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Chapter Text

Mill Alibeth, technically, was not a Jedi. 

She had been raised as a Jedi Initiate, yes. She’d spent almost her whole life up until the start of the Clone Wars in the Coruscant Temple. But as the Clone Wars started and the galaxy began to fall into disarray, Mill had grown more and more withdrawn from the Order and from the Force itself. She felt the pain of all those around her, from the Jedi remembering their losses at Geonosis to the clones not knowing to which battlefield they or their siblings would next be sent. Every worry, every pang of regret, every throbbing wound echoed through her young mind, making her collapse when it got too bad. 

So, she’d started to intentionally cut herself off from the Force. Sitting in meditation, putting up those metaphysical walls, she could get a moment’s quiet away from the pain. She started to do that whenever she got the chance, making her own little closed-off bubbles against the swirling, churning currents of the Living Force. Those bubbles weren’t safety to her—without the Force to guide her, her senses felt dulled and her equilibrium was thrown off, meaning she could never maintain the state for long. Rather than safety, it was just quiet, a moment away from the cacophony of the galaxy. Maybe, back in the days when Jedi were trained on far-flung worlds like Valo and Elphrona, she could have managed. But on Coruscant, where there were billions of beings going about their lives, facing billions of trials and disasters, she could only count on a moment’s rest when she was intentionally pushing them all away. 

But that wasn’t the Jedi way. The Jedi were supposed to care about everyone else in the galaxy. That was the reasoning the Council gave for why they’d gotten involved in the war with the Separatists, but that war also didn’t sit right with Mill. To her, it was like the entire order had given up on trying to solve problems with anything but violence, and it was just making the whole galaxy worse. She’d been all out of hope for ever being anything but a disappointment. 

Then, she’d met the young Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. Sure, he was still headstrong and solved problems with aggression, but he had also shown her that she didn’t have to fit the mold that she’d been forced into from toddlerhood. Anakin was so different from the other Jedi; he’d had a whole life beyond the Order before ever knowing he was Force-sensitive, he’d seen the worst the galaxy had to offer its denizens and still he believed in the Light. He’d shown her that she didn’t have to be a Jedi the way the Council wanted. She didn’t even have to be a Jedi. 

And so, since she’d returned to the Jedi Temple, she had used her natural empathic powers to help the wounded, not as a Jedi but still adjacent to the Order. Under the Jedi healer Rig Nema, she honed her natural skills into being an effective healer. According to Master Nema, none since the legendary Master Torban Buck over two hundred years prior had been so quick to diagnose and treat injuries with the Force. After a time, Master Nema was recalled to the Temple to heal Jedi there, while Mill was allowed to continue as a traveling healer, going from battlefield to battlefield patching up the Clones, Jedi, and civilians injured in the years-long war. 

She loved her life after leaving the Jedi. She loved actually helping people, letting the Force use her as an instrument of the Light and of Life. 

---

Years had passed since she’d assumed her duty as a healer, and despite the messages from the Chancellor and the Council saying that the war was near its end there were just as many wounded coming through her ship. 

In fact, it was that looming end to the war that had her vessel in orbit over Utapau. The 7th Sky Corps had followed Mill’s acquaintance Master Obi-Wan Kenobi to the Separatist holdout, and while most of the soldiers were dropping down to the surface to engage with General Grievous, Mill was patching up some of their number in her clinic on the Sun-Dragon . 

Mill had made a commitment to helping anyone who came her way, and she would live up to it. With her cadre of medical droids and her unique diagnostic skills, she was quickly working her way through the couple-dozen nearly-identical wounded in her care. As she located shrapnel and applied bacta, she recognized one more unique face among the group, a face she hadn’t seen since she was still on the path to Knighthood. 

“Sister!” Mill beamed as she sat in front of the female clone. “It’s been too long. I hope you’re doing alright.”

Sister gestured at her left arm. “You’re Mill, right? Yeah, it’s been a couple years! And I’d be doing fine if not for this.”

Mill closed her eyes and held a hand over the clone’s forearm. “Clean break, should heal quick. AZI-9, get a cast with topical bacta and a healing stim into her please.”

