The plot bunnies have bitten; and I can't ignore them… I'm making all attempts to fit into the KotOR 2 continuity despite not having played the game yet, which shouldn't be too much of a problem since this tale doesn't follow the specific events of the characters in that game. But I do ask, since I don't own the game, that you try and keep your reviews free of major spoilers. Thanks so much!
The beeping of his communication device didn't interrupt his thoughts until it was near one hundred and thirty decibels.
His only reaction was to turn down the volume and allow it to build again.
Nothing much could pierce the thick and congested mire of his thoughts these days. Rumors circulated among the men:
Admiral Onasi's getting older. His mind's not what it used to be-
Leave the poor man alone- lost his whole family, given his life up to help Telos, scarred in that accident-
That old man's been cracked since the war; fraternizing with the Jedi, the Sith-
Carth smiled ruefully. Well, the last one at least had been around forever and probably would never go away. The former two buzzed around incessantly until he took charge for a while, directing workers and signing orders.
Once he satisfied them, he could crawl back here, in his sparse quarters and struggle to remember the past that felt like it was slipping away one day at a time.
Carth reached across the table, running his fingers over his scorched blaster. It hadn't seen battle in a number of years. Thankfully, the reconstruction of Telos had continued without any threats of invasion or attack.
He didn't think Telos would survive another attack. Hell, I know for sure I won't.
Forty-five (or thereabouts- age didn't seem so important anymore) wasn't by any means too old for a soldier- it was even young for an Admiral.
His gaze roamed from the blaster to the hand that rested atop it. Long scars crossed over the backs of his arms. He became conscious for a moment of the dull ache that was always somewhere on his body, and never anywhere he could reach.
Carth had no memory of the attack, or of the long period he had apparently been recovering. He only remembered waking up to find that everything had changed.
There hadn't been time to marvel at his burned skin, his missing Jedi. There was only a dead Commander by the name of Knowl, a minor civil slaughtering between some refugees from the other side of the energy fields, and widespread panic that had only been paused for his awakening.
The beeping grew louder. Carth reached up idly with his blaster, aiming towards it and making imaginary sniper shots.
His weapon hadn't seen battle in a long time, but it was beginning to look like that was going to change.
Security had been somewhat lax on Telos since he had taken command. Not only because no one wanted to cower in the crumbling bunkers they had under Knowl and others, but because they simply lacked both the resources and the manpower to effectively control their borders.
His hand tightened on the trigger. Because of it, they were able to murder without any trouble.
It had begun quietly, as it had everywhere else in the galaxy. The isolated death of a worker who had wandered too far into the recovering ecosystem was passed off as an unfortunate accident.
Only later would someone recall that the first death had been one of the Force-sensitives, and that the charred wounds were unmistakably the work of a lightsaber.
Similar incidents began elsewhere, and in greater frequency. Carth had started slowly moving more and more people off the planet, always under the pretense of some vague reconstruction need that necessitated the move.
Back then they hadn't known how ruthlessly efficient they would turn out to be. Back then they hadn't known that the murders were systematic, that only the very few, the very specific, the very damned were being targeted.
It had been foolish and naïve to suppose that the Sith might have died out all together when Malak fell.
He sighed. It was more foolish to suppose that everything would right itself with Malak's death.
Things did not fix themselves. The Republic was weary from the war despite their victory, and the scars could not be erased. What had been salvaged however, was worth fighting for. He would not let Telos fall again. He would not watch his family die for the second time.
That was why they were gone.
The beeping finally stopped, whatever underling that had been trying to get his attention apparently having given up.
More and more Jedi began to disappear. She had tried to become a one-woman army against them, heading down to the surface with every team, watching over them despite their suspicious gazes; despite the rumors. But these Sith were far more intelligent than Malak or Bandon had ever been.
Whatever headway the Jedi had made with the Telosians instantly stopped. She tried to convince them that the Jedi were not the threat; He had tried to remind them of how the Jedi were helping to repair their planet.
None of them had ever trusted him on that issue. Not when a rumored Dark Lord shared his bed and a Jedi Knight with a red blade carried his surname.
Carth still remembered when even the Council had been claimed by the widespread panic, scattering across the galaxy, fleeing their predators, sending out a mandate to all surviving Jedi to seek refuge.
That, he thought, was the moment it became more than just a threat.
And they had gone with them. Right after Dustil had nearly become the next casualty.
"When did it happen?" He hadn't asked 'are you all right', even though he noticed the singes on his son's clothing, the sweat on his brow. Dustil would have only given him that 'I'm-a'Jedi-Knight-now-remember?' smile.
"Near the eastern energy fields. There were two. They didn't leave easily."
Carth had bitten the overprotective father's tongue on, Looks like it.
"But they did leave," she had murmured up from her datapad, reading over the harried message from the Council again.
"No. They're still somewhere down there. They know we're the only ones left on Telos."
Revan (Katrina; she was always going to be Katrina to him) had stared out the windows of the station for a moment.
"I'll round up security," he had begun, with a confidence he didn't feel in the slightest. "We'll send down a strike team and surprise them-"
"You'll be sending them straight to their deaths." She was much more blunt than she used to be, but he had found that he liked it better given to him straight anyways.
He found himself unconsciously scanning the room for something that belonged to her, something that might still hold the smell of her hair, the small lines that were beginning to form around her eyes.
But she had been both cautious and thorough- there was no trace of either Jedi here anymore.
I at least hope they have the sense to stick together, he thought for the thousandth time. The hope made him feel better when faced with the reality that he hadn't the slightest clue where in the galaxy they might be.
If he had to lose them for a time, he'd rather do it knowing they could protect each other, even if one was a headstrong and fearsome Knight and the other a former Sith Lord who had learned every lesson twice, both ways hard.
Former Sith Lord…Maybe this is one time being Revan might come in handy.
Even she had changed. He had thought that by protecting her he could prevent it. But identity wasn't something a thermal detonator or his own scarred body could block.
His son had returned a Jedi Padawan, all soft brown robes and contemplation. The woman he loved returned with calm acceptance, and he was to call her Revan.
He would call her whatever she wanted to her face, but to the rest of the galaxy for obvious reasons, she was still Katrina.
And now they were in hiding. And he meant to keep them that way.
Another recurrent noise broke into his thoughts, and he looked in the direction of the communication device he had just silenced.
"Admiral Onasi?" he finally heard, muffled but clearly exasperated from behind his door. Carth rose to answer it.
A harried looking junior officer stood up straight from his slouched position, saluting.
"Admiral Onasi, we've been trying to reach you, sir-"
"I know. What is it?"
Parts of him wanted to be petulant, make his underlings subject to the whims of an aging war hero and order them to leave him be.
But neither an accident nor the loss of two families could change Carth Onasi. He would follow his duty.
"A ship is requesting to dock, sir."
He raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware our senior officers couldn't handle port authority matters."
"The commander thought it best to inform you, sir, considering your history with the ship," the officer continued, undaunted.
He allowed himself to fantasize for a moment about a smiling Katrina and a rakishly winking Dustil's return.
"And what ship is requesting to dock?"
"The Ebon Hawk, sir."
Well. This is rich.
Carth straightened his uniform, and, realizing he was still holding his blaster, flipped it into its holster.
Either good news or bad. Either way, something was again about to change.
And whatever it was, he had a feeling he'd probably want his blaster.