3962 BBY
No more than five months after the departure of Revan and Malak from Coruscant, word of their accomplishments spread throughout the Republic. But while Revan and Malak were celebrated as heroes, the Jedi Order as a whole was not looked upon as such. Still, the Jedi Council refused to partake in the war.
In the middle of this political conflict, Bastila and Master Vrook Lamar arrived at Coruscant. At the age of 16, Bastila was more than ready to perform her final tests, and it had been decided that this would be done under the supervision of the Jedi High Council.
While Bastila meditated, Vrook went to visit a mutual friend of theirs who had recently returned to Coruscant after a long absence.
Vrook knocked politely on the wooden door, although it was open.
"Welcome Master Vrook. Come in," the woman greeted him. Her voice was melodic, and seemed to belong to a far younger person than the forty-year-old Jedi Master sitting in the middle of the circular room.
"Master Tra," Vrook replied curtly. "I was told of your return."
His former padawan gave him a warm smile which enhanced her pleasant facial features. Sebastin Tra's features belied her age as well as her voice; she kept her years well. Thin wrinkles had begun to form around her eyes, though, Vrook noticed. She was of medium height, slender and gracious, with deep brown skin and dark, braided hair, held back from her face by a black leather band. Sebastin wore exclusively white robes. She always had.
Vrook gathered his robes to sit down in front of her, but Sebastin rose in an instant and took his hands in hers. "Always formal, Master Vrook," she smiled again.
Before he could avoid her, she embraced him. He hesitated for a moment. It was not common for Jedi of their rank to show affection in this way, but then again, Sebastin was not a common Jedi.
"I have missed you, Vrook," she said quietly.
Sebastin had always been strongly attached to people around her. She had a curious way of making you sway under her sympathetic influence. Vrook felt it now, as he always had. After a few moments, he released himself from her arms.
"Are you going to tell me where you have been all these years?" he inquired. He realized his tone might have been overly stern, because Sebastin winced, startled.
"No," she answered coolly.
Vrook nodded in concession. He was not surprised at Sebastin's reaction. "I spoke with Lonna. She said you had made up your mind on this particular point, but I wanted to ask, at least." He had already given up; his former student was resolute beyond reason at times, and this seemed to be such a moment.
Still, the years of training they had spent together allowed Vrook to sense her insecurity – and her guilt. She turned away her gaze from him. "The Council has accepted my apologies," she explained defensively.
"But I wonder if your apprentice will," Vrook added with the smallest hint of sarcasm, and immediately regretted his utterance.
Sebastin frowned for a moment as a dark veil of pain covered her eyes. She fought to regain her bearings, but her voice was still slightly unsteady when she spoke, "How is, um…" She cleared her throat. "How is Bastila coming around? I heard she was not chosen by someone after... after I left."
"She was not," Vrook said evenly. "I and the Dantooine Council have been teaching her, together, until this day."
Sebastin nodded slowly while considering the information. "I have also heard she shows great promise." She paused, watching him warily. "I do not regret leaving. But I should have returned earlier."
"Time heals many wounds, my friend," he said soothingly. Sebastin remained silent, waiting for him to continue. "The Council wishes that you resume your role as Bastila's mentor. Normally, the Council would not permit you to take on a padawan just yet, after what you did, but circumstances have changed." He paused and added gravely, "You must not speak to Bastila of this until she is ready."
Sebastin nodded.
Vrook sensed that he had come to a crossroad. He knew Sebastin's strength of character and prayed that she would allow this trait to be passed on to her future padawan. Mentally crossing his fingers, he continued, "Bastila is showing great command of the Force. But other than this, she has an interesting ability to influence others during meditation."
"Indeed?" Sebastin lifted an eyebrow, suddenly very alert. "Are you saying young think she has a gift for…?"
"Battle meditation." Vrook sounded a lot more concerned than pleased that one of his students showed signs of such a unique talent. "And she shows more than a little promise. We believe it would be best if she was put under your tutelage."
Sebastin nodded thoughtfully. "What concerns you so much about girl?" She tilted her head a little. "I trust it has to do with more than her gift?"