The bug-eyed droid nodded as he floated over. “Of course, Miss Mill.”

As Mill moved over to the next patient, a cheer rose up from behind her. A report had come in from the surface: Grievous was dead. Mill’s heart sank slightly to hear of the loss of life, but she hoped it meant the fighting could end. She hoped it meant that the death and the pain would slow down, that she could work to heal the galaxy’s wounds faster than new ones were opened. She hoped that it meant the Jedi Order could become something she could be a part of again. She hoped…

Pain. Horrible, all-encompassing pain. Pain across the whole galaxy, ringing out through the Force like a tsunami across an ocean. 

Mill collapsed to the floor of the clinic in a heap, one last message echoing as she faded into unconsciousness. 

“ Execute Order Sixty-Six. ”

Chapter Text

Everything was chaos, and Sister hadn’t the slightest idea why. A transmission had come through from the Chancellor himself, calling for some order she hadn’t heard of. A moment later, it was like a switch flipped in all of her brothers around her. Those who were able suddenly stood upright and donned their helmets as if preparing for battle. 

“Zed,” Sister tried to get the attention of one of her brothers. “What’s going on?”

Zed stared right past her, at the medic Mill who was collapsing to the floor. He said nothing, just reaching for his blaster. 

The next instant was an eternity for Sister. She had served under the Jedi for three years, and she’d heard much of their beliefs in that time. Some of the things they preached didn’t seem important to her, but one thing in particular stuck in her mind as a fundamental contradiction. The Jedi were supposed to practice ‘non-attachment,’ avoiding being too attached to people, or places, or even ideas, but they were also supposed to show compassion and care always. But how could you truly care for someone without being attached to them, to the idea of their survival? She’d written it off as some religious mantra that didn’t really mean anything, that preached an impossible ideal. 

As Zed raised his blaster to shoot the prone medic, though, that contradiction was working its way through Sister’s mind. She was deeply attached to Zed, to all her brothers. They were her flesh and blood down to their genetic code. She didn’t want to see any of them hurt, didn’t want any of them to die. Sister held no such attachment to Mill, a girl she’d only met a few times in her life. The girl was kind and good, yes, but she wasn’t at all close to Sister. Sister shouldn’t have cared that the girl was about to die, she should have trusted her brother to have a good reason for it. 

But Mill represented hope. She represented healing. She had a good heart and if she lived she would improve the lives of others in the galaxy. She was compassion incarnate, just like a Jedi was supposed to be. Sister could not let her die. 

So, Sister did something she never thought she’d have to do outside of training. She swung her elbow into Zed’s forearm, breaking his grip on the blaster and sending it tumbling to the ground. At the same time, she flipped her own blaster to stun and drew it, shoving the barrel right against Zed’s abdomen. 

“Sorry, brother.” 

She fired and Zed crumpled. 

Spinning around to check on Mill, Sister was shocked to see that the other clones in the room were also turning on the girl. Whatever that order had been, it had them dead-set on killing that defenseless child. 

She couldn’t let that happen. 

Sister was far from the most impressive clone in the Grand Army of the Republic. She wasn’t the fastest draw, or the most accurate shot, or the greatest leader, or the most impressive tactician. Her determination and willpower were all that set her apart, traits she’d acquired from asserting her identity against a sea of people showing what she was supposed to be. And she was determined to save hope, save compassion, save Mill. 

Her left arm was bound and wouldn’t be usable for days even with healing stims, so with only a single-hand grip on her blaster she set to work. Twenty-four of her brothers were in the room with her. Eight of them were too wounded to attack, and ten had not yet drawn their blasters. That gave her six targets. 

Sister dove forward, twisting herself to land on her back, sliding to a stop beside Mill. Lying on the ground, she lined up a shot at the three nearest troopers. From the close range and with surprise on her side, she was able to stun all three in as many shots. It took four shots to get the next three combattants as she stood back up. 

