I. Collisions
A prick in the back of his mind alerted Revan that something was wrong. Behind the cold mask, his red eyes danced across the scene of the raging battle before him, trying to ascertain what he could be sensing. His average-sized fleet had come under sudden attack by a Republic battle group that was waiting for them to drop out of hyperspace.
After months and months of Republic retreats halfway into battle, Revan's warrior blood was aroused by the prospect of a full-on battle. So far his foes had not disappointed, deploying their full strength in an engagement for the first time in nearly a year. A quad of capital ships were in close while a smattering of light cruisers, destroyers, and frigates were stretched in a loose line attempting to close around the Sith fleet. Revan's own ships, shimmering gray and silver Interdictors, heavy cruisers, and a battle carrier, were responding to the welcome challenge with energetic gusto. Silver Sith and maroon Republic fighters swarmed in droves over and around both sides' capital ships, each trying to clear space for their bombers. Massive energy bombs were hurled from the cannons of Republic and Sith ships, fiery splashes of yellow, red, and green light erupting as they impacted deflector shields, searing orange and red when the charges punched through armor.
The Republic was holding its own remarkably well against his forces, Revan reflected. Even for all the Sith's vast superiority in armor, firepower, strategy, and numbers, the Republic fleet was not backing down, nor was it being beaten. Whenever it seemed as if his greater strength would deal the opponent a crippling blow, the Republic would open up an unexpected and surprisingly successful counter-attack that would set his own forces reeling for a moment. Two of his cruisers had already been lost to just such attacks.
Revan absently scratched his hair beneath the dark hood he wore over his head, bothered by his undefinable feeling. There was something askew about the battle at hand, some presence in the Force that made the streaks of short fur on his arms stand on end.
Directly across the battle scene from his heavy cruiser Isonzo, Malak's ship Nochzen loomed like a massive predator, dealing harshly with the two Republic ships in the line attempting to roll up the Sith flanks. For the most part, Revan gave Malak free reign to do as he would in battle. He respected Malak as a ruthless warrior and a cunning commander, and letting him run free in combat usually accomplished more than trying to shackle him to any sort of strategy. Malak among a Republic fleet was like fire to a field of dry grass; his hunger for destruction was insatiable and matched only by his desire for power and greatness.
Isonzo was suddenly shaken by a massive blast, forcing Revan to grab hold of the nearby rail. He turned from the observation window to peer down at the bridge crew in the sunken command deck, about to demand a status report, but a Sith officer quickly spoke up to inform him of the latest situation.
"We've lost port shields, Lord Revan!"
Revan hissed. "Divert power from the life-support systems on decks eight through fifteen and reestablish the shields immediately!"
"Aye sir, Lord Revan!" Decks eight through fifteen were primarily crew's quarters. The pale-faced officer, barely more than an adolescent, didn't dare dispute his orders.
Revan shouted more orders for the concentration of defensive firepower to protect the vulnerable sections of his ship, pacing the raised catwalk above the bridge crew's stations as he did so, causing nervous sweat to bead on the necks of every crew member who drew his attention.
Suddenly, another alarm was raised. The chief security officer gave his own status report. "Hull breach! We've been boarded!"
Revan gracefully leaped down to the security station to see for himself, spooking his subordinate. The man edged a few steps away to give Revan room, but not daring to retreat too far. Rather than bother to ask the man for specifics, he scanned the display with his sharp, attentive eyes. It was a small boarding craft that had punctured one of the lightly-armored sections just below a main gun deck. Somehow, the ship had run the gauntlet of Isonzo's expert gunners' defensive flak fire.
That meant only one thing: Jedi.
Revan snarled and turned away from the security station, leaping back up to the catwalk where he resumed pacing.
"Raise the Nochzen," he ordered the communications officer. In short order, his apprentice's glowing hologram appeared before him. "Malak," he said, "the Jedi have finally made their move. She is here, I can feel it. The time is upon us."