"It has, actually, a lot to do with her being so strong in the Force." Vrook crossed his arms and began to pace as he talked. "She is… difficult, sometimes. Rash and impulsive, I'd rather say." Vrook sighed and stopped his sauntering, facing away from the other. "Many Masters, myself included, tend to see what we want to see in our students, rather than the truth."
"And you want me to teach her because I could save her from that truth? Because I refused to train Revan?" she asked.
Vrook turned to face her. "You are the only Jedi Master who sent him away, yes. Whatever your reasons…"
Sebastin rolled her eyes and snorted, "I don't like him. He is proud and arrogant."
Vrook couldn't agree more, but Revan's manners were not the subject of their discussion; Bastila was. Again, he wondered whether this was the right thing to do. After all these years, even when Sebastin had gained the rank of Master, could not Vrook think of her as anything but a student – his padawan. But there was no Master he would rather entrust Bastila to.
Vrook placed his hand on Sebastin's shoulder and for the first time he chose to look upon her as the Jedi Master she was – and not as his former student. "Bastila needs you, more than she knows. You chose her for a reason."
"I am not sure I am worthy, Vrook."
"Then you agree to this task?" he asked. It was a question; not a request.
Sebastin straightened and a new kind of strength appeared in her eyes, shining with hope. "I do, Master Vrook. I will teach her, but only if that is what she wishes."
Bastila sat on a bench in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. She kept her eyes closed, allowing the sound of running water to sooth her on-edge nerves. Tomorrow she would perform her final tests to become a padawan. She had been waiting for ages it seemed, to finally get a chance to prove her worth. But now, when the time had come, she suddenly felt uncertain.
The sound of loud voiced disturbed her contemplation. Bastila opened her eyes for a moment. A nearby group of apprentices were speaking – gossiping – a little louder than what was considered appropriate in this place. One of the boys pointed indiscreetly at Bastila and said something she could not hear. Two girls sitting beside him giggled.
Bastila pretended she hadn't noticed them. Ignorant prats, she thought irritably. None of which will ever achieve a fragment of the power I will wield one day. Though she had said nothing out loud, Bastila clasped a hand over her mouth, silently admonishing herself.
She lowered her gaze guiltily. Things had been different here on Coruscant ever since the war started. There was an apprehensive tension in the air which seemed to affect everyone – Jedi or not. Bastila had attempted to recreate the reigning calm always present in the Enclave on Dantooine, but failed constantly.
Suddenly the apprentices became very quiet. Bastila looked up. At the end of the pillar row she spotted Master Kavar talking to a young Kiffar dressed in padawan robes. She rose and walked over to the Weapon Master.
Waiting politely for Kavar to finish his conversation, she took a better look at the padawan to whom Kavar was talking. He was about her age – perhaps a bit older, brawny-looking and broad shouldered, with the stance of a warrior. He had a long, thick mane of almost black hair, and black facial markings on both sides of his face. She could not remember seeing him before.
The Kiffar seemed to recognize her, though. A pair of auburn, intense eyes suddenly looked straight at her. "Master, is that not Bastila Shan?"
Kavar, who had been facing away from Bastila, turned around. "Miss Shan? Welcome back to Coruscant."
"Thank you, Master Kavar." She bowed to the Jedi Master.
Kavar gestured towards the Kiffar. "This is my Padawan, Kelan Xunn."
"Nice to finally meet you, Miss Shan," the padawan greeted. "I've heard so much about you."
"Um… you have?" she asked hesitantly, and unconsciously threw a glance at the group of apprentices.
Kelan followed her gaze and smiled. "I've heard good things about you."
"I hear you are performing your final tests tomorrow, Bastila," Kavar prompted.
She replied with a curt nod. "That is correct, Master. I came here to try and… center myself."
The Weapon Master looked about the room. "I understand. If you wish to be alone, you could use the Council's meditation chamber this evening." With a swift smile, Kavar added, more discreetly, "We are all far too busy these days arguing with senators and squabbling politicians to have use for it anyway."