She would find out later why her brothers were attacking their young medic. She would find out later that similar scenes were playing out across the galaxy, and without a clone like her to protect the unsuspecting Jedi. But in that moment, all that mattered was pushing through the love and attachment she had to her brothers to choose a greater good. 

It shouldn’t have been possible, but Sister was able to incapacitate all of her brothers in the immediate vicinity. She shoveled as much medical equipment and medicine as she could into a bag and threw it over her shoulder before picking up Mill. The medical droid was floating around, unsure of what to do. 

“AZI-9! I’m getting Mill to safety. Are you coming with me?”

The droid seemed to process for a moment before deciding that his place was with Mill and, thus, Sister. With him following, Sister took a direct path toward the Sun-Dragon ’s small shuttle bay. There hadn’t been many troopers aboard, and most of them had apparently already left by the time Sister reached her destination. Only a single unarmed shuttle remained in the bay, though it was still emblazoned with the Republic insignia. Still, it would do. 

Before boarding, though, Sister had to get through her brothers who were in the process of starting the vessel. One saw her enter and pointed. 

“Jedi!”

Sister held up her hand. “Wait! This girl, she isn’t a Jedi!”

The approaching clone, Rumble, stopped. The four others in the bay fell in behind him, hands on their blasters. 

“She’s a non-Jedi medic,” continued Sister. “She left the order years ago.”

Rumble twitched. “All Jedi and former Jedi are traitors to the Republic and must be executed. You are in direct violation of Order Sixty-Six. Stand down or be destroyed.”

Sister could barely form words. Traitors? “The Jedi are not traitors, they are compassionate and care more about the Republic than anyone!”

Her brother put on his helmet. “Good soldiers follow orders.”

“Then I’m no longer a soldier. The war is over, Rumble. It’s not time for more killing.”

Rumble brought his blaster up to his shoulder. With Mill in her arms, Sister couldn’t reach her own. She could set the girl down, but by the time she would be ready Rumble or their brothers would have gotten her. 

Then, Rumble collapsed. AZI-9 floated behind him, sedative needle extended. He’d bought her time. 

As the other clones turned their attention to the droid, Sister gently set Mill on the ground and pulled her blaster out. With AZI-9 as a distraction, all four of them were stunned before any could take down the medic droid. 

AZI-9 followed Sister onto the ship, the latter once again carrying Mill, and quietly monitored the girl as Sister started the shuttle’s engines. She punched in the first safe coordinates she could think of and finally sat back to rest as hyperspace opened around them. As she let herself fall asleep in the comfortable spiral of hyperspace, she had one horrible lingering question: why?

Chapter Text

Mill woke up feeling just as uneasy as when she collapsed. Her medical droid, AZI-9, floated next to her. As she sat up, his perpetually surprised-looking eyes were matched in his tinny voice. 

“Oh, Miss Mill, you’re awake!”

Mill wiped the crust out of her eyes. She’d evidently been down for a while. “Yeah, Ayzedye, still not feeling so great, though.”

She finally looked around her surroundings, the back of a shuttle. Her makeshift bed was just a row of seats with an emergency blanket thrown atop, and AZI-9 had laid out the contents of the standard medkit on board to tend to her. In the pilot’s seat, she saw the back of a suit of blue- and magenta-striped clone armor. 

“Sister,” Mill tentatively spoke up to get the clone’s attention. “What happened?”

Sister tensed her shoulders but didn’t pull her eyes from the tunnel of hyperspace ahead of her. “I can’t say I know for sure, but…” Her voice was shaky, and Mill could tell she’d been crying. “My brothers claimed that an order had gone out, saying the Jedi had all been accused of treason against the Republic. They were to execute any Jedi or former Jedi.”

Mill felt the blood run from her face as her body threatened to collapse again. Treason? The Jedi Order was, if anything, too loyal to the Republic. The Council would never have ordered anything treasonous without very, very good reason. And execution? Asking the clones to kill the Jedi they’d served under and fought alongside for years? Surely they didn’t follow through. 

