The Force is a Burden

by Obsidionalis

What made Bastila fall to the dark side at the hands of Malak? What possible argument could any rational Jedi submit to that would have them give up their teachings?

"What? Ha-ha-ha! You mean you don't know? Ha-ha-ha! All this time, and you still haven't figured it out? Ha-ha-ha!"

The metallic vocoder of Darth Malak echoed like a hammer along the walls of the corridor. His towering presence placed a rock in the center of Bastila's chest – immovable. For all the fates that were riding on the outcome of this meeting, she could not help but only think of her own.

Malak, the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith, stood while his awful presence seeped into the hearts of Bastila and Carth. But the subject of his mockery stood like a sentinel in defiance of fear. "I wonder how long you would have stayed blind to the truth? Surely some of what you once were must have surfaced by now."

This can't be happening, Bastila though to herself, not now! Not after all we've been through! The escape from Taris; the intimate retraining on Dantooine; the quest for the Star Forge; all this time Bastila and her force-bonded companion had spent in sweet closeness – and now Malak, the mechanized dealer of destruction and loss, about to tear down the only meaningful relationship Bastila had ever formed in all her life.

"Even the combined power of the Jedi Council couldn't keep your true identity buried forever, could it?"

As Malak spoke, Bastila looked to her companion and saw in his eyes – the eyes she had come so accustomed to associating with comfort and pleasure – to see the flash of revelation. Memories which had been hidden and obscured by the best of the Jedi Council where mined by his powerful consciousness. Searching his experiences through the past several months he found new meaning in his memories of his teachers and companions. Bastila saw epiphany strike his eyes as new memories exploded out of his subconscious.

"You cannot hide from what you once were, Revan! Recognize that you were once the Dark Lord – and know that I have taken your place!"

Revan looked down at the floor beneath him. Bastila could see his mind turning through the possibilities.

"You do not yet remember, Revan? The Jedi set a trap. They lured us into battle against a small Republic fleet. During the attack a team of Jedi knights boarded you ship. The Jedi strike team captured you and the Council used the Force to reprogram your mind; they wiped away your identity and turned you against your own followers."

Tears welled up in Bastila's eyes as emotion strangled her mind. How could Revan ever forgive her for taking advantage of him? Sorrow turned to hate in a flash – how could the Jedi Council have doomed her such! They must have known Bastila had changed forever that day she had survived the strike on Revan's flagship – they knew that she was helplessly tied to Revan. Zhar, Varoosh, Vandar, Dorak – they didn't see Bastila as a heroin but instead as a buffer. They knew that if Revan ever did reclaim his identity then the retaliation would be awesome. The Jedi Council was shielding itself with Bastila.

"The Jedi are fools; they do not believe in executing prisoners. Originally I assumed you had died in the battle. Image my surprise when I found out out you were still alive, Revan."

Malak, the tower of hate, laughed - twirling his saber in his long pale white hands. His enjoyment was Bastila's torment.

"I helped them, Revan. I always knew that one day the title of Dark Lord would be mine! When the Jedi strike team boarded your vessel I saw my day had come. I ordered by own ships to fire on your bridge. I thought I could destroy all my enemies with a single glorious victory! I never dreamed the Jedi would take you alive from the wreckage."

A slow sigh came from Revan as Bastila saw his torso rise then fall. She was taking in every detail about the man - knowing it would be the last time she would be able to do so.

Through eyes blurred with moisture, Bastila saw Revan turn toward her. He spoke with a heavy disappointment, "Bastila." He paused for a moment that felt like death, "is this true?"

She was sure that her pain would broadcast through her voice. She spoke with care. "It's true. I was part of the team sent to capture Revan...to capture you. When Malak fired on the ship you were badly injured. We thought you were dead. Your mind was destroyed, but I used the Force to preserve the flicker of life in your body. I brought you to the Jedi Council. They were the ones who healed your damaged mind."

Still Bastila could see Revan's eyes glaze over as new memories surfaced. It seemed as though anything could perpetuate the deluge of his previous life once the first memories emerged.

Malak interjected with words meant to sting and separate. "The Jedi Council didn't restore your wounded mind, Revan! They merely programmed it with a new identity – one loyal to the Republic! They tried to make you their slave!"

Ignoring his forgotten apprentice, Revan aimed his piercing eyes at Bastila – she nearly fainted. In long, slow words Revan said "You used me, Bastila." It was half a question and half a statement. It shocked her that the one thing his mind stayed upon, in the midst of such paralyzing revelation, was her betrayal. The deceit by someone as close to him as Bastila hurt more than his own past.

"...please..." she muttered it so low that no one but her could hear it. "Malak nearly killed you, but the Jedi Council gave you another chance to live! They gave you a chance to redeem yourself by defeating the Sith!" It was a futile hope – one last grab for the edge before the only relationship she had ever enjoyed felling into the precipice.

Malak spoke quickly, ignoring the emotions from Bastila that flooded the room. "A rash and futile hope. The dark side is too strong, my power is to great! Even my old master is no longer a match for me!" The towering man lumbered to one side, beginning a slow pace, and looked up. Had his jaw not been removed years ago, he would have been smiling. "A small part of me has always regretted betraying you from afar" he began. "I always knew there were some who would think I acted out of fear, that I did not want to face you. But now fate has given me a second chance to prove myself. Once I defeat you in combat no one will question my claim to the Sith throne; my triumph will be complete!" He finished with his fists and biceps clenched staring toward the ceiling. The lust for power coursed through his veins.

Revan replied swiftly. "Your victory is not yet finished; I still live."