Bastila suppressed a chuckle at the remark. "Thank you Master, but I don't want to be trouble…"
"It is no trouble at all. If anyone asks, tell them I gave you permission."
She stayed in the meditation chamber until late that night, and the following day she performed the first two steps of her final trials without complications. That gave her some more confidence for the last test, though it was going to be the most difficult.
Many hours later…
Bastila was wandering the lower streets of Coruscant, far below the glittering skyscrapers where the wealthier citizens lived. Down here it was dark, smoky and crowded. She pulled the coat tighter around herself, and felt the reassuring weight of her newly constructed lightsaber clipped on to her belt. Even though the lower levels of Coruscant were not at all as dangerous as many other cities within the Core Worlds, it was still wise to stay on one's guard.
Bastila finally reached her destination. The Rykk'neu Tar, owned and run by a Twi'lek named Duen Gerda – the very person she needed to speak to.
Two Nikto bouncers blocked the entrance. "Stop right there, human. What is your business at Rykk'neu's? Humans don't come here often."
She answered calmly. "I come on the behalf of the Jedi Council. I wish to speak with Mr. Gerda. I need to ask him some questions."
One of the bouncers whispered a few sentences in Huttese to the other one, but Bastila overheard a few words, among these 'another Jedi'.
The Nikto turned to her again. "You can go inside, Jedi."
The Rykk'neu Tar was dark and smoky. The air reeked from various beverages served to the alien patrons. Bastila walked down a short staircase and looked around. At this time of the day there were few visitors. The bouncers had been truthful; there wasn't a single human in here.
The bartender, a Besalisk, stood behind the counter, facing an impressive collection of liquors and spirits stacked along the wall. Bastila took a seat. The bartender turned around, two of his four arms currently busy polishing a particularly fine bottle of Somnaskol Red, while the other two rested on the counter. His clothes were shabby, but the gold necklace he carried witnessed of a higher income than that of any common bartender.
"Duen told me the Council would send someone," he said in Huttese, and then looked admiringly at the bottle in his hands for a few moments, before continuing: "He'll be out in a minute to see you. Would you like a drink?"
"I'll pass, thank you," Bastila replied politely.
The bartender nodded, and turned around to face the wall again. Just a few moments later a male green Twi'lek appeared from behind a drapery beside the bar. He wore a nice suit and loads of jewelry.
She waited until he had reached her before she spoke. "You must be Mr. Gerda. I am Bastila Shan. I come on the behalf of the Jedi Council."
After short handshake, Duen sat down beside her. "Well, then. How can I assist you?"
"The Jedi Council sent me here to investigate the circumstances surrounding Senator Pol Adma's death. I am told you have had much contact with the senator's secretary; Aëlin Laesta."
The Twi'lek nodded. "I trust the door guards didn't trouble you?" Bastila shook her head. "Good. I told them to let you in, but I don't trust those Nikto."
Bastila took her chance, putting on her most credulous face. "I heard those guards you mentioned talk about another Jedi, who had been visiting the Rykk'neu's. I was not aware the Council had already sent someone."
Duen looked very confused. He thought for a moment before speaking. "I don't know of any Jedi coming here before you." Bastila made an attempt on reading his feelings, but could not sense any sign of deception. "But then again," he continued with a lopsided grin, "I said I don't trust Nikto? They get these ideas about people, you know. I suppose I can understand them; there are many strange people visiting these parts of the city."
"Strange people?" She lifted an eyebrow.
"I don't know if you were staring at the ground all your way here, but even if you did, you must have seen that this part of paradise - " he made a gesture indicating the surroundings, "- is a bit of a miniature Nar Shaddaa. I wouldn't be surprised if the Queen of the Krath jumped out of nowhere, much less a strange person who could be mistaken for a Jedi."
Bastila was confused by this Twi'lek. He showed no trace of untruthfulness, but still, she got a sense that he knew more than he was telling her. "Then I need you to tell me what happened three days ago, when you were at the Upper Promenade. Many witnesses claim to have seen you – same day the senator died - with Aëlin Laesta at the Upper Promenade. May I ask how you two know each other?"