Except clearly they had, Sister would never lie to her. The pain, the agony Mill had felt in the Force, like thousands of last words screaming in her ears all at once, could only have come from death on that scale. She refused to believe that the only family she’d ever had were being wiped out by some of the people they trusted most, but—

Mill didn’t know when Sister had stood up, but the clone broke her from her spiral with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Mill, I’m just as confused as you are. I don’t know what this order was, but clearly every other clone did. But if we were able to get away, I’m sure others were, too.”

“You really think so?” Mill looked up at Sister, and immediately knew her answer. Sister’s eyes were still watery, but her gaze was durasteel. She meant every word she’d said with her whole being. 

“Yes, I do. I know my brothers, and I know the Jedi. Something must be going on, and you and I are gonna figure out what that is. We’re gonna stop the killing and help whoever we can.”

Mill was sold. It would do the galaxy no good to wallow or panic, she knew. She had the ability to help others, so she was going to do all she could.

“That in mind,” Sister continued. “We need to get underground. We won’t be able to help anyone if we’re getting blasted. So I’m taking us to someone who can help us on Nar Shaddaa.”

Mill’s eyebrows shot up. “The Smuggler’s Moon?”

Sister shrugged. “I’m not too keen to dive back in where my brothers are stationed, and we’re just as likely to be attacked in Separatist space. The Hutts are our best bet, weird as that sounds.”

She took a seat next to Mill and started removing her armor. “We’ve got a way to go till we reach Nar Shaddaa, so we’ll have to find some way to pass the time. Got any good stories?”

Mill was about to answer no, but a particular story surfaced in her mind. She may not have had the daring and all-too-violent stories many of the Jedi who she’d treated had, but she’d had plenty of fun aboard the Sun-Dragon . 

“Did you ever meet Rig Nema?”

Sister thought for a moment. “No, can’t say I have.”
“She’s the one who taught me medicine, she’s a Consular Jedi. Almost all of the Jedi you’ve met have been combat trained, but some are trained only in non-combat skills like Medicine, history, even cooking. Rig was obviously trained in medicine, and she was teaching me all she knew before she got recalled to the Temple on Coruscant.

“She’s a great healer, and she’s an equally good teacher. There was one thing she didn’t have to teach me, though she proved every day just how important it was: nothing will make a patient’s condition deteriorate faster than a broken heart. Without hope for healing, there’s only so much we can do to improve a situation. Whether that broken heart manifests as anger or panic or despair, the Force answers those negative emotions with negative outcomes. 

“Of course, even a Jedi Master can’t always keep themself from panicking when they’re seriously ill or injured. Some Jedi have the ability to touch the minds even of the strong-willed to smooth out emotions like that, but most of us need to find more mundane ways of getting people’s spirits up. I normally just go with talking, a gentle hand on a shoulder like you just did for me. Once or twice I’ve been able to smooth out feelings with the Force, but I need a lot more practice. AZI-9 has some old journals about the technique that I got from the Temple in his system.”

At the mention of his name, the small droid perked up. “She is correct. I have all three volumes of Touching Hearts: Techniques and Studies of Active Force Empathy by Master Imri Cantaros in my databanks. I can upload them to a datapad for easier access.”

Mill smiled. “Good idea, Ayzedye. Regardless, Rig has her own way of getting her patients to cheer up. A lot of people in the galaxy call Jedi wizards, or magicians, and she decided to lean in on that. She became as much a master of close-up magic as she is a master of medicine.”

Sister laughed. “Really? Like some street performer?”

“I think she actually learned it from a street performer,” Mill replied, laughing as well. “But she’s a natural at it. Turns any medical procedure into a show if she thinks it’ll work. And when it seems like the magic act would get in the way, she switches over to comedy. I swear, if she hadn’t been found by the Order she would have become a comedian.”

“Most Jedi I’ve met have quite a good sense of humor.” Sister said as she bent over to remove the armor on her legs.

Mill nodded. “Yeah, I don’t know if it’s something intrinsic to the way a Force-sensitive brain works or just because we all spend too much time around Yoda as younglings, but Rig has the right idea. Humor really does help raise one’s spirits when done right. Force-sensitives need to be careful not to fall into anger and despair or it can lead us to use our abilities to do terrible things, so anything that helps us process and move past those feelings is important.”

