Chapter Three of 'Battlefront'...

Lambs and Gents, here's the third chapter of my book, which is the first actual chapter (the previous two were prologues). Please enjoy.

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ALPHA CHAPTER

Gorinda Outpost, Bel-Kor'Ivar.

Endez-W'Hot'Mas Jandovar-P'Laez fluttered in mid-air as he gestured toward the hologram with a small, pudgy hand. The young Toydarian easily broke into a grin. "So, Gentles," he began in Huttese in perfect showmanship fashion, "what will be the starting price for this exquisite piece of T'Shanda hardware?"

His first response came as a disinterested spit from an especially lethargic Trandoshan who looked far more eager for his sleep-cycle, which he had passed more than two hours before. "Watto," the saurioid grumbled, using the pet name he knew the Toydarian most detested being called, "what guarantees do you have that the damned thing will continue to work after firing the first ten shots?" Muted guttural laughs of approval filled the dark, musky chamber as the Trandoshan's speculation was well-received.

Endez-W'Hot'Mas let the jibe on his name pass as he took on a hurt expression. "My dear Galurdi, you strike me foul with that statement. I have maintained close, almost familial relationships with each of the manufacturers I deal with. As such, I have not only their fullest assurances as to the proper operation of their respective products but the extent as to how excellently they will work." He effected a smirk, as if to concrete his point.
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"Like that plasma driver you sold to Pinder Station that exploded two days after it was first brought on-line?"

Endez-W'Hot'Mas almost blanched at that statement. Gods, they found out about that fool Janil Kurrise. He regarded the one who had said it, and instantly regretted having done so. It was none other than Sebulba, a particularly wily young Dug whose skill at counterfeit operations and assassination paled only to his deadliness at podracing. "You know, Watto, they're still picking up the pieces all the way out past Myrkr," Sebulba continued. "You've got to be wondering what kind of hell poor Tynda Reevo's catching over this." More muted laughter follwed as the Dug caressed the bare nape of his Vermullian consort, who purred demurely.

"It was an unfortunate mishap for everyone involved," Watto said nonchalantly by way of cover. His tympanic membranes still rang from the brutal, nine-hour-long tongue-thrashing he received from Reevo, who was now facing several indictments brought about by the Gendarme Court of the Galactic Republic for the now-infamous destruction of the waystation/outpost Pinder Station. The action clearly spelled ruination of both Reevo's corporation and of Reevo himself, who was inarguably terrified by all of this. The chances were excellent that if the Court decided to push the matter and Reevo plea-bargained in turn, Watto's name would most definitely be dragged through the hoosegow along with everyone else associated with Reevo.

The Toydarian's easy smile came back as he returned to more pleasant pastures. "Besides, gentles, I have not travelled all this way to the Far Rim to trade mere banter." With deft ease, he hovered down to where a burnished metal crate lay. "We came to look at merchandise." Using a coder-remote, Watto popped the lock on the crate's lid. He subsequently accessed a command-input panel and watched along with everyone else as the weapon itself was brought forth on pneumatic jacks. He particularly relished the thrill of anticipation as it rose through several of his audience members immediately soon afterward. The Toydarian's grin widened in approval. "Who would like the honor of testing the weapon first?"

"We wouldn't." The voice from which the statement came sounded acutely disembodied, as if from a near-corpse. Everybody faced about, completely startled.

The obsidian-robed Gawain Defender De'Nim Windu stood flanked by two powerfully-looking sector rangers in red duty armor. He broke into an easygoing smile that accentuated the dashing wholesomeness of his ebony features. "Gentles," he said in a broad voice that was surprisingly lively for one descended from the Jedi, "I would advise you to stand down expeditiously before someone gets hurt." As he said this, De'Nim casually waved a hand before his already-captive listeners.

A portion of the gathered seemed to instantaneously go mentally limp, as if in a trance. However, on the other hand, those who weren't held under sway promptly went into defensive mode as hands, tentacles and other appendages bound forth loaded with every conceivable type of energy weapon. "Fat chance--!" someone screamed in the language of the Gand as the outlaws opened fired. With strength born of desperation, Endez-W'Hot'Mas Jandovar-P'Laez pulsed his tiny wings madly, making a mad dash for the nearest available exit, an ill-tendered ventilation chute.