"The Jedi Council were foolish to let yo live," Malak scoffed. He lowered his head, "I won't make the same mistake." Bastila felt a tug in her abdomen and knew from experience Malak had begun to gather the Force around him. A bruise in the force marked the giant's presence. "We shall finish this in the ancient Sith tradition" he said. "Master versus apprentice, as it was meant to be!"

From the pit in the force surrounding Malak burst his immense hand, covered in swirling energy. Before she could think, a blast of ice water sped through her muscles. Over the course of a second a numbing chill originating in the soles of her feet and filled her muscles with immovable iron rods. Movement was impossible, it felt like her muscles had been replaced with metal. Her upper body had a moment to react, but the effect proved too quick as she froze in a useless pose.

Thankfully her ears still worked as she heard the crack of two lightsabers unsheathing. Her head was craned at an odd angle thanks to her futile struggles, causing the battle to take place in her far peripherals.

Flashes of light and the electric thunderclap of contact between lightsabers echoed down the long corridor. Bastila could not get a sense of the direction of the battle nor how Revan was fairing against Malak. Once, Revan and Malak's blades protruded into her view; locked together, the blades sizzled and cracked as they slid along each other. She could hear grunts and quick breaths in the time between strikes, but could not make out who's they were.

Her only chance to determine the outcome of the battle was the look on Carth's face. Her neck was craned in such a way that, while she could only catch glimpses of the battle, Carth, who had a clear view of the battle, stood front and center in her view. The Republic war hero was a mess – sweat poured out from under his hair and canaled along the wrinkles in his brow. Bastila could see his mind struggling to determine who he favored.

Carth had fought along side Revan during the Madalorian Wars only to be betrayed when he came back from the unknown regions as a Sith. However, he did not forget that Malak was the one to condemn his family to death on Telos. Suffice to say, he wished them both dead.

Revan burst into Bastila's line of sight; carried by a whirlwind of Force he spun through the air sideways. He landed in a ready crouch in between Bastila and Carth. A door somewhere outside her vision opened and she heard footsteps run through them. Revan stood up to follow the sound, but before he took off glanced over at Bastila. She found it hard to place his look; he seemed to be expressing a mixture of disappointment, worry, and goodbye. The suddenness at which he took off left Bastila with a pain in her stomach, one that begged the question, what if I never see him again?

She struggled frantically to move but her muscles but could not break their lock. Carth's eyes snapped back and forth furiously as Bastila watched his futile struggle.

She had to calm her mind; fighting the Force effect with brute force wouldn't work – Carth had to be at least twice as strong as her, and if he couldn't force himself out, neither could she.

-*breathe*-

Bastila closed her eyelids as best she could and dropped her mind out of the Leviathan and into the cool muted realm of battle meditation. Leaving her body she examined the effect Malak had set upon her muscles. The effect was as simple as it was paralyzing. Like quicksand, the greater each muscle fiber pulled the more entrenched the effect became. Freedom was achieved through patience – something any half-decent Jedi Master would have realized within seconds.

Bastila stopped squirming and relaxed, resting her muscles. Within moments the effect began to wear off. She felt like she was being drained of water through holes in the soles of her feet. Her scalp recovered its autonomy first, followed by her face, shoulders and arms, and finally her legs.

Shaking her body free of the last remnants of the effect, she hurried over to Carth and explained to him as quickly as possible the method.

She didn't stay to see him freed. She could feel a raging tempest in the Force as it echoed down the long cold walls of the corridor. She had to give whatever she had to help Revan – to show him her feelings weren't part of the deception – that she wasn't part of the game the Jedi Council played.

A furious pace carried Bastila through the halls as she searched for a way into the center of the crisscrossing halls. One door finally opened to show Revan stuck in the same field she had just escaped from.

Her time had come, she acted on instinct alone. Pulling her lightsaber from her side, she flung it around her hand and flicked on the switch, catching the fully extended saber in an aggressive stance. It was a trick she had learned from Revan in the outer rim; it put the fear of death into anything from an under-city thug to a hardened bounty hunter.

And it was utterly useless on the Sith Lord.

With a diabolical chuckle to himself Malak's massive body heaved in pleasure. "Your friends do not give up easily, Revan; you always could inspire loyalty. But even the two of you together cannot stand against my power!"

In the time it took Malak to speak, Revan had nearly freed himself; his torso was free but he could not move to defend himself against Malak.

Malak was meters away from delivering a killing blow to Revan when she decided to lay down her life. The decision came more easily and quickly than she would have imagined – had she had time to contemplate it. Perhaps it was her Jedi training, or her powerful bond with the mind of Revan - or something more. She had never been so confident of a decision in her entire life; this was one she had made herself - for herself.

"For the Jedi!" She yelled as her saber careened through the air at the towering mass of Malak. The throw must have caught him off-guard, for it took a deep crouch and a loud grunt from the Sith to deflect the saber back to its master.

Bastila ran at the lightsaber as it twisted through the air. Grabbing it out of the air, whipping it around her torso, and bringing it to bear on Malak, she said "I'll hold Malak off. You two get out of here! Find the Star Forge!"

Malak recovered unnaturally fast and was advancing to her before she had really begun to prepare her first strike. The immense stature of Malak hurtling toward her brought a familiar clench to her stomach.

He struck first with a wild hack from over his head that missed by millimeters as Bastila dodged to the right. She caught the first sounds of a voice that sounded like Carth's before the metal door slammed shut, cutting her off.

Bastila knew right away she had been closed off from any aid from her companions, and that this would most likely be her last stand. But the thought of it was not as terrible as she had imagined. Her calmness helped to focus her parries and strikes.