Sister sat back up. “I guess that makes sense. And it seems like indulging in a little humor has once again helped us move through some negative emotions.”

Mill smiled at the woman who’d saved her on the Sun-Dragon . “Yeah, it did. How’d you get so good at managing emotions?”

“Kid, when you’ve seen General Kenobi talk to General Skywalker as many times as I have, you learn how to talk a Krayt Dragon out of its lunch, let alone a medic out of a panic.”

“That makes perfect sense!” Mill laughed, remembering her time with Anakin Skywalker when he’d only just been knighted. She hoped beyond hope that he was well.

Chapter Text

Sister set the stolen shuttle down in the cheapest landing bay she could find. Luckily, that also meant she was near enough to her contact that they wouldn’t have to spend too long in the smog-riddled cityscape. 

As the engines wound down, Mill looked up from her work. She had used what emergency equipment that was available on the shuttle to turn the standard-issue survival blankets into decidedly unfashionable ponchos. The garments would hopefully cover up anything that could identify the two as former Republic agents until they could get more clothes for themselves. 

In the Grand Army of the Republic, there wasn’t much need for money. That unfortunately meant that, between Sister and Mill, they had only a hair over two hundred credits, hardly enough to buy a single cloak for each. It certainly wouldn’t be enough to pay the woman they’d be meeting for her services. Sister had suggested selling the medical equipment she’d carried out with her, but Mill was adamant that the equipment would be their key to keeping themselves afloat. The young medic had brought up that they could sell the vessel they’d come in, and while Sister was hesitant to give up their means for getting off the soggy rock, the vessel was in good repair and equipped with all the amenities expected of a Republic vessel. They may be able to get a cheaper vessel with the credits left over if Mama Stammoch was feeling generous with her pricing. Sister figured it couldn’t take too long to find someone willing to buy a liberated Republic vessel on the Smuggler’s Moon. 

---

After four hours of shuffling around the dingy city, they had finally been able to offload the shuttle. Four hours of hauling around their bag of medical equipment, AZI-9 hidden away inside, all for a measly thirty-five thousand credits. A vessel like that shouldn’t have sold for less than sixty, but the two were in no position to argue. 

Their search had brought them far afield from Mama Stammoch’s garage, and the trek to the dingy alley was unpleasant. Sister did her best to keep her hair in her face—she was far less recognizable than the average clone, of course, and being Hutt Space it was likely almost nobody they’d meet had seen a Trooper without a helmet on, but she couldn’t be too sure. Her blaster was similarly obscured in her poncho, but that was at the cost of being able to draw it quickly. She hoped she wouldn’t need it. 

Sister wove through the crowded streets as best she could, constantly checking over her shoulder to make sure her young friend was still in tow. More than once, she had to tug on the girl’s sleeve to get her back on track. Each time, Mill’s attention had been stolen by another of the lost and destitute of Nar Shaddaa. 

“That woman was sick, Sister,” Mill had tried to explain. “I can help her.”
Each time she pulled the girl away, Sister’s heart broke a little more. “We need to help ourselves first, or we won’t be of any good to anyone. We can come back after we have what we need and see if she’s still there.”

Each time, that seemed to placate Mill, and each time Sister had to concentrate her will on not giving up the fact that she knew they wouldn’t be in the same place again. Nar Shaddaa, like too many cities in the galaxy, worked harder to keep its homeless population constantly displaced than they did to keep pedestrian walkways repaired. Soon enough, some rough-and-tumble types, official or vigilante, would drive them off. Hopefully, Sister thought, without violence. She admired Mill’s dedication to helping everyone she could, but some problems couldn’t be fixed by two outsiders on the run with nothing to their name but a bag of stolen medical equipment. She wished she could, but it would take a level of organizing the community that neither was capable of in the moment. They could cure the woman’s cough, yes, but they couldn’t cure the underlying problems of the city. Not yet. 