What energy wasn't absorbed easily in the ensuing firefight easily deflected off the sector rangers' armor as they returned the gunplay with equal vengeance. De'Nim swiftly parted his cloak as he brought forth his service dramsaber, igniting one end of it with a brilliant silver blade through which he deflected further bombardment. "I'm going after Jandovar," De'Nim called out to Sector Ranger Third Grade Dyyz Nataz, who only nodded in acknowledgment as the young Gawain raced from view.

Outside, near the transference spire network that expunged the waste-exhaust produced by the whole of Gorinda Outpost, Watto huffed stertorously as he pumped his fragile wings for all they were worth. Through stinking alleyways, steaming pipelines and rickety metal latticework, the Toydarian's only thought was of escaping aboard his Alderaanian corvette and getting the living hell off-planet as hurriedly as possible. Before long, he crested above the transference plant and noticed with sizeable delight that the spaceport was only a few hundred meters away. Putting on a burst of adrenaline, he made for it…

…and was immediately brought to a halt by a wildly-furling ball of black fabric that somersaulted over his head, landing less than two meters away. The ball unfolded itself to reveal De'Nim Windu, who looked more authoritative this time; more succinctly, he looked as if he were about to strike at the slightest instant.

The Toydarian nearly defecated his trousers as cold fear shot through him. "Wh-What do you want--?" He said this in a sharp, keening tone of voice. Backing away from the Jedi as steadily as possible, Watto kept his body in a partial profile as his three-fingered hand stealthily moved toward the hold-out blaster he kept hidden beneath his jacket.

De'Nim Windu casually strode towards Watto as he continued. "I'm not looking for anything specific from you, per se. However, the Gendarme Court of the Republic would like to make a request of you."

"What kind of request, Jedi?" Watto sneered malevolently. The intrusion by the Jedi had Reevo's claw-marks all over it, and it sent him into such a rage that it was difficult for the Toydarian to keep himself in check. "I've done nothing wrong."

"Apparently the Court sees that a little differently, Squin Jandovar," De'Nim countered, using the proper honorific used to distinguish Toydarians of the business trade. "According to their investigation of Master Reevo, it was discovered that you had an almost-exclusive contract with his corporation to sell goods, all of which were known to be significantly defective in varying degrees." He went on to cite examples. "Besides the Pinder Station incident, I believe there was a fusion compiler you sold to Gengas-Ki Industries' Range Division? It caused a network meltdown six days after being initialized, thus forcing that particular section into a 786% loss of total revenue, which in turn forced part of the Gantiir Sector into economic dependency. Or how about the mason diffractor that was delivered to Solanas Prime whose ignition core was so unstable it deprived three continents of power for more than a week?" Seeing that this was having an effect on Watto, De'Nim carefully changed tactics. "The Court has charged me to suggest to you a way in which you may… ameliorate yourself. To begin with, it would appreciate your sharing everything about your dealings with Master Reevo in exchange for--"

Watto's ire was instant. "You want me to rat, is that it, Jedi--?" He swallowed hard against the bile that rose from his foregut. "As your fine sense of all-knowing should tell you, I am a man with a reputation to protect. A very serious reputation. If I decided to tell what I know to the authorities, my livelihood and my life wouldn't stand much of a chance past a week. Reevo's a powerful individual with many friends in positions of influence, people who do not like having their business streamed everywhere and would welcome the soonest opportunity to silence anyone willing to even breath a word against them." His eyes took on a particularly devilish cast as his hand found and twisted around the short handle of the hold-out blaster. "Allow me to ask this-- what will the Republic do to me if I choose to hold my tongue?"

De'Nim sighed introspectively as he crossed his arms before him. "There's nothing that mandates me or my superiors in forcing you into this action. However, you should consider that in rejecting this offer, the Court may order several punitive actions against you, with the very least being the revocation of your tradesman's license and the execution of a forty-year-sentence for the violations I've already stated." He paused a moment, gauging the Toydarian's demeanor. "What will it be?"

"Bok'Ra Ta'Vangi S'Hut--!" Watto screamed in his native Tyese as he whipped out the hold-out blaster and fired several shots in rapid succession--

--which were all deflected by the struck end of De'Nim's dramsaber with ridiculous ease. With his free hand, the young Gawain reached out with the Power of the Force and called Watto's weapon from the Toydarian's hand.

De'Nim closed the gap between himself and the now-terrified Toydarian merchant in several quick paces. "Are we ready to listen now, Squin Jandovar?" he said with near-sympathy as Watto's face collapsed in resignation, his imagination seeing only the worst. De'Nim retrieved and subsequently activated his personal comlink. "Windu to Calamarain. Subject Jandovar-P'Laez has been acquired."