Malak's face contorted in what would have been a smile had he had a mouth. "The last desperate ploy of the Jedi. I have waited for this," he announced. "I will join you shortly to take her, Revan. These Republic dogs cannot occupy my guns for much longer."
Malak's hologram shut off. Revan smiled himself, his primly-trimmed beard rustling against the inside of his mask with the movement of his face. In the meantime, while he waited for the Jedi reach him, he did not have to make things easy for them.
"Security teams to the breach immediately," he ordered. "Send the apprentices. They are so eager to taste Jedi blood, this will be their time."
Bastila Shan stared in momentary shock as she watched Master Vash slice off the heads of the nearest two Sith soldiers. She just couldn't believe how casually, how detachedly the Jedi Master had ended two lives. Vash was the first one out, and upon her action, the rest of the Jedi team immediately started fanning out from the insertion point.
"Padawan!" the Jedi Master called to her, jolting Bastila out of her momentary daze.
She chastised herself for losing focus. This was war, she reminded herself, people died in war whether or not the Jedi wished it. Heeding Vash's terse rebuke, Bastila renewed her effort at maintaining her all-important Battle Meditation. For the briefest of instants she felt a flash of pride at being able to provide the extra bit of strength the Jedi and the Republic needed to succeed in this mission. Her unique abilities had made this raid possible, and while she continually reminded herself that it was only her fair contribution, there were times such as now when she was proud of what she could do to contribute.
Again, Bastila silenced her mind, focusing on the power. Always before when she'd been projecting her power to sway a battle in her favor, she'd been deeply ensconced in the safety of a Republic battle group, behind three solid feet of reinforced durasteel armor. Maintaining the concentration her Battle Meditation required while in the middle of a hot zone was something she could never have adequately prepared for.
Nor was seeing the dead in front of her. She'd never been up this close to the gritty bloodshed she knew existed at the heart of every battle, no matter how ingenious the strategy. Ultimately, it was about killing the enemy, and until now she'd never had to be in the middle of it before.
Her Jedi training demanded silence from her mind. There was to be no reflection, no pondering, no meaningless deviations into the treacherous realm of fantasy, maintaining the link of her power was to be her sole focus. Bastila forcibly emptied herself of all feeling and every conscious thought she could conceivably stifle, leaving only a void where the Force existed. The sights and sounds of the battle around her then meant nothing to her.
Sith security measures the Jedi team had encountered so far were little more than toy soldiers with guns, no match for the professional ease with which each Jedi present could handle their lightsabres. Even for Bastila, enshrouded in her cloak of concentration, it took little effort to ward off the sluggish bolts of blaster fire that came her way. An instinctive flick of her wrists and the danger was averted and other Jedi would take care of the threats ahead.
They were penetrating deep into the ship, their immediate objective being the core turbolift system along the ship's spine that would take them to the bridge, when Bastila noticed resistance suddenly thicken. It happened so fast and with such unexpected strength, that Bastila was forced to abandon her concentration on the link temporarily and look to her own survival.
They came in from all sides, Sith apprentices all, and soon had the entire Jedi team fighting for their very lives. Master Vash was set upon first by three, then four, and more joined the fray. Her sky blue lightsabre danced and crackled with energy as she met her opponents' attack with graceful skill, not yielding but stubbornly holding her own.
Bastila herself was confronted by two of the black-robed, masked, and cowled apprentices. There were so few discernible features visible that it was frighteningly easy for Bastila dehumanize them in her mind and make the process of neutralizing - even killing - them much simpler. Her heart pounded in her chest, sweat beaded on her forehead as she panted, swinging her amber blade to ward off her enemies' lightsabres.
As she'd been taught, she held back their attacks and waited for an opening, a gap in their technique, for her to exploit and end the battle with as few blows as possible, thus preserving her own strength. She was an apt student of the lightsabre arts, and rapidly dissected the Sith's combat style. Parrying their blows, Bastila moved in quickly with speedy attacks of her own, disarming one Sith and killing the other.