It was as she was processing one of those moments of distraction when the man bumped into Sister. She was about to apologize when she heard the sound of a vibroblade being activated, the weapon buzzing in his hand. 

“I could hear those creds jingling in your pocket from orbit,” he spat through bared teeth. “Hand them over and you get to keep walking.”

This, Sister thought, was exactly why she’d wanted to spend as little time as possible on Nar Shaddaa. Almost on instinct, her hand started moving for her concealed blaster. 

Before she could push aside her poncho, Mill had stepped up beside her and was staring at the thief, her head slightly tilted. 

“Why are you so afraid?”

Sister furrowed her brow. Was she trying to antagonize him? The man turned to look at the small zabrak. 

“What do you mean, scared? You’re the one who should be scared, kid.”
Mill frowned slightly, her eyebrows raised into an almost pitying expression. “It’s okay to be scared, you know. The galaxy is a scary place. But that doesn’t mean you have to lash out like this.”

Whatever Mill’s angle was, all it was succeeding at was confusing the man. Sister saw his grip loosen ever so slightly, and in the same moment Mill reached out to gently touch his arm. 

His immediate anger at the girl touching him melted almost instantly into an almost distressingly placid expression, his grip on the knife loosening entirely. Mill, suddenly crying, grabbed Sister’s hand and started to run after shouting one last message to the man over her shoulder. 

“It will get better, I promise!”

---

“What in the hells was that?”

Sister and Mill had run far enough away from the would-be thief that they were able to return to their original pace. Mama Stammoch’s garage wasn’t far away. 

Mill, her eyes slightly red, shrugged. “Since I was little, I was taught that the Force should be used for knowledge and defense, not to attack. So, I let myself feel his feelings, and it was mostly fear, fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect the people he cares about. Then I just soothed those feelings, smoothed out the anger and sadness and desperation into nothing for a moment, just long enough to get away. It took a lot out of me, if I’m being honest, but I’m glad it worked. I’m really glad we didn’t have to…”

She didn’t have to finish her sentence. Sister knew the girl despised violence, she’d made that clear. On a whim, she pulled Mill into a hug. 

“I’m glad it worked, too. You did a great job, and clearly your training is working. Let’s get what we came here for, alright? Not far now.”

Not long later, they were meeting with the short middle-aged human woman. The self-titled Mama Stammoch was a mainstay of the Nar Shaddaa underworld, and she was the only person Sister would trust to forge some documentation for the two of them. They stood just inside her garage as they told her what they needed. 

“Two false identification cards? Fair enough, I’ve heard things are going to kriffing hells out there.”

Sister and Mill just nodded, not wanting to reveal too much. 

“Alright, I can make them quick enough, what names should I put down?”

“Sister Seetee.” 

“Mill Nema.”

Stammoch nodded. “And any preference for where you’re from?”

Mill spoke right away. “We’re medics from Langston.”

The older woman nodded. “Payment’s gotta be upfront, you know how these things are. Fifteen hundred credits apiece.”

Sister blinked. “Fifteen hundred?”

Stammoch shrugged. “If things are rough out there, they’re gonna get rough in here. Gotta provide for my people.”

Mill pointed at an old freighter being worked on in the back of the shop. “How much is the freighter?”

“That old B-7?” Mama Stammoch laughed. “I see your angle, kid, and I’m game. Twenty-two thousand, even, for the identity cards and the junker.”

That was the best deal they’d get, Sister supposed, and she shook the mechanic’s hand. “As always, a pleasure.”

Stammoch flashed a businesslike smile. “So, got a name for your new vessel? I’ll update its transponder while I make your cards.”

Sister looked for a moment at Mill, carrying a bag of medical equipment as large as herself. 

“The Panacea .”

Chapter Text

The Panacea landed gently between the rocky hills of what would, at least for a time, be their home. The arid Moon of Logal Ri had suffered terrible losses during the war, mostly at the hands of the Republic during the Clone Army’s conquest of the system. The all-but-uninhabited northern hemisphere of the moon held minerals important to the production of droid armor, and while those resources had been all-but untapped under the Separatist administration, the Republic had used them as justification to cut off all trade off the surface during the war. That left the moon’s population without aid after an especially wet rainy season buried the most fertile and populous valley in mudslides. 