"She's a friend," he answered evadingly.
"A friend?"
Gerda squirmed: "A contact. Business, nothing else." She gave him a stern look, at which he surrendered. "Damn you people," he muttered. "She is supplying… well, exotic, wares for my business."
"You're a stim dealer?" Bastila blurted.
"Hey!" Duen exclaimed with hurt in his voice. "Down here it is a perfectly respectable trade, but you up-towns," he pointed upwards, "get all awkward when someone as much as says 'spice.'" The Twi'lek suddenly looked very distressed. "Uhh… I am not getting into trouble for that, I hope? I mean… It's really nothing…"
Bastila dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "Just tell me what you were doing at the Promenade that day."
"Well, I…" his gaze became distant. "I…" Duen thought hard for a moment. "That's really strange!" he exclaimed with surprise in his voice. "I am sure we talked about some delivery, a contact, or something. But now that you mention it… I can't seem to remember. It's really not like me to forget something like that."
This time Bastila put every ounce of persuasion behind the question; "Are you sure you don't remember?"
"Yes. I don't even understand why people want to question me. I have no idea what happened." He shrugged. "I just happened to know the Senator's secretary, that's all."
Bastila continued to ask detailed questions about the day of the murder. Something was very wrong about Duen's story. He seemed to have completely forgotten parts of what had happened that day, and she could tell he was not lying to her. When she was done questioning him, she thanked Duen for his cooperation. The Twi'lek – who seemed to feel a bit uncomfortable in the presence of a Jedi questioning him about his half illegal business – quickly disappeared behind the drapery.
Bastila gave a deep sigh and leaned towards the counter, her chin resting on one of her hands. It's never simple, is it?
The bartender, who had respectfully kept his distance during her conversation with Duen, approached her. The large Besalisk followed her gaze to the drapery. "I think I know something you might find useful."
The bartender walked around the counter and sat down in the same chair Duen Gerda had been occupying moments ago. "Listen, little Jedi: I don't give a Hutt's bald butt about this inquiry that you're obviously a part of." His expression softened. "But I do care about the welfare of my friend over there." He gesture towards the drapery, then pointed at himself. "Name's Gadd. I've been working here for ten years, and I've known Duen just as long."
"I'm Bastila Shan," she replied. "What can you do for me, Mr. Gadd?"
Gadd leaned towards her, and looked around to make sure no one was listening before he spoke. "You see, there has in fact been a visit from some Jedi type. This person came here two days ago, only hours before the officer sent by the Republic came her to ask the same questions as you just did. And I bet that officer received about the same answers as you – that's why the Republic asked the Jedi for help. You see, Duen has been acting all strange since that Jedi person came here. It's like he's gone senile or somethin'. Keeps forgettin' things – or so it seems. Only small details here and there, but enough to make one wonder. I'm beginning to wonder if he's begun smokin' all that spice he's handling, instead of just sellin' it."
Bastila furrowed her brow. "And you think it has something to do with this person who came to visit him?"
"Maybe." Gadd shrugged. "I don't know what kind of trouble Duen is in, but I usually have a reliable gut feeling when it comes to people. And that man who was here the other day gave me an awfully bad feeling, I'm telling you."
Bastila seriously doubted Gadd's theory, but she had nothing else to go on, at the moment. "Who was this person, then? How did you know he was a Jedi?"
"Couldn't tell what he looked like – he had this hood, laying most of his face in shadow. He looked human, though, and I spotted a lightsaber hanging from his belt. And he had a tattoo on his hand. Wait, I'll show you." Gadd pulled up a note pad and drew a symbol. "Dunno of it's much help to you, but in case it is…"
Bastila took a good look to memorize the symbol: A small circle surrounded by a larger one, connected with what looked like three claws pointing outwards. "Thank you for your help, Gadd." She slid down from the chair. "I better be off now."
"Good luck, miss," Gadd called after her when she left.