Malak's renown fighting ability had only been outmatched by that of Revan – albeit a Revan who no longer existed – there was no doubt in Bastila's mind that she was locked in combat with the most lethal warrior in the galaxy. Although it would seem that Malak's excessive hight and lumbering frame would impact his speed and flexibility yet every strike Bastila let fly at the Sith Lord was met and countered with frighteningly beautiful elegance. Malak's style would have been described "balanced"; however, this would completely fail to describe it accurately. All aspects of his fighting were perfect, he possessed no weaknesses nor favored any style; he combined the awesome power of a Barabel's hack with the lightning speed of an Echani warrior in every movement.

Bastila's forehead ran slick with sweat as she struggled to keep up with the amazing pace of blows that Malak was capable of raining down. Every once in a while she would find space with which to stab or slash at the Sith Lord's torso, but each time Malak would make an ideal move that put him right back in control.

A flurry of saber strikes raked up the two sides of Bastila's double-bladed lightsaber as she barely made it to block a killing blow. She was slow to recover – due to exhaustion – and Malak took advantage of the opportunity. Infuriatingly Malak did not attempt to kill Bastila, intending instead to toy with her like a lab rat. Winding up a mammoth blow, Malak took a swing with his lightsaber aimed to remove her head. The attack was an insult – Bastila knew Malak would expect her to easily block it – but what surprised her was an infusion of Force power at the last moment that put too much weight behind the blow for Bastila to hold off. An explosion of sparks and a flash of light whited-out Bastila's vision when the sabers met. Absorbing the blow meant Bastila was knocked to the ground in a defenseless position.

Trying to recover, Bastila sent a wave of Force power into the ground to boost her up to her feet. Malak countered with a blast of hurricane power to send her body slamming into the ground again. The impact of her skull on the hard ground nearly knocked her unconscious. Broken pieces of the floor, cracked from the blast, scattered to make a steel nest in the floor which Bastila fell into.

Her bleeding face ached as she opened her eyes to see her lightsaber obliterated into a thousand pieces in front of her eyes by a bolt of lightning. Bastila sucked in the cold air of the corridor only to wince at the pain of several broken ribs threatening to puncture her lungs.

Malak lifted Bastila's limp body off the ground; she hung suspended by her torso like a rag doll. Blood from the gash on her temple spilled onto the floor from six feet in the air.

Bastila was in too much agony to move her eyes, but out of the corner she could see Malak with one hand toward her controlling the Force that kept her at eye-level. Ignoring the throbbing pain of her head and ribs she spat the blood out of her mouth at the white head of Malak. It sprayed across his skull and looked like a crack running down the center of his head. "You will fail, Malak" Bastila said as harshly as she could spare. "You will lose your power just like every Sith Lord before you!"

"Ha-ha-ha!" Malak's vocoder digitized his speech in a terrible way; it put the fear back into Bastila. Without saying anything more, Malak jerked his arm toward her and her torso pulled away from her. She flew through the air into the nearby wall, cracking open a water pipe with her leg – causing her femur to snap.

Horrible pain climbed up her spine like a swarm of insects intent of devouring her brain. She gritted her teeth through blood and broken tissue. She knew death was close, and tried to clear her mind.

"Do you know why I will not fall just like every other Sith Lord before me?" Malak asked, now slowly walking over to her while holding her in place against the wall. "Because with your battle meditation I cannot be stopped. Ha-ha-ha! I have turned hundreds of Jedi to my cause; what makes you think that I will fail with you – a padawan!"

Bastila closed her eyes and tried to block out the world. Pain radiated in her head as if the entire outside was made of it. She just wanted to escape – no matter what that meant.

"I know you better than you know yourself, Bastila. You will fall to the dark side for the same reason Revan and I did." The last things she heard was the retreating sound Malak's cracking metallic laugh.

Even with the most capable medical and surgical droids in all the galaxy, waking up after ten hours of surgery with a carbon fiber laced femur would never be comfortable.

"Gwaaaa!" Pain from her leg yanked Bastila out of the dream world. Slowly, she lifted her aching body off the hard mattress, being careful not to overtax her wounds. Her eyes focused on the sweat stains her head, neck and shoulders made in the mattress. Odd parts of her body were bandaged; one side of her face remained swollen and painful to the touch; her mid-drift was wrapped in a bandage which held stitches on her flank together; her leg was wrapped tightly in a breathable cast that ran from ankle to groin.

Bastila tried to stay upright as she climbed out of the cot with once leg locked in a cast. Loosing her balance forced her to start hopping to one side to avoid falling over; she stuck a hand out to grab the wall. The cold metal distracted her mind from her aches long enough for her to questions her setting.

A cell – there was no other way to describe it drabness. Painted in a depressing dark gray, the ten foot long cube was just large enough to prevent claustrophobia. Divots in the far wall looked to her to be points where heavy chains where once fastened. Next to her marked the outline of the cell door which laid flush with the walls.

In the entire room, there was nothing of interest. Not a single aspect of the room to garner her attention for longer than a few seconds. Even the air duct was hidden behind a large steel grate – immovable, as she later discovered.

With a disappointed sigh, Bastila sat back down on the smelling mattress and attempted to calm her mind. Malak would undoubtedly be by soon to begin her torture, so she began to prepare herself. The injuries she had would be his obvious targets for inflicting pain so she began to numb them with the Force.

As time pasted, neither Malak, nor his minions, ever came. Over a period of time Bastila could only believe was hours – possibly a day – she waited patiently for the door to swing open, smoke to poor in, and Malak to emerge like a specter of hate.

But it never came.

Bastila was never trained in the techniques of torture – of course no Jedi was – but she assumed Malak intended her to marinate in her own fear before he began his work. Unfortunately, Bastila lamented, it was working. Relaxing in meditation calmed her, but she could not help her mind drift towards Revan – would he come to save her, mount a rescue mission and break her free? She knew her hope was simply a lie she told herself about the future, but it helped in a childish way. She occasionally was ripped out of her meditation when a spear of pain from one of her injuries would explode into her mind. If she remained outside her mind for too long the blandness of the cell would begin to punish her thoughts and she would be forced to save her sanity by plunging back into deep meditation.