Mill felt sick to her stomach as she read up on the world. Sister had picked it because the system government was offering subsidies for farms on the surface to make up for the huge agricultural losses in the mudslides. Neither of them knew anything about farming, but they needed somewhere they could blend in with the moving crowds. At least, that was what Sister said. Mill still thought they could serve the galaxy better if they traveled around in their ship, using all the medical equipment they’d brought with them. She’d only acquiesced when Sister had promised that she could still offer her services as a medic as she pleased, so long as she stayed onworld. 

They’d applied for their farm plot only three cycles prior to their arrival, and within six hours they’d been sent the coordinates of their plot. Clearly, they were as desperate for immigrants as Mama Stammoch had claimed. Disembarking onto the surface of their new home, Mill and Sister surveyed what they’d been given. Their farm was near the largest town on the moon, a couple thousand beings tucked against one of the sturdier hillsides. The farm itself was just a plot of mostly-flat land and two disassembled moisture vaporators. There was no farmhouse, no equipment, just the absolute bare bones of an operation. 

Sister sighed. “Well, Mill, I guess it’s time we start learning to farm.”

“I can start with the vaporators,” Mill offered. “We won’t get very far without water.”

“Good plan,” sister nodded as she spoke. “We can live out of the ship for now, I’ll head into town and see how far our credits will get us towards a viable farm.”

---

Mill wiped the sweat from her brow. The southern vaporator had been acting up and the water reserves were too low for her taste. The first months after their arrival on the Moon of Logal Ri had been busy, between setting up their vaporators and water tanks, staking out and sowing their fields, and managing all the other setup required. In more recent weeks, their time has switched from being used for setup to being spent on upkeep. The vaporators they’d received were functional but fragile, and Mill was almost always performing maintenance. Sister was setting up the prefab structure she’d bought to replace the Panacea as their living space. The ship was fine, but Sister wanted something more sturdy, and Mill couldn’t blame her. After all the learning they’d had to do since their arrival, and after all the changes they’d seen in their lives since that fateful day, they deserved a little stability. 

Still, Mill felt restless despite how much work she was doing. All of her work, she felt, was for herself. Yes, the crops she was growing would be sold in town and feed others, some possibly even making their way offworld if they were lucky, but that was all just so they could ultimately feed themselves. She hoped that she would be able to get back to clinic work, to help others more directly, to do the work she was best at. 

Mill finished her routine work, when she felt a familiar tickle at the back of her neck. Something was wrong, someone was in danger. 

She was running toward town before the groundquake even started. The hills around their farm were gentle, but closer to town they grew steep, steep enough that a small quake like this could still combine with the rocks left loose by the mudslides to cause serious damage. She felt the rocks falling as much as she heard them, both in the material world and in the Force. Mill didn’t feel any sentient lives wink out, not yet, and she would use all her training to be sure that none entered the Cosmic Force. 

A few medpacs and first aid supplies bounced in her belt pouch. Sister told her they were a waste of space on a normal day, that it was a liability to be carrying so much equipment at all times, but all of her training both with the Jedi and with Nema told her to be prepared. And now, as she was about to be tested to save the lives of others after a long time worrying only about herself, she was ready.

Chapter Text

Sister came outside as the groundquake rumbled through the Panacea . Leaving the recently-repaired AZI-9 inside she inspected her farm, seeing no damage. Even the temperamental moisture vaporators seemed to still be fully functional. She would have to congratulate Mill on her work.

Mill. 

Where was Mill? 

Sister started running toward the vaporator where Mill had been working. Had the quake shaken her off? Had she gotten injured? She frantically looked around the machinery. Mill was nowhere to be seen, and there was no sign she’d fallen. All that was on the ground were footprints. 

Deep footprints, those of someone running at a full sprint. 

Straight toward town. 