A cry of pain caught her attention for a moment, a Jedi fell clutching his leg, smoking from a lightsabre burn, as he tried to fend off his opponent. Bastila shut him off from her mind as the Sith apprentice quickly ran him through.
Against the onslaught of neophyte Sith, the Jedi team made slow progress. Already they had lost one of their number, and the Sith pressure was relentless. But still Master Vash pressed on, inspiring the rest of them by her tireless spirit. The team assembled into a ragged formation yet again, attempting to protect Bastila, who knew without being told what was expected of her.
Momentarily free from attack, Bastila attempted to empty her mind and bring forth her power once again. She was tiring, and it was becoming a physical burden on her to maintain such a high level of concentration, especially in the middle of the heated battle. But she knew she had to do it, if she could not, they would all die in the bowels of the Sith ship.
Forcibly, Bastila shut out the world outside and opened herself to the void within where only her power existed. For the briefest of instants, she was able to get through and form the connections she needed. She gasped at the strain it put on her body; it was like having a house dropped on her shoulders. But she felt the power flowing, doing its work for her allies. After a few minutes, the Sith began to melt away from before them, enormous pockets of little to no resistance opening up, gaps the Jedi could exploit.
By the time the Jedi team finally reached one of the core turbolifts, they had lost only two of their number. Bastila collapsed gratefully in exhaustion onto the deck once the lift began moving, carrying them toward their eventual confrontation with the Dark Lord himself. She was trying with all her heart not to think about the looming encounter, but the dread kept slipping in, polluting her mind.
Despite her Battle Meditation, all the Jedi were winded, and equally grateful for the pause in combat the turbolift was providing. Vash, however, cast a concerned eye at Bastila, the only one who couldn't keep to her feet and was kneeling on the floor, her arms held limply at her sides. Trying to control her own panting so as to appear stronger for the young Jedi, Vash knelt softly down next to Bastila.
"It's so hard, Master Vash," Bastila whispered, holding her head. "This isn't like anything I've ever had to do before. I don't think I was ready for this. Trying to hold my power with no distractions is one thing; this is entirely different."
Vash smiled tensely. "It's really no different, Padawan." Confused, Bastila met her eyes. "Only different in your mind," Vash clarified.
Bastila sighed. "Yes, Master Vash. I will continue trying."
"Do--" Vash corrected.
"--or do not. There is no try," Bastila finished, sighing ruefully again. "Yes, Master."
Vash smiled, fuller this time. "You are doing wonderfully, Padawan."
Why wasn't it moving! Revan cursed under his breath as he watched the Nochzen not moving. Once they lost shields, Malak had handily taken care of the feeble Republic ships facing him, ostensibly freeing him from his "task." Now, instead of coming to the rendezvous, Malak's ship was sitting idly, picking at stragglers attempting to limp from the main battlefield; a tactic so unlike Malak it made Revan hiss in frustration. To compound matters, he could no longer raise Nochzen on comm. He supposed it was possible, even likely, that their array had been damaged. But it was equally likely he had simply instructed his crew to ignore any communications.
Malak's strange battle strategies had proven a boon before, so Revan had refrained from demanding him to conform to his own, but this had the makings of a serious problem. Revan did not take lightly problems he should have fixed before they became problems.
He could sense the Jedi drawing closer with each moment, and Malak was out of the picture. Revan snorted to himself. Very well, then, he would take this girl's power for himself. He had given his apprentice all the opportunity he would, and Malak chose for reasons unknown not to take it, despite how eager he had been to have such power within his grasp.
The Jedi drew close. Revan could sense their approach; they were about to break upon the bridge. Yet he did nothing, simply kept staring out into the battle, watching the Nochzen slowly, finally, beginning to move.
You're too late, Malak, Revan said to his apprentice under his breath.