She split her time between meditation and sleep – it was a sedentary lifestyle, but the only one she could maintain in the cell.

After waking up – one what she assumed to be the second or third day – she discovered a small plate of food resting by the door. Although she had nearly forgotten about the sustenance her body needed, seeing the food triggered an innate response in her abdomen and she stumbled forward to devour it.

Her injuries began to heal quickly – something she attributed to her long ventures into mediation – and before long she removed the bandages from her face and torso. Although there where no mirrors in the cell, a careful investigation with her fingers indicated that no scars remained on her cheek or temple. A thin line of scar tissue ran from below her right armpit down past her breast. An indication of surgery, Bastila suspected her ribs had needed extensive repair. The leg was the slowest to heal, and it took seven plates of food – what she used to measure time – before she could remove the cast and examine herself. Several lines of scars danced along her high thigh; some were made by incisions, and others by tearing skin. She suspected that much of her femur had been replaced with an artificial metal. While it still hurt to stand on, she knew it would grow to be the stronger of the two.

She began her own physical therapy to accelerate her recovery and pass the time. Her hamstring and quadricep on the right had atrophied under the cast. Bastila began exercises to build them back up to their former size and saturated them with blood during her mediations to promote growth.

Although she kept herself busy the past seven food-cycles, the monotony and sensory deprivation that the bland cell caused began to weigh heavily on her mind. She had not seen another thing outside the four walls and the mattress in what she suspected was several weeks. Visual and auditory hallucinations began to creep out of her meditations and into the cramped space of the cell. They were mostly just vague outlines of indeterminable figures followed by strange pure tones, but the indication that her brain had begun fabricating reality to entertain itself worried her.

There continued to be no sign of Malak or his Sith – not even sounds from adjacent cells. Guessing the range of a cruiser like the Leviathan – which she suspected she was still aboard –she thought that by now they could have been anywhere in the known galaxy.

As time past she meditated less and slept more; she could feel her mind leaving. Starved for some sort of input her sanity was beginning to crumble at the behest of an overactive mind.

Getting up from the mattress one day, Bastila glanced over to the door to begin eating what food had been placed there. But when she focused on the plate she realized that it had been replaced with a short, hand-sized tetrahedron. The tetrahedron was decorated in white alabaster carvings of immense detail. Past the alabaster shell sat a crystal that glowed a bluish-green. Suspended inside the tetrahedron, the crystal seemed to get brighter when she stared at it for longer than a second. Its hue radiated across the barren cell and filled it with colors Bastila had forgotten.

It was a holocron of ancient origin. Etchings in its side marked it to be thousands of years old – perhaps predating the Republic itself.

Picking it up, Bastila cradled the sharp points of the holocron in her delicate hands. The center crystal floating inside the tetrahedron seemed to be displaced, almost as though it didn't belong. As she rotated it in her hands, the crystal would touch the sides of the tetrahedron and dim; this provided further proof, in Bastila's opinion, that the tetrahedron was a recent addition.

The tetrahedron's function puzzled Bastila – why encase a holocron in another holocron? Added protection for the information inside? A breakdown in the recognition protocols of the crystal holocron's gatekeeper? The possibilities where endless – and Bastila's knowledge fleeting.

The desire to active the holocron would have normally been abandoned by Bastila; however, her brain screamed at her to learn as much as she could about – however futile the task. Any input was pleasurable at this point.

For the first three hours – although Bastila had no conception of the time – she did not take her eyes of the beautiful carvings on the tetrahedron. The glow from the crystal lit her eyes with a soft glow that was warmly received by eyes that had not seen any colors save gray for weeks.

Food came unexpectedly. Apparently completely distracted, Bastila had not noticed the door open and a small, loosely built medical droid lay a plate of mush on the floor. Although she was hungry, the lure of the holocron completely governed her mind – it would have taken a five course gourmet meal to distract her in the slightest.

The first clue to the origin of the holocron came while meditating on the familiarity of the tetrahedron's markings. Sunken symbols that looked like a logographic language ran down the sides. Although she could not decipher their meaning, Bastila did remember where she had seen them – Dantooine, Manaan, Tatooine, and Kashyyyk. Theses symbols matched those marked on the star maps. The tetrahedron was the Builders' technology.

Bastila instantly suspected the nature of what the crystal inside held – secrets of the Star Forge and the Builders. Endorphins scrambled her thoughts with awesome passion. She could barely contain her excitement of her discovery.

What Bastila did not question – something that a true Jedi Master would – was the reason she had been given the holocron. Starved for stimulus her mind blocked out the bits of her training that would have maintained the brutal monotony of life in the cell.

She had seen Revan manipulate the Builders' computers in the ruins on Dantooine by indicating the language he spoke and thought it a good hypothesis to test. For the first time in weeks she spoke. At first she was drawn aback by the horrible croak that she made, but after a several minutes of loosening her vocal chords, she was able to find her voice. Not knowing what to say to indicate her language she began with the Jedi Code.

"There is no emotion, there is peace." She began holding the holocron in the palms of her hands while seated with her back to the mattress in a mediation pose. The scene was eerie – sitting in calm meditation, Bastila's face and shoulders was lit in a warm blue-green by the weak light of the crystal. "There is no ignorance, there is knowledge." The center crystal began to glow brighter the longer she spoke; in her excitement she sped up her diction. "There is no passion there is serenity there is no chaos there is harmony there is no –"

She cut herself off when from out of the glowing crystal flashed a hologram of a man dressed in qopulent clothing with well groomed hair appeared in the center of the room. Sitting on the ground, Bastila was eclipsed by the tall, transparent blue-green figure. He did not move from his stoic stance but at once he began speaking.