Gadd looked after the girl. Since when did the Jedi Council send kids to run their errands? The whole situation confused him. He knew this part of Coruscant like his own pocket, but in the last week strange things had happened. People disappearing – and what was worse: credits disappearing. And it all began with Duen meeting that secretary. He shook his massive head. He hoped the Jedi lass wouldn't get herself into too much trouble. Well, I did warn her, he thought.
Gadd was a 'honest' criminal, as he would put it. He never harmed or threatened – and people knew that. Duen handled the credits, he handled the customers. They were a team of honest, good spice dealers. Gadd didn't pretend he wasn't pleased that the Twi'lek senator had gone and got himself killed – it was just a question of time anyway, after putting an almost complete stop to the ryll export. But he wasn't happy his friend was in the spotlight of the murder investigation that followed.
Later that night, Gadd collected the credits from the day's selling and walked through the drapery, into the office. "Duen?" he asked. The room was empty, and the lights shut down. "Duen?" he asked again, and walked towards the desk in the corner of the room. Gadd felt uneasy. He quickly opened the safety locker and stuffed the credits inside without taking time count them. He was just about to walk out again when he saw a movement in the corner of his eye: A flash of the purple, glowing blade of a lightsaber.
"Merciful death…" A hoarse voice hissed behind him.
Gadd spun around. "You..!"
There was a moment of pain as the lightsaber cut off one of his arms and continued through his torso, and then life left him.
Bastila gave a sigh of relief when she reached the upper parts of Coruscant. She had hired a taxi to reach the Upper Promenade, located approximately ten kilometers from the Senate Building. The taxi driver stopped the airspeeder in a corner of the large square at the end of the walkway. She handed him some credits and hopped out.
The Upper Promenade was located in one of the finest parts of Coruscant. It was elevated over fifty stories from the rest of the streets, and the citizens here were exclusively upper class. When she stood gazing over the square, Bastila found it hard to believe the misery and filth at the bottom of the bright buildings towering above her head. Wealthy people stood or sat in small groups around the many fountains and monuments. It was an entirely different world.
She turned around towards the building she had asked the taxi driver to take her to. The Ryloth Embassy was a massive, decorated building. A broad staircase led to the entrance, flanked by statues of noble-looking, male Twi'leks. She entered the embassy and was met by a pretty Twi'lek girl dressed in a purple velvet robe.
"I'm looking for Aëlin Laesta. Is she here?" Bastila asked.
The Twi'lek examined her suspiciously. "Who is asking?"
"My name is Bastila Shan, I'm sent here on behalf of the Jedi Council, who are investigating the death of senator Pol Adma."
"I see. Please follow me, then," the Twi'lek said and began walking towards a set of doors at the end of the entrance hall.
Bastila was led to what she assumed was the Senator's office. The room was shaped like one quarter of a circle. The rounded part faced the exterior of the building, and was covered in glass, giving a tremendous view over the bright city below. The room itself was sparsely decorated: Two statues, resembling the ones at the entrance, and some velvet wall-hangings. Behind what looked like an expensive wroshyr-tree desk, sat a beautiful Twi'lek woman: Aëlin Laesta, no doubt. Her skin tone was a very unusual variant of the pale yellow one; Bastila would describe it as 'silver' for lack of better words. The former secretary was dressed in an armless black and purple suit with matching black headbands around her long, well shaped lekku.
Aëlin was leaning back in her chair. "Leave us," she told the Twi'lek who had been escorting Bastila. The servant obeyed immediately. Aëlin then spoke to Bastila. "Sit down, please. What can I do for you? I am honored to be visited by a member of the Jedi Order." Aëlin spoke in an almost overly accurate manner, perfectly pronouncing every word of her flawless intergalactic basic without a trace of Ryloth accent.
Bastila realized the matter was pretty clear, since Aëlin was sitting in her former employer's chair, but still wanted to ask: "Since the senator's demise, who has been appointed temporary representative for the Ryloth system?"
Aëlin gave a delighted laugh. "Is that not clear? I am." She bored her purple eyes into Bastila's, who could not help but feeling slightly uncomfortable in this Twi'lek woman's presence.