Behind him, at the other end of the room, the blast doors opened to reveal the team of Jedi, the would-be assassins. Revan didn't bother turning to face them, he gestured with a gauntleted hand and ten of his personal guard melted away from the walls at the perimeter, igniting their double-tipped sabrestaffs as they moved into a rigid line to block the Jedi.
Revan had personally selected each of them, and he knew from personal experience that they were the premiere masters of the fiendish sabrestaff technique. Still, against the Jedi on this particular occasion, he didn't expect them to succeed. Victory was nigh impossible when pitted against one with Battle Meditation on their side. But still, they would do what was needed.
The bridge erupted into a multitude of lightsabre duels as the combatants clashed blades. One by one, Jedi and Sith fell from mortal strikes, the numbers of both sides thinning. At first, it seemed the outlandishly exotic sabre form displayed by Revan's guard would win the day against the ill-prepared Jedi, but after sustaining initial losses, they slowly began wearing down their opponents, soon scoring kill after kill.
Growling in sudden ferocity, Revan turned, ignited his long crimson blade, and leaped into the fray in one sinuous motion. As a Jedi cut down one of his personal guard, Revan landed beside him and thrust his red lightsabre into the Jedi's heart, eliciting a surprised yelp and a gurgling last breath as the Jedi fell lifeless.
He spun, casting a howling rope of Force lightning at the nearest Jedi, the sheer power of it hurling the unfortunate into the far wall, where he writhed screaming in pain. Deftly twirling his lightsabre, Revan flowed forward, striking out at the weakest Jedi that met his attack. Within a matter of seconds, he had put down three Jedi.
Suddenly, his assault was met by the crystal blue blade of none other than Jedi Master Vash, dogged determination on her face as she squared off against him, Revan, Dark Lord of the Sith. He roared in exhilaration as he clashed blades with one of the foremost Masters of the Jedi Order. As more of his guard fell away, several Jedi tried to capitalize on his preoccupation with Vash, but he fluidly sidestepped their attacks, slicing into them with his own blade in skillful retreat.
He and Vash circled over and over above the sunken lower level as they dueled with each other, Revan intoxicated by the rush of combat, she resolutely fighting back against his brutal techniques with the patient swings and parries of Jedi lightsabre combat at its purest.
Suddenly, Revan lashed out at Vash with a Force push that shoved her over the edge. She landed gracefully on her feet and beckoned to him. He leaped after her, bringing his red blade down in a brutal stroke intended to cleave her in two. She just barely turned his sabre aside, sending it into a computer terminal and setting the lower level awash with sparks. The bridge crew fled in every direction as Revan pursued Vash, cutting mercilessly.
His lightsabre lanced computers, the surface of the catwalk overhead, and tore grooves in the floor as he relentlessly harried the Jedi Master. He hurled her into the walls with the Force, shot small objects at her, fast wearing down on her endurance.
Smelling Jedi blood, he moved in for the kill.
Bastila's yellow sabre had neatly cleaved the heads of two Sith when she heard Master Vash cry out in pain. Her heart fluttered when she saw the Jedi Master fall to her knees before Revan.
She could accept the deaths of other Jedi, but not Vash! She couldn't see her die as well.
Screaming, Bastila leaped down to the lower level, putting herself in front of the Dark Lord and unleashing the largest Force blast she could muster. Caught unprepared for her attack, Revan was knocked from his feet by the kinetic energy she threw at him.
"You will not win, Revan!" she cried, trying to squeeze more power into her assault.
Undeterred, like the tenacious predator he surely was, Revan got to his feet again and came at her with his lightsabre.
Desperation flared in Bastila's mind and panic took over. She was suddenly hurling every Force power she could think of at him. Adrenaline pumped through her body when she felt her throat constricting as Revan held a menacing hand toward her, squeezing slowly on her windpipe. Her thoughts racing too fast to be stopped by any amount of reason, Bastila targeted Revan's mind, envisioning with all her might his head exploding.