"Thank you for receiving this holocron Grand Master Ramel. We are both busy men, so I will get to my point. Our newly established Jedi Order stands at a crossroads in the history of the galaxy. After victory over those who followed the Bogan in the Force Wars, we have an opportunity to ensure the balance of power throughout the galaxy for the rest of time if we choose to act in a prudent way. The Andothosr Commision has assembled a list of governing principles by which the Order should be founded. These principles will actively prevent the rise of warlords and revolutions throughout the galaxy – firmly maintaining peace and power."

Bastila instantly placed the record to the founding of the Jedi Order – over 21,000 years ago! The Force Wars happened right after the discovery and distinction between the light side, Ashla, and the dark side, Bogan. Bastila looked on at the dusty hologram with shock and awe at what she imagined to be the first Jedi.

The man did not pause for long and dove right into his message. "The state of galactic peace is, and forever has been, tenuous. Hundreds of worlds, each with its own supposed divine right to sovereignty and expansion, breeds hostility and turmoil. We see now the greatest number of tyrants in the last five thousand years. Several of these worlds have produced armies of sufficient strength to bring interstellar relations and trade to a standstill – destroying trillions of lives across great swaths of space and destabilizing prosperous sectors. A look back to a mere hundred years ago is all it takes to see the last instance of this scenario when the Hutt Banatj Nasirii Zorbra led his enterprising hordes across the greatest shipping lane in the galaxy."

"This political terrain has become even more unpredictable with the advent of Bogan armies who possess the physical power to overthrow and destabilize even greater sectors of space. The Force Wars taught us that those Bogan followers cannot exist without presenting a threat to our power. Even one system ruled by the Bogan will breed discontent and revolution in nearby sectors, causing strife and recession. The Bogan and Ashla cannot coexist."

"Thanks to valiant effort by our warriors on Tython, our victory and right to enact our will upon the galaxy was established."

"And so we stand now, in a sea of uncommon calm. Surrounded by our allies and feared by those few enemies we have not yet annihilated. This peace will last – make no mistake about that – but what concerns me and those of the Andothosr Commision is long term peace – millennial peace. Securing this is a much greater task that requires the careful application of pressure at key points throughout the galaxy."

"It is the mode for this lasting, secure peace that I will address and offer practices for obtaining."

The man adjusted his stance while maintaining a staunch neck and head. He began after a quiet deep breath.

"A lasting peace can be obtained one of two ways. The first being the meticulous statistical determination of crises and booms which, if such a strategy was possible, requires the careful setting of initial conditions such that the rest of history will play out into predetermined, and accounted for, paths. This method assumes a high dependence on initial conditions by society; while this may be true in physics and other physical sciences, it is beyond the scope of our abilities today. The second method relies on establishing the balance of power between groups and ensuring it stagnation. This method is superior in the opinion of the Andothosr Commision because it allows for a self-correcting system that can adapt to changes in the political culture that are unknowable today. It is through this stagnation of power that political views become entrenched and the bold actions that start wars discouraged."

"The establishment of our Order as a monastic society is the ideal agent through which a perpetual balance of power can exist."

"The greatest threat to the balance of power is the defeated – but surely to rise again – followers of the Bogan. Their ability to use their powers to bring about dangerous political innovation and turmoil unsteadies the very foundation of long term political stagnation. To combat this and ensure the stagnation of powers, is to directly combat those of the Bogan. While many during the Force Wars were not mortal enemies – especially, Grand Master, your dear friend Anaro Heloinn – we must train our Order to despise and destroy its followers because of their destabilizing tendencies."

"Our Jedi Order will therefore, under our plan, become a monastic order – much like it is today – with the exception of a strong intelligence and regime-stabilization aspect. Our Order shall work closely with planetary governments on missions of 'peacekeeping' to discourage over-investment in technology, commerce, and philosophy. Convincing provincial governments to become large bureaucracies will maintain their power and discourage any ambition as it has been shown that large bureaucracies are more prone to stagnation than other forms of governance."

"To help our agents practice this peacekeeping role, they shall take up lives of poverty, unquestioning service and intense study on ancient and agreeable scholars. If we are able to train our agents to be walking examples of the benefits of such virtues then influencing populations of our way of life would become easier."

"Talk of establishing a galactic-wide republic is in high circulation in current politics, and while it will be a while to come, the benefits of such a democratic bureaucracy would further entrench the powers that be. It is therefore the recommendation of the Andothosr Commision to promote – primarily through the agents I previously mentioned – the formation of this galactic-wide republic."

"Returning to the Bogan, a threat to maintaining the powers that be is the resurgence of the Bogan. These Bogan followers possess the sole method of tipping the balance of power in one direction. To combat this, our established methods for use of the Force must be grounded in disciplined training. We should instruct our agents that the Force is of such power that it must only be used sparingly and that exploration into new techniques in the Force is not virtuous."

"Our recommendation for carrying these methods out is to devote large amounts of the Order's resources to the search for, and acquisition of, young sentients that show affinity for communication with the Force. Allowing our agents to acquire apprentices along their journeys of peacekeeping will allow us to instill the values and virtues that will maintain the stagnation. This apprenticeship tradition will also help the grand masters to keep tabs on those in the galaxy who posses extraordinary gifts in the force, or who have begun innovating with its power. If we can keep the strongest Force-sensitive sentients in the galaxy under our observation and teach them to limit their amazing gift, then we can ensure that the Force does not evolve into something that tips the status-quo."