"Well done," came the pleasant female response. "There's more good news on this end also. The Masters' Council on Coruscant just signalled." A short grin followed. "It's a given, kiddo."

De'Nim's eyes actually flashed at that. "Perfect."

( * * * )

The Jedi Temple, Coruscant.

Colna Ardaugh raced through the hallowed halls of the Jedi Temple as she made her way back to the dormitory suite she shared with Sirette Rivossa, her closest friend of nearly twenty years and fellow paladin trainer. Sirette, who was undergoing the benocque trials of ascension, was due back any time now and Colna was most eager to about how the day's sessions went. Her thoughts matched her present speed as she considered for what seemed the millionth time the honor that would befall Sirette once the trials were successfully completed-- she would be elevated to the level of Ma'ardi Valkyrie and join the esteemed ranks of those female brethren strong with the Force who were charged with the caring and protection of the worlds and citizenry of the Galactic Republic, as were their Jedi brothers.

The young Nubian beauty solemnly sighed as she tossed the end-part of that thought inside her mind. Caring for and protecting the Republic. It shamed her somewhat that she felt no small measure of envy towards her best friend. For as long as she could remember, Colna Ardaugh desperately wanted to be part of that larger group. In her dreams, she had visited more than once the thousand-thousand worlds of the Republic, imagining herself as a Ma'ardi Sister bringing justice and order to those worlds and finding new life which had yet to be discovered; her baccalaureate major was in zoological anthropology, and one of her earliest influences towards that decision was the articles published by the great Jedi xenologist Ganji Alla Apso.

Yes, she had often mused with herself, the life of laws and sciences was the only way to proceed, because at the very least they provided a blueprint for successful achievement, and that appealed to the high-minded Colna. On the opposite hand, Sirette, who was far more gregarious and outgoing than Colna was or would probably ever be, often argued with Colna that life was best lived randomly, with as much fun and gusto as mortally possible.

This made Colna smile as she considered how she and Sirette often laughed at the differences that made them so close. Sirette was bold and circumspect where Colna was modest and introspective to the point where she sometimes took herself a little too seriously. Besides being a full ten years older than Colna, Sirette was also the more impulsive of the two, sometimes going as far as speaking her mind with the elders when a closed mouth and a more subtle approach would have been a better recourse. Sirette was also more physically lithe than Colna, and their sparring exercises together often forced the younger woman to improvise almost instantaneously without thought, or else risk getting cleaved by Sirette's deft skill with the lightsaber.

Colna was so deep in thought that she failed to sense another presence coming through the cross-corridor until after she'd bumped into it. "Ohh--!" When she noticed who it was a moment later, she practically turned ashen as she knelt to succor him. "Qui-Gon--! Are you all right?"

Little three-year-old Jedi neowan trainee Qui-Gon Jinn tried his best to smile as he popped to his feet. "I'm all right, Ma'am Colna." Although he spoke evenly enough, was such a look of intensity in the child's eyes that it made Colna pause. Something was going on that was laying heavy on his little heart.

Colna sensed it well as she took Qui-Gon into her arms. "Is there something you would like to talk about, little one?"

"About what, Ma'am Colna?" Qui-Gon said as if a bolt of naked fear had shot through him. It was highly apparent that he did not want to cross into this particular land.

Colna smiled easily, hoping that it would at least halfway ease the baby's present discontent. "About whatever it is that's got you so worried." She leaned in closer. "Will you tell me what's wrong?"

Qui-Gon Jinn sighed resignedly as he regarded the floor for a long beat. When he looked back up, tears shone in his eyes. "I was just told that I was going to be leaving the Temple."

This caught Colna completely off-guard. She quickly found the safety of a nearby bench and eased onto it. "Leaving the Temple--? How do you mean, Qui-Gon?"

It took a moment for Qui-Gon to find his voice. "Mother Doyenne and Docent Bayn came during the evening recess. After they asked to speak with me in private, Docent Bayn told me that she had wonderful news, that something quite special was going to happen to me." The boy's voice quavered as the tears began to spill. "When she told me what it was, I didn't know what to say, so I kept shut." He crumbled at this point, burying his face in his hands as he began sobbing uncontrollably. "I don't want it to happen--!"

"You don't want what to happen, Qui-Gon?"

The child's response could barely be made out. "Docent Bayn said I was going to become a padawan apprentice." This was followed by another fierce round of sobbing.