Something happened.
Revan's hand faltered, he dropped his lightsabre and staggered back, hands reaching for his head as a hissing snarl erupted from behind his mask.
Suddenly, a roar filled Bastila's ears. The bridge was instantly filled with a searing heat as dust, debris, and fire splashed down from above. Bastila screamed and dropped to a crouch as the explosion howled through the bridge.
Metal screeched and howled and a second explosion ripped in from the sides, crushing the catwalk down from above with the force of a crashing starfighter.
Pain exploding in his head was all he could feel, there was nothing beyond it. He could see nothing, hear nothing but his own scream. He clutched at his head in a vain attempt to alleviate the pain, felt something foreign covering his face. He couldn't figure out how to get it off; his scratching and clawing did not remove it.
He knew only one thing: There was someone standing before him, someone he couldn't see, who had come to kill him.
Instinct screamed at him to get away, but through the pain in his head he could barely remember how his limbs worked, managing only a weak shuffle. He felt himself come up against a wall; there was no way out!
She was here to kill him and he couldn't escape! A terror equal to his pain coursed through him. Primal instinct overrode all reason, the one thought he could hold in his head was of his desperate need to get away. Blind, he felt along the wall behind him. It was bumpy and irregular, sharp in places and smooth and hard in others. But he could tell which way it led, and instantly started following it.
A deafening howl suddenly picked him up and threw him across the small room. He impacted the wall in a glass-shattering, bone-breaking impact. He felt flames licking at the bulky clothing he wore even as it was soaked in his blood. When he tried to curl his head up in his arms, he found he couldn't move his left arm--it was pinned by something sharp and heavy. Before he could free himself, another searing detonation rocked the chamber.
Heavy steel fell on him from above. He screamed in renewed agony as thousands of pounds of debris crushed down around him, ripping his arm off the impaling shrapnel and tearing open a fountaining wound. Snapping under the strain, a blazing hot section of steel beam lanced across his face, splitting the opaque mask like an eggshell and gouging a deep trench in his face running from his forehead to his chin.
A small avalanche of dust and tiny pieces of debris showered him from above as he lay paralyzed by the pain. Blood was running into his eyes, stinging terribly with every blink of his lids. He could barely move any of his limbs; those that weren't pinned by twisted rubble in too much pain to do more than shudder.
He could hear and smell fires nearby, igniting fresh panic in him. He hated fire. He had to get away!
Using an unknown strength, he tore himself from the crushing confines of the debris pile, tearing several new wounds along his thighs. He just barely managed to stagger to his feet to take a cursory look at the devastation around him.
There were indeed fires everywhere. They burned sporadically where banks of computers had been gutted by the flying debris. He was standing in a depression in the middle of a fairly large room, an operations center of some sort, and it was filled with debris.
He hissed reflexively at the fires around him, reacting to their heat on his sensitive facial hairs.
As he tried to claw his way to the upper level, drag himself out of the fire pit, he saw two other bodies amidst the fallen shrapnel and broken steel beams. There was more blood, it formed a pool at one of the women's feet where she had curled against a torn piece of steel reinforcement pinning her to the ground by the hip.
Moved by a strange compulsion, he dropped back down to the floor and strove to pull the heavy rubble off the woman. His injured arm stung in protest, spilling blood freely as he strained. When he finally removed the obstacle, he knelt down next to the short woman with the disarrayed brunette hair, inspecting her wounds through blood-drenched eyes. He blinked in an effort to clear his vision as he stared dumbly, trying to comprehend.
The woman's stomach had been slashed by the shrapnel, blood was fountaining everywhere. She had lost consciousness and would be dead in minutes.
Without knowing why, he put his hands to her and almost immediately felt a soothing sensation fill him. Somehow, he knew she was feeling the same. He gaped in amazement as the oozing wound on his arm began closing over and the woman's own mortal wound healed itself.