"Of course such apprentices must be taken from those they love and thrown into the Jedi Order completely so as to guarantee their loyalties lie with us."

"Our galactic society has advanced to a sufficient extent whereas every being in its bosom should live in perpetual peace. Ever since the widespread use of the hyperdrive, this galactic society has experienced disaster after disaster due to the imbalance of power bestowed by the natural universe. Our victory in the Force Wars has bought us to an important time during which we can stop this perpetual cycle of violence and bring peace to the galaxy. By establishing an Order than works feverishly to lock-in those in power, dampen advancement of the force, and maintain control over all substantial force-sensitives we can protect this galaxy from descending into anarchy. These strategies will work because they mire governments in bureaucracy and minor squabbling rather than freeing them to pursue their own greatness. A tight control over force users allows us to prevent any individual from becoming too powerful and threatening the scales of power."

For the first time, the tetrahedron began to glow an eerie light without challenging the center blue-green crystal for dominance in Bastila's eye.

"And now, something for only your ears, Grand Master." The man spoke plainly, with a clear relaxed formality. "We both know that the differences in Ashla and Bogan are not as great as they once seemed. Whatever the Force is, Ashla is the clear and understandable part of it while the Bogan is the part that challenges our assumptions and allows us to see past the surface into a maddening ether. Our team of researchers here have been able to discover – through many long days of experimentation and reasoning – that there are aspects of the Bogan that do make sense, and in fact demand acceptance and integration into our philosophy according to our axioms. What I fear here is that continued research in these fields will only serve to unleash these ignoble philosophies into the universe. I already fear that some of our researchers have begun to accept that the Bogan is a pathway to understanding the deep secrets of the universe. That is why I ask of you to bring to an end this venture into Force research and cut those off from the Force that possess this knowledge, particularly Absk Sadow who is near to establishing a battle meditation for coordinating massive armies via the Force. He even believes that it is possible to grant a soldier, captain or even general extra courage and valor – or just as easily take it away. Its ability to unbalance the status-quo is obvious."

The man bowed his head in respect, "we must do what is best for the galaxy Grand Master. The Force is a weapon and if we can't destroy it then we must be the only ones to wield it."

And just as unexpectedly as he popped into the room, he left – gone in the blink of an eye into the depths of the holocron.

The room was plane gray again, but it no longer was barren of the brain's sustenance – now it practically dripped off the wall.

The disillusionment of childhood is often looked back upon in a nostalgic way, savoring the purity and simplicity of innocence. Mature disillusionment is met with disgust and vile hatred even though it often possessed the same properties of purity and simplicity. Bastila was filled with mature disillusionment – and it burn in her.

Without more than a minute passing by she had restarted the message, intent on proving to herself that the early Jedi's words were not taken up by the Jedi she served today. But as she reviewed it a third and forth time her frustration with the mysterious man's argument abated to be filled with ambiguity about her beliefs – especially about her battle meditation training.

Food had piled up in the corner of her room; the soft brownish sludge hardened and stuck to the metal plate like a weld. Bastila hadn't eaten in over four days – and she had lost weight and strength because of it. The gentile curves of her stomach had deflated to reveal the harsh structure of her hips and ribs. Her face became gaunt and her skin pale like a ghost. If she had had a mirror she would have seen gray-blue crescents under her eyes from lack of sleep.

Bastila was capable of withstanding a direct assault from nearly a dozen common Sith troopers. But when a mere four entered her room one day she was completely helpless to defend herself. Starvation had had a comparable effect on her Force abilities as it did on her body. She might as well have coughed on them as they seized her, for it had the same force as the putter of energy she waved at them.

What handicapped her the most was not her physical weakness but rather her complete isolation from the outside world. Being deprived of sensory input had placed a great stress on her sanity. To recover from such a stress the mind must be weened back to the pace of its normal processing much like a starving stomach must be slowly given food, less it will tear. When the holocron appeared, Bastila was so starved for something new that she let her thoughts obsess over it. The influx of information so quickly overtaxed her mind by demanding performance which it simply wasn't capable of. She had effectively gorged herself on information and thought to the point where her mind, much like a stomach, threw it up.

Bastila rambled on in her sleep and shook nervously while she was awake. Malak's method of breaking her was complete. She was a blank canvas – and Malak intended to create a masterpiece.

Bastila awoke to the scratch of granite on her cheek. The sensation was oddly a pleasant one, as she had forgotten the feel of certain substances not in her cell. With a warm smile she opened her eyes and allowed her thoughts to escape the haze of her sleep.

She first felt the uncomfortable pressure of the granite against her shoulder blades as the surface pulled against her clothing. It took a moment to orient herself, but she found she was inclined, facing the corner of a small section at the end of a long hallway. She tried to move but her wrists and ankles acted like they weighted a thousand tons. Bastila glanced to her right, rolling her ear onto the granite, and saw her wrists fastened securely to a large slab of rock. Lifting her head up to look at her feet confirmed that they too were chained to the slab.

She took a moment to grasp her surroundings. The section she was in, as well as what she could see of the hallway, where made of the same granite rock she was chained to. Large ornate columns stood on all the corners and one midway along the right wall. The circular columns expanded widely about twelve feet off the ground in increasing concentric circles. The largest one was etched with thin rectangles than ran along the circumference of the circle. She assumed the place to be ancient, for there were no light fixtures mounted on the walls or ceiling; instead the section was lit with portable light stands. The place felt ancient in a way Bastila had never known, like this entire building was not known to any historian or archaeologist in all the Republic.

She was alone, partially. A pair of droids stood around the corner staring away from her down the hallway on plastic honeycombed sheets that secured the loose ground to support their heavy weight. She could feel no one else down the length of the hallway, but she didn't trust her sense. The Force felt strange to her, like this place had split apart the different faces of the Force to show her those which she had never known. The feeling was worrisome for it felt like she was being stared down by a hundred unfamiliar giants – it made her feel like a kid again.

