear busy as she felt her cheeks heating up in a flush of embarrassment. Jas remained seated on the ground next to her, refusing to allow himself to be shamed by what Dusty knew far too much about.

"What do you mean that you're leaving?" Jas asked, scratching the back of his head clearly confused. "I thought we had made adequate arrangements in the dwelling with Tarj and Chora and you."

Dusty's smile faded as he explained his reason for abruptly barging into his vode's moment of longing and affection. "Ordo said his brothers got a trace for me on Cerina…"

Jas sat up straighter as though to say something, but Dusty cut him off by continuing his thoughts. "Yeah, I know sooner than I expected, too. I didn't think Kal would have given us any cooperation after the way we stood up to him a couple weeks ago. Apparently, though, he still feels some obligation to us, being that we're clones and all."

"How are you going to arrange leaving Mandalore?" Jas asked.

Dusty smirked again, seeming surprised by his own words. "The Gaalor Woor is still in our name. Plus, I took a check on the balance of that credit chip Ordo gave us when we were on Tochin, and it actually increased its value, like it's earning interest. So, I thought I would just withdraw a portion of that amount to cover my expenses and let you keep the rest."

"It looks like Kal isn't holding any grudges against us, then," Jas said, more to himself than to Dusty.

Dusty decided to explain further his findings from the few conversations he had with the Null who had helped them just a few weeks ago. "I questioned some things with Ordo recently, and he told me that Kal's been taking care of whatever clones make it here so we're officially under his protection."

"So coming across this homestead was another of Kal's contributions," Jas concluded.

"It's like he said, ner vod. He personally couldn't get involved with our mission to Tochin, but he had no intentions to stop us. Now that we're out of immediate danger, he just wants us all happy, I guess. And, supposedly, his Nulls are working on finding a cure for our advanced aging."

At that, Lessa and Jas exchanged glances, hoping that such a cure would be possible.

Dusty didn't want to dwell on the rumors until there was more proof so he switched back to his original thoughts. "Anyway, I had told Ordo that I wasn't in a rush to find Cerina, but it was something I wanted to eventually pursue. It looks like he found information a lot sooner than any of us expected."

Jas looked to Dusty with hope. "So, you're going to find her?"

"I knew you would understand this, Jas, which is why I wanted to be sure I told you right away. I can't help the feeling that if I don't take this chance, I'm never going to have it again. The Nulls said that Cerina had gone underground a few weeks after our mission and remained hidden for over a year. That doesn't sound good, and I just want to make sure she's okay."

Lessa felt sudden concern for Dusty, worried that he might be getting himself into some kind of situation that would not end well. "What do you plan to do?"

Dusty shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know yet, Les'ika. It depends on what I find when I get to Denon and if I can keep below the Imperial radar."

"I'll go with you," Jas suddenly offered.

Dusty gave a small smile as his eyes passed between Jas and Les'ika. "No, you aren't, ner vod, and I'd beat your senseless shebs if you tried. You took your chance and got a life now. I'm not going to let you screw that up. Besides, Tarj and Chora already offered to tag along so I'm still deciding if I want the company or not. I just thought I should let you both know now in case I miss the two of you in the morning, especially since you're still quite smitten with each other."

With that, Dusty offered one last smirk before he turned and headed back to the dwelling they all called home.

"It won't be the same without him around," Lessa said quietly.

"I know," Jas agreed, "But he won't want us making a fuss about this. Cerina is the reason he survived as long as he did, and he deserves the chance to find her. Besides, he'll take Tarj and Chora with him when he leaves. Dusty doesn't do well without someone to annoy when he's bored. And, he's right about one thing," Jas said turning towards Les'ika. He took the datapad from her hands and placed it back onto the ground, letting his words fade into the night air as he leaned towards her. "He'd really kick my shebs..."