Colna had to struggle to suppress her amazement. The revelation floored her; normally, it wasn't until about the age of thirteen when was one was evaluated to be strong enough in the Force to be considered for padawan training. That Little Qui-Gon Jinn himself even made it told Colna that the Masters' Council saw something of great importance and potential in the child's future.

Unfortunately, it proved little consolation to Colna. She was nineteen years old already and, at such a late date, it was doubtfully slim that she would ever be selected for such an honor. But, dreams were dreams, and life wasn't worth living without them. And right now, this poor baby needed more serious attention, for all he saw was that he was going to be taken away from everything and everyone he'd ever known in his short life.

Colna held Qui-Gon even tighter, tenderly stroking his back. "Qui-Gon, do you remember when we spoke in group of what it was to be a Jedi Knight? About how they traveled throughout the galaxy helping people and preserving the laws of the Republic?"

Qui-Gon's pain and ire eased with the careful swiftness of early childhood. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you've just taken a big step towards being that, little baby," Colna beamed. "You have been selected for what is to many people throughout this temple one of the greatest distinctions any of us can be granted. For one, to be a padawan apprentice means that you'll be traveling the galaxy--"

"Traveling the galaxy…?" Qui-Gon jumped in, bubbling. His pain was practically forgotten now.

"Yes," Colna continued, stroking his ego. "And you'll be seeing new worlds, new lives and more ways of existence than many people will ever see or know in their own lifetimes." She paused a moment as she reflected upon the now-brilliant glow coming over the boy's face. "I envy you, Qui-Gon Jinn. It's not every day that someone with the Force, particularly one so young as yourself, is selected for apprenticeship. I have no doubts whatsoever that when you are called upon to be a Jedi Knight, you will do your Order proud." Colna noted the oncoming twilight as a solemn expression came into her own eyes. "Yes, we all should be so fortunate," she mumbled dispassionately, as if to no one in particular.

Qui-Gon took on an introspective look as he noted Colna's emotional shift. He waited a moment before adding. "You want to be where I'm at, don't you, Ma'am Colna?" He sounded guilty, as if terrified to how she would respond.

Colna schooled her features into a mask of neutrality as a bolt of surprise shot through her, as well as irritation at herself for allowing her guard to be down in such a fashion. Qui-Gon's sense of perception was extraordinary for his youth, and it was the first concrete proof of the boy's early selection for apprenticeship. Because of this, she decided to take the straightforward approach with the child. "Your insight serves you well, little one," she commended. "You have a gift, Qui-Gon, a gift for looking inside people and seeing what's truly in them. It's a most precious thing, and you will be wise to guard it well." She gently caressed the child's face. "I have faith that the one who will teach you will see this also, and that he or she will help further that and all your aims for life." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Now it's high past time you got yourself to bed. Promise me you'll remember what I said?"

"I promise, Ma'am Colna," Qui-Gon agreed eagerly as he returned her kiss. "Good night," he said as he raced off. "And thanks again."

"You're very welcome, baby," Colna waved, watching the boy's retreat until he was gone from sight. Yes, she thought to herself, it was good that the little one was getting such a lucky break. She also made an immediate promise to herself to give an extra fifteen minutes to her sensate-focus exercises she did prior to retiring every night. This would be an act of discipline for allowing herself to get caught as badly awry as she had with Qui-Gon, and she wasn't ever going to allow another child to read her subsurface impressions that closely again. With that, Colna Ardaugh collected her wares, came to her feet and turned the corner into her dormitory suite.

As was expected, the chamber was dark and unoccupied. Using her ability to sense through the Force, Colna easily sidestepped all significant obstacles as she made her way to the dining table.

"You should appeal your case before the Council, Colna."

The voice startled Colna so badly it made her gasp. She quickly turned in the direction from which it came. "Q'Mia--?"

Standing in the doorframe leading onto the balustrade was the slender from of a female clad in the hewn lavender robes of a Ma'ardi paladin. Illumined from behind by the brilliant light radiating from Coruscant's nightscape, Q'Mia Banocles was striking-- fair features inset by aqua-blue eyes and topped by an unkempt mound of burnished amber hair. However, there was a certain malign taint to her beauty and to Q'Mia herself that said to most everyone that saw her: 'Don't play the fool with me. You will regret it.'

"Sorry I startled you," the young Chandrilan cooed as she gingerly glided down from the balustrade. Even in the diminished light, she was smirking in a fashion that said just the opposite. "I was on my way back from evening session when I heard you and Qui-Gon talking." She paused a moment for effect. "Would you like to talk about your problem with me, one adult to another?"