The giants – titans, really – seemed to all turn away in an instant to stare down the hallway. They scattered a moment later, dissipating.

From around the corner walked Darth Malak. Covered in a haze of complex clouds of energy, Malak approached here quickly, oozing confidence.

His hate-filled voice echoed down the ancient hallway, "you are not well Bastila; you have lost much weight over the past two months." On top of her, he pinched her left bicep like it was a toothpick. "And I see that your strength has fallen to quite dismal levels. I apologize for the poor care; but you see, it is necessary to free one such as yourself."

Bastila kept her mouth closed. She did not even look at Malak, less that give him the satisfaction he desired.

Malak turned away from her and paced in a long arch. "Tell me, what did you think of the holocron's message?"

Keep quite, Bastila! She told herself. Don't respond, it will give him what he wants.

He turned toward her, "do you know what happened to Absk Sadow, the Jedi who first developed battle mediation?" Malak waited for her reply. Expecting it not to come, he continued, "He was cut off from the force and exiled to an unknown world never to be heard from again."

"The holocron is fake!" Bastila broke her silence – it was foolish, but she would not let Malak convince her do deny the Jedi. "Jedi Masters Odan-Urr, Jeth, and Sunrider were the first to use it during the Unification Wars." A pinch of pride snapped into her face as she smirked at the Sith Lord. "No evidence of a 'Grand Master Ramel' exists in any records."

"Ha-ha-ha!" Malak's vocoder cracked. Bastila felt the hair on her skin rise as Malak lifted up his arm. From the tips of his fingers grew a bright light that looked like a burning star. Her nerves caught fire as lightning arched between her body and the growing star on Malak's fingers.

The scream was involuntary and didn't portray the power of the feeling. When it ceased, Bastila gasped for air frantically. Her muscles ached immediately – both from the attack and from the fact that they were so weak.

"My former master," Malak said, "taught me that we must always expose those who believe in belief simply because they think it to be virtuous."

Still panting from the exertion, Bastila panted out, "what...are you talking...about?"

"Do not take me for the padawan you are. I can read the doubts that circle in your mind about what the Jedi have taught you; you know the holocron is genuine, and therefore you must accept that your beliefs are build off political convenience and not something noble." He didn't leave time for her to respond. "Absk Sadow wrote extensively about his experiments into the Force, even battle meditation; it was these reports that Odan-Urr uncovered as a Jedi librarian and used during the Wars."

"Why, dear Bastila" Malak said, leaning closer, "wouldn't the Jedi choose to teach battle meditation to subsequent Jedi Masters – it undoubtedly would have been a great benefit in fighting the Sith?"

"Because the role of Jedi is to become one with the Force, not to pervert it to our selfish use!" Bastila said.

"Yes! That's right!" Malak laughed. "But why do you believe that?"

Bastila's thoughts came to a crash and struggled for purchase. "..bee-because through altruism we can make the galaxy a better place." The answer stank of childhood, and Bastila hated it.

"A better place indeed, but for who?" Malak responded. "These believes were created by the first of the Jedi to maintain their power over the galaxy, to ensure their continued involvement in every aspect of galactic politics – and prevent the challenges of threats to their power." Malak began to pace. "What would be a better method for achieving this goal than an army of Jedi demigods involved in every political interaction, subtlety steering the outcomes to ones that ensured the status-quo – all under a veil of poverty and altruism."

Bastila wouldn't accept it. "What the Jedi do prevents wars and spreads peace throughout the galaxy!"

"Peace" Malak said with a disgusted look and a scoff. "At what cost? Revolutions do not come to systems that drown in corruption and injustice. Bureaucracies thrive off the stagnation and expansion of their own bureaucracy. The Republic promotes inaction and stagnation!"

Malak's words were said with such humanity as Bastila though impossible given the limits of his vocoder.

He continued. "All Jedi today, from the loneliest padawan to the grand master has been trained under a set of principles that were designed to perpetuate its existence. They Jedi steal children from their families and discourage any connection so that the only loyalty they feel is to the Order. They have excuses for such practices, but they are not the reason why they exist. I used this same trick on you; denying your brain its traditional stimulus, it grew needy. When I gave you the holocron, your brain was all to happy to accept its information as the only in the universe."

Bastila didn't realize it but she began muttering to herself. A series of No's grew audible till they caught Malak's attention.

The hate and anger flashed back into Malak's eyes, pushing what little humanity had crept into his face away. "Open your mind Bastila! See the truth of what your life has been!" His massive chest heaved with anger. "Don't you find it unusual that the Jedi would ignore and even downplay your natural gift until their very existence depended on it! I am the reason why you were trained to use your battle meditation; because I am the harbinger of the Jedi Order's destruction!"

Bastila still shook her head, "battle mediation is a dangerous power, it can easily corrupt any who use it and turn them to the dark side. My training began when it did because the Council believed I was ready to accept the responsibility."

Rage emanated out of the energy surrounding Malak in hard vibrations. He reached up above his head and ripped up down chunks of the ceiling, hurling them down to either side of Bastila. "I have had enough of your Jedi dogma, Bastila. You force me to become more persuasive."

Electricity jumped from the tips of his fingers again and drilled their way into Bastila's body. She let out an agonizing cry – Malak laughed in the background.

Malak leaned in to Bastila's wriggling body. "You are strong, child. But I will break you."

Bastila trashed her head to the side avoiding the heart-chilling stare of Malak's white skull. "I'll never fall to the dark side!"

Malak, facing away from her, clearly furious at her obstinance responded by pummeling her body with lightning again.