Suddenly she opened her eyes. Thought flooded into his brain.
She was here to kill him!
He recoiled from her faster than if he'd been struck by lightning, scrambling like a madman to get away. Panic reigned supreme in his mind, every shred of rational thought dissolved beneath the onslaught of primal terror.
He had to escape! She was here to kill him!
Bastila gasped at the presence she felt inside her mind. She felt a fear that was not her own, but at the same time, felt the pain from her wound lessening. It was almost as if she could reach out and touch the other mind that was intertwining with hers, only to have her hand encounter an invisible wall that separated the panicked, rampant thoughts from her own. It was the mind of a madman, inexplicably linked to her own, and that connection was healing what would surely have been a fatal wound.
She felt blood dripping onto her face, cracked open her eyes. Split down the middle by a gruesome, oozing gash, Revan's face was just inches above hers. His feline eyes widened in sudden shock when he saw her regain consciousness. He leaped away from her prone form, hissing and growling as he abandoned all semblance of dignity and literally crawled over the debris pile to make it to the upper level of the bridge.
For another fleeting moment, Bastila heard things in her mind that were not her own, and like a thunderclap it hit her; it was his mind she heard.
Seeing Revan getting away, Bastila tried to pry herself up to give chase, but the pain in her stomach, though not a mortal wound, brought her up short when she attempted to get to her feet. She saw Master Vash lying under a broken sheet of flooring, struggling to free herself.
Painfully lifting herself to her hands and knees, Bastila started working to pull the rubble off the Jedi Master. Vash wasn't nearly so injured as she had been; only cuts and scrapes and a few serious bruises on her midsection. She coughed from the dust as Bastila cleared the last of the debris from off her.
"Master," Bastila choked, "we failed. I failed. Revan escaped."
Vash gripped her hand. "You did everything you could, Padawan."
Shakily, Master Vash got to her feet. Helping Bastila out of the destroyed lower level, she found and revived several other Jedi survivors who lay scattered about what remained of the bridge. The observation window was intact; they could clearly see the devilish form of Malak's personal cruiser looming, blanketing the beleaguered ship with blistering firepower.
As was the way of the Sith, the apprentice had turned on the master.
But the master was nowhere to be found.
"Come," Vash ordered the battered remnants of her Jedi team, "we should leave."
He left a trail of blood, torn fabric, and armor behind him as he staggered about the ship, his eyes raking the halls, searching for something. He didn't know what he needed to find, only that he needed to find it now. The heavy armor he'd been wearing was slowing him down, as weakened as he was by the pain. Several times he tripped over what seemed to be a long battle skirt, so he tore strips from it and tried to bind up some of his wounds as best he could manage.
Even with strips of the black cloth over his forehead, and across his nose and chin, the gash on his face refused to stop bleeding. The sanguine fluid ran into his eyes, making it hard for him even to see properly.
He was starting to shiver. Somehow, he knew that was a bad thing, that he should not be shivering. He started to wish he hadn't torn off so much of his cumbersome clothing, but he couldn't stop now.
He had to get away!
Suddenly, miraculously, he stumbled into his unknown destination. It was an odd indentation in the wall, perhaps a door of some kind. Indeed, a hatch opened at the touch of his hand, and he fell eagerly into a small compartment; a pod of some sort. He knew there was something else he needed to do, and with great effort he remembered.
With the last of his strength, he shifted his weight to crawl awkwardly into a feeble sitting position, wrapping a latching strap over himself, and with a clenched fist pounded a red button by the hatch. His hand broke the protective glass cover and engaged the airlock, sealing the hatch tightly.
Like being shot out of a cannon, the tiny pod broke free of the ship and hurtled toward the planet below. He didn't know what planet it was, nor the ship he had just escaped. The only thing he knew was he had run from the woman who wanted to kill him.
The pod was just beginning to enter the planet's atmosphere when he lost consciousness.