Colna drew back a bit, sensing a bit more from Q'Mia than the desire for a simple chat between associates. She released some of that tension through a tight expression. "With all due respect, Q'Mia, I appreciate the gesture, but I'm a big girl. I can handle my own affairs without having to lean on somebody for support." Especially you, in particular, she wouldn't add and hoped that Q'Mia hadn't perceive this.

Q'Mia smile deepened. "Oh, I'm fully aware of that, Colna." With a delicate touch, she reached out and tenderly took one of Colna's elegant corn-rowed braids between her fingers. "But I also know that I can't think of anyone more deserving of becoming a full Sister than you." She said this as she intently studied the jewel that sat on the end of the braid. "As you're probably already aware, I'm almost completed with my benocque trials. If you'd like, I could request that you become my padawan apprentice." Her smile broadened as she said this; she was practically all too eager for this to happen.

On the other hand, Colna was not thrilled in the least. As a fellow paladin herself, Colna had sat in on many of Q'Mia's training sessions and was rather intimate with her teaching style. With the older children, Q'Mia tended to be coarse and totally myopic in her approach, sometimes being brusque to the point of abrasiveness. She often refused to listen to reason from her pupils and even other paladins as how to modify her program so that life would be much simpler on everyone. As a result, a certain number of her students complained to Mother Doyenne, the rectoress of the neowan school. Fortunately, none of these charges were serious enough to warrant Q'Mia nothing more than a rebuke, and her overall success record in fine-tuning combat perceptibility in her pupils was outstanding and made her practically indispensable. Despite this, however, several of Q'Mia's peers, not excluding Colna and Sirette, saw this and her as a serious risk factor.

"Lights," Colna's voice rasped sharply as the chamber's all-purpose interface network responded. The dimness decreased by several orders of magnitude as Colna's eyes locked hard onto Q'Mia's. "Let go of my hair, Q'Mia," she ordered. It came out more shrilly than she'd intended, which irritated her. "Please."

Q'Mia's smile softened slightly as she slowly lowered her hand. "I'm sorry, Colna," she said, and she was truly apologetic. "I didn't mean to offend you. I just want what's best for you, that's all." The expression in her eyes, although hurt, revealed that there was more left out than what was being mentioned. A lot more.

Colna tried to shove that perception aside in her mind as she quickly sidestepped Q'Mia and hustled over into the small kitchenette she and Sirette maintained. Undaunted, Q'Mia followed her there. "So, am I to take it that you're rejecting my offer?"

Colna fought to keep her breathing moderate as she removed a nutmeat package from the refrigeration unit. "I'm not saying anything definite right now, Q'Mia. I'm honored that you want to instruct me in the finer details, but--"

Q'Mia didn't mince words as she eased a step forward. "You're afraid of me, aren't you?"

Colna stood silently for a few seconds before responding. "Yes. I am, a little." On that, she dropped the nutmeat into a hot-pot, where it sizzled automatically as it began heating up.

Q'Mia eased alongside Colna as she once again tried to appeal to her. "I'm glad that you're honest with me, Colna." She sighed in resignation. "Grant it, I may be a little difficult to get along with and I can also be a bit of a taskmaster with the cubs, but that's no sound reason to turn me away."

Colna decided to confront Q'Mia on that one. "For the sake of conversation I'll concede you that point, Q'Mia. In my opinion, however, on the other hand, you're just a little too driven in your approach towards things. Everything you do must be taken past the Nth Degree, and if anything or anyone gets in your way or doesn't do things to your liking, the depths of Hell itself wouldn't be deep enough to scare them after you got done with them." She nodded sharply. "I don't ever want to be beholding to someone like that, not ever."

Q'Mia placed a hand on Colna's shoulder. "Oh, no, no, Colna. Please don't misunderstand me. I wouldn't be like that at all, not with you. It would be as if we were partners, learning from each other--"

Colna exhaled sharply, still not buying it. "If that's the case, then, I think I should just wait until Sirette attains full status and then I'll ask her."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Baby Sister."

Colna and Q'Mia turned as one person to regard the tall human female leaning against the doorframe of the kitchenette. Slightly smaller than Q'Mia and a few centimeters taller than Colna, Sirette Rivossa would have been considered on many worlds throughout the Republic the epitome of humanoid beauty-- she was heartbreakingly beautiful, with aquiline features offset by large blue eyes. Her platinum-blonde hair was parted in three large braids, two in the front and a queue down the back in the fashion of a Ma'ardi Sister of Corellian descent. Her sandy-hued fighting robes were stained with dirt, grime and even some dried blood. Her face, which was usually bright and ebullient, was tempered with extraordinarily reserved disgust as her gaze fixed itself on Q'Mia. "I see we have company," she addressed to Colna.