"I believe you are familiar with a man named Duen Gerda?" Bastila began hesitantly.
The twi'lek leaned forward, resting her hands and elbows on the desk. "What is it to you?"
Bastila suppressed a gasp, and tried not to look at the pale hands on the desk in front of her. On both her hands Aëlin had tattoos identical to the symbol Gadd had showed her. She felt a prickling, tickling feeling around her neck, as if someone carefully stroked her skin with cold fingertips. The Twi'lek was smiling towards her, and Bastila felt even more uncomfortable. She swallowed hard.
"Very well, then. I will return later. I have to… return to the Jedi Temple." Bastila rose, but before she had a chance to leave Aëlin walked around the desk and took Bastila's hand in hers.
Bastila's innards twisted. Now, when she stood in front of Aëlin, she was definitely sure she was not imagining things: The Twi'lek was a Force adept.
Bastila quickly made her way outside the building. At least she had managed to trick the Twi'lek into believing that her persuasion had worked. It was already late evening, and Bastila decided to return immediately to the Temple. When she arrived she walked directly to Master Vrook's quarters, and knocked on his door. After a few moments, the door opened.
Vrook was surprised to see her. "Bastila. You're back."
"I am sorry, Master." She hesitated for a moment. "I… I need your help."
"This is a test assigned to you. Surely you know I am not entitled to help you, or give you more instructions than you already have received – nor would I wish to."
"Master Vrook, please," Bastila begged. "Will you not listen to what I have to say? I am sorry for disturbing you, but I need your guidance in this. If it turns out I am wrong, I will return to the task, but for now…"
He studied her for a moment, and then nodded. "Very well, come in."
Vrook offered her a chair and they sat down. Bastila quickly told the Master about her discoveries. Vrook asked her what the symbol looked like. She made a quick sketch on his datapad and handed it over to him. The wrinkles on his brow became somewhat deeper as he looked at it.
"Master? Do you recognize it?"
He still studied the sketch with a concerned expression. "Possibly," he replied absently.
"Then what is it?" she asked impatiently.
"You will leave the matter be, until I have investigated this, do you understand?"
Bastila's heart sank. Perhaps this was the answer she should have expected, but not what she had hoped for.
Vrook noticed her disappointment, and added with a softer voice: "Your safety is more important than the test. Tomorrow, I will ask Master Atris about the symbol."
"But if there is a dark Jedi…"
He interrupted her, slightly rising his voice slightly. "You are making conclusions without all of the facts, Miss Shan. I will talk to you tomorrow. For now, get some sleep." Bastila understood that it was useless to discuss the matter further. It angered her, though, that Vrook did not tell her what he knew. She had gathered important facts, and as a reward she was left out of the loop.
When she lay in bed, Bastila found that she couldn't sleep. She pushed aside the frustration and anger she had felt earlier, emptying her mind. But the more she tried, it seemed, the more intense the feelings grew. Her thoughts went back to the investigation. Perhaps she had given up too easily. She had been frightened by some puny Force user and come running back to the Temple like a scared child. Perhaps Master Vrook simply did not think she was competent enough to complete the assignment. And by giving up so easily, she had just proven him right.
Bastila put on a coat and walked out of her quarters.
The man's face was the very definition of serenity, Bastila thought, as she looked upon the face of one of the Four Masters. The huge bronze statue gazed over the Processional Way, watching everyone's comings and goings. When she was a little girl she thought the statues outside the temple were a bit frightening.
I'm sorry, she apologized silently. I'll be back soon.
Bastila hired a taxi to take her to the Rykk'neu's. The street was packed with all kinds of people and the walls were filled with holos and glowing advertising signs. A fight broke out a few steps ahead of her, and she quickly slipped off the main street. She had been right in doing so, because the fighting quickly began to spread. Bastila was just about to get moving again when she felt a Force warning powerful enough to make her gasp. But it was too late: she had only just grabbed her lightsaber when strong hands took hold of her wrists and dragged her deeper into the shadows. She felt a stinging pain from an injector in her thigh. The poison spread quickly in her body, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.