Sister sighed, already forming an idea of what Mill was getting herself into as she started running herself along the same path. Her longer stride and engineered stamina should have given her the edge and let her catch up to the girl, but Mill had two advantages that meant Sister wouldn’t run faster than her: her youth and the Force. If that girl was running at full tilt, there had to be some Force thing involved. 

She was out of breath by the time she rounded a bend and saw the crushed farmhouse. Sister scoured her memory of the few interactions she’d had with her neighbors for the name of the family therein. Galsh, she settled on. The Galsh’s fields were largely unscathed, but the house itself had been bowled through by several large boulders obviously sent down the mountainside by the quake. She closed the rest of the distance to the wreckage slowly, wary of an aftershock that could mean more tumbling rocks. 

Looking through the newly-formed hole in the front of the house, Sister saw a group of people in a huddle. They were covered in dust and debris, and she recognized the adult man in the group. 

“Kael!” She shouted and waved at her human neighbor as she navigated the debris. He stood with his children, leaning over to brush the dust off the youngest’s face but returning to his full height as she approached. “Where’s Evruk?”

Kael deflated at the mention of his husband. “He got caught in the collapse,” he said, his voice hoarse and kept low so the children wouldn’t have to hear. “Your girl Mill ran in to try to help him. I told her it was too dangerous but—”

“But she did it anyway,” Sister shook her head and bit her lip. “She’s like that.”

Without any further discussion, Sister bolted into the remains of the structure, time suddenly of the essence. She didn’t have Mill’s ability to sense where she was going, instead relying on the muddy tracks Mill had left in her wake to know both where the girl had gone and where to step to avoid exacerbating the damage. Vaulting herself over a collapsed ceiling support, Sister finally saw Mill on the other side, tenderly resting her small hand against Evruk’s torso. The stocky man had a nasty laceration along his forehead, and his breathing was ragged. He was conscious, but his eyes fluttered and stared at nothing in particular. A whiff of the air told Sister that something in the ruined building had caught fire, and smoke was starting to seep into the room. As if there weren’t enough problems on hand. 

Mill didn’t look up at Sister, didn’t even open her slightly teary eyes, when she addressed Sister’s gaze. “Nasty concussion, I’d stim him but he inhaled a lot of particulate. Fibrous local minerals, tore his lungs up like Buzz Droids.”

Sister shook her head. “Drowning in his own blood.”

A slight nod was all the affirmation she got from Mill, who had finally opened her eyes and started sealing the forehead wound. “I would hook him up with what little bacta mist I have, but I can’t set it up here. Until he’s outside there’s little I can do for the real issues.”

“You’re asking me to carry him.”

Mill looked up at her, all the pain the man was feeling reflected in her eyes. “Please?”

How could Sister ever say no? She squatted down and scooped the man into her arms, trying to jostle him as little as possible. Smoke was coming in faster and faster, and she coughed as she looked to Mill. 

“I’ve got him, you find us the safest way out.”

The little zabrak closed her eyes and reached a hand out. “We can’t go back the way we came,” she said. “Structure’s too damaged. This way!” She opened her eyes and started toward a smoke-filled hallway. 

Sister trailed behind Mill, moving less nimbly through the building as Mill led them out the side door. Despite the choking smoke, Mill led them straight to the side door and out into the clear air. 

“Set him down somewhere, I’ll set up.” Mill started pulling equipment from her belt pouches, an impressive amount of equipment stored on her person. Sister made a note not to question her on it again. With Mill’s instruction, Sister helped get the tubing set up to deliver a fine mist of bacta to Evruk’s lungs. As the bacta did its work and his breathing grew deeper and steadier, Mill started slowly injecting the healing stims into his blood stream. Evruk’s gaze grew clearer as he blinked away the fog in his head. 

It was nearly dark when Evruk was cleared by Mill to stand back up. He gravitated straight to his husband’s arms. Sister and Mill each let out a relieved sigh, then laughed at the shared reaction to the day’s excitement. 

Life would never be what it had been before, Sister knew. But she and Mill had found new people, made a new life, one where they could do good. One where there was hope for a future for them.