Q'Mia's own features sallowed as she in turn acknowledged her rival. "It is not inappropriate to receive guests, even at this supposedly late hour, Sirette. Besides, I was speaking to Colna about a personal matter." She said this in a detached tone, as if Sirette couldn't or wouldn't ever know about such intricacies. The enmity between the pair was almost as old as they were themselves, and the grit rubbed hard.

Sirette wasn't bothered in the least by this as she propped herself away from the doorway and made her way over to the hot-pot to steal a taste of the now-molten nutmeat paste. "I'm not so sure about that, Q'Mia. Given the way you just show up out of the blue into other peoples' quarters and start pushing them into things before they're ready, it makes one wonder." She regarded Q'Mia with a pointed look as she licked her fingertip in a semi-lascivious manner.

Q'Mia's eyes darkened. She turned to Colna. "I will be leaving now, Colna. At some point in the near-future, I would appreciate us continuing our conversation." Her gaze slid back to Sirette as she went on. "Hopefully it will be at a time when we're least likely to be disturbed." With that said, Q'Mia Banocles turned on her heel and strode from the kitchenette. A few seconds later, the subdued swoosh of the suite's main entrance activating marked her departure altogether.

Colna smirked at Sirette as the older woman harrumphed. "Why did you do that, Sirette? She was only talking to me."

Sirette reached for an empty bowl, scooping out a handful of paste. "Aren't I the brute when I have to be?" She said with mock-vicious intent, smacking her lips loudly in approval. "Bitch always does get on that last nerve whenever I see her. Where's the looja sauce?"

Colna nodded in utter bewilderment as she passed the requested condiment. "You are cold, girlfriend."

After grabbing some nutmeat paste herself, Colna followed Sirette back into the guest room as Sirette continued. "I was just doing my job, Colna. Besides, somebody's got to keep that nasty old squillor at bay before she has a chance to do the one thing you'll end up regretting for the rest of your life."

Colna sighed warily as she and Sirette crashed onto the sofa. "You know, I would really be happy if everybody would just stay the hell out of my business. Like I just told her," she gestured with her thumb at the now-closed main entry, "I can take care of myself when I have to."

Sirette's face broke into a breathtaking smile. "For as long as we've known each other, I've never doubted you for an instant, chum. We've sparred too many times together for me not to be convinced of that a long time ago." Sirette's smile became impish. "However, most folks in the situation you were just in usually are grateful when a little help comes along to help clear the sewage from the drift."

"I'm aware of that, Sirette, and it's not that I'm thankful, but--" she fell short as she made a disgusted clucking sound. "Dammit."

Sirette was all-concern in an instant. "What's wrong, Colna?"

Colna paused at first, then finally relented. "I'm frightened, Sirette. I'm scared that I'll never escape this life of… stable purgatory. I mean, I enjoy my classwork and working with the runtlings, but I'd like something more before I get too old."

Sirette responded with an easy, all-knowing smile. "Heard about Qui-Gon Jinn's good fortune and took it to heart, didn't we?"

Colna's head snapped sharply toward Sirette. The elder Ma'ardi's insight bothered her so much that she bit her bottom lip to keep from openly trembling. It took her a moment to find her voice, which was unsteady as she spoke. "For all the years we've known each other, Sirette, you've been one of the few people that knows that the only thing I've ever wanted outside of a successful life was to learn the greater joys of the Force under someone else's wing." She paused then, overcome by emotion. "I know that being a paladin instructor qualifies me for the trials in a few years' time, but I'm not interested in that. I want… I want…" the rest died in her throat as Colna's body instantly crumpled.

It was Sirette's turn to react as she rushed to succor her closest friend, using the Touch of the Force to soothe Colna's tortured psyche. "There, there," she crooned softly as she winced at what her mind's eye saw. It surprised her that after all the years of knowing Colna, she hadn't realized her friend's desire for a mother-figure in her life would be this overpowering. This was affirmed as Colna squeezed Sirette tightly, as if holding on for dearest life.

As Sirette cradled Colna's head against her breast, she was determined to do something-- anything-- to alleviate her friend's pain. And, no matter how much she detested the individual from which the idea came, Sirette was determined to plead Colna's case before the Council of the Jedi Masters. And she was for certain that they would listen.