No matter the number of times she experienced the jolt of electricity she would never build up a tolerance.

"You think torture will turn me, Malak?" Bastila gathered her will. "You're a fool."

"Torture?" Malak's head shot around to face her. His body followed slowly and he came close to her face till she could smell the sweat of whatever existed beneath his steel jaw. "No, dear Bastila. You misunderstand. This is but a taste of the dark side." His pale hand approached her face, and for a moment Bastila though he would disfigure her face, or make her blind; but his cold and dry skin slid across her cheek as he stroked her like a lover. "...to wet your appetite."

Seemingly disgusted with himself, Malak quickly turned away and talked to the wall, "when you finally swear loyalty to me, it will be willingly." He turned to face her with every muscle in his face flexed.

"Never!" Bastila spat back.

A quick laugh followed from Malak. "Such resolve in your words, but I see the truth in your heart. The dark side calls to you, Bastila. You hunger to taste it." He didn't speak like a Sith Lord intent on the conquest of the galaxy, but more like Bastila's teachers when they struggled to teach her a lesson.

"Become my apprentice and all its power can be yours!" Malak lit the stone walls with the bright power of electricity arching from his fingers into Bastila, feeding off her screams.

The sustained surge of electricity through her body seemed to send her brain into overdrive. Memories and thoughts exploded like firecrackers behind her eyes. She saw the memory of Revan where he had chosen to leave the Jedi – the memory she had saved. Its beautiful revelation filled her with longing; she wished to be secure in her believes, just as Revan had.

The memory vanished as her imagination replaced it with the ancient Jedi Master Ramel; sitting in the first council room, Ramel contemplated the course his new order would take. The role the Order would play in the grand scheme of the galaxy consumed him; mired theories as to the true nature of the newly discovered Force, he would make the conservative choice. If the Bogan ultimately proved to be the stronger of the two sides, would his Order survive? But whatever the case may be, it was undeniable that the Force was the most powerful thing in the galaxy. There were too many questions and mysteries concerning the Force, too much power to be tapped. He would rationally choose to keep the power for himself and his Order; if they alone controlled access to the Force and all those who could feel it, then the galaxy could be protected against it. The Jedi did treat the Force as a burden – not the romantic force that she had been taught, but a sinister weapon whose very knowledge threatened their power.

She let go of her unfounded beliefs. The walls around her mind that prevented the inrush of pain crumbled and a beautiful sensation as new pathways of thought opened – to be filled with pain. Her screams intensified as Malak poured more into her.

The Force that arched through her and tore at her muscles seemed different, as though she had been looking at it through polarized lenses all her life. Now it glistened like the movement of an elegant sea creature, shining through many dimensions.

It hurt, so she screamed to reflect the pain outward. Like a trained animal the Force coursing through her spun around and flew from her veins. Through all her life, Bastila had though of herself as a poorly principled Jedi with an amazing, unearned gift. Battle meditation, and inborn ability, had been the only reason why she had ascended to the prominence she had – the only reason the Jedi Council knew her name. But what she had not been able to recognize in the harsh restrictions of the Jedi Order is her ability to intuitively discover new avenues for the Force. Bastila was a great Jedi. Her scream resonated outward. It would later become known as a Force scream; sending out waves of pain, loss and suffering through the Force, it destroyed morale and confidence in those around her.

Malak felt, heard and saw the transformation. One moment Bastila was writhing in pain and agony, fighting to prevent the flow of pain into her brain; next, she had broken down her walls and used her own brain to redirect the energy out through her and back at Malak. Her composure, still chained to the slab, was entirely different. Instead of struggling and squirming, she laid on the slab slowly breathing, staring up at Malak with confidence in herself.

Malak smiled, "well done. You now are free of your chains." He waved his hand across her stomach and the chains that held her wrists and ankles fell off her.

The sense of freedom was incomparable. She rose from the sad, scared girl into a powerful, and feared woman. Sliding off the slab and standing up on her own legs, which now felt sturdy like a tree's roots, she bent the Force around her and swirled it to her will. It was the moment of her life.

Her revelation was brought about thanks to Malak, and for that she owed him her life. Without his wisdom and the facts of the holocron she would have remained a measly shell of a human incapable of her own decisions. Swearing allegiance to Malak was the first time in her life she had done something of her will alone; without orders, or the influence of others – actually in spite of it – she made the decision.

But Malak had not told her of the impression she had bestowed upon him. He had received the full blow of the Force scream, and while he was strong enough to withstand its effects he noticed immediately his error. Bastila was too strong. Her skill at contorting the Force in new and different ways made her an obligation – and a threat to his dominance. He had wanted to use her battle mediation to aid his forces as they continued their destruction of the Republic, but if Bastila's strength and confidence continued to grow, much as they just had, she would quickly strive to take his place.

So to remove this threat he left her in the temple on Rakata Prime to face her lover, Revan. Her new found will and independence was unbreakable, and Malak was confident that Revan would not be able to turn her in less time than he had. She would die at the hands of a powerful Revan; hopefully buying time for Malak to build up the Star Forge's defenses for an inevitable attack by the Republic.

Bastila spent most her time alone on the roof of the temple in mediation. She had already shed the weak techniques she had used as a Jedi, and was well on her way to developing a full repertoire of new abilities that would make her a thousand times more powerful.

And when Revan came, she was ready. He too was changed. He breathed the Force through his pores and pooled it around himself like a bruise. He no longer followed the ways of the Jedi – his own revelation must have released memories of what he once was, and he saw that independence and rationality to be superior.

Three figures emerged out of the stark shadows onto the sunlit patio of the roof. Bindo and the Cathar flanked Revan – Bastila could feel their minds peddling when they saw her. Revan's smiled.