Author's Notes: Against my better judgment I'm going to post this chapter now. It's mostly filler anyway, as I needed to lead up to a major plot point. I've been editing this story a lot, and I'm not really sure if I'm satisfied with it. Hopefully I'll get it in order and post it sometime, but with the way it looks now…this story is not measuring up to the hopes I had for it. Hmm…we'll see if I continue it. For now:
The Slippery Slope
Keep in mind that this was still when I was an idealistic fool. I had never questioned the so-called wisdom of the Jedi. And even though I did not like Gamaliel, I had no reason to ever imagine myself divorcing from their Order. But a series of events, nearly all of them out of my control, caused the split. You could say that I was enlightened.
Elyana helped with that, though I don't think she ever truly intended to. She had no problems with the Order, despite the fact that she frequently questioned them. It was a very foreign concept to me. If she seemed to disagree with things that they did, she would just shrug and say, "I would not have done it that way," and that would be it. She wouldn't defy them or try to change it; she'd just accept that they had certain rules and that she didn't agree with them.
I had never approached the Order that way before. But try as I might, I could not replicate it. Once I learned things about the Order…I found it harder and harder to reconcile the truth—the real truth—with what they taught.
The Jedi don't promote questioning. They are very backwards this way. It is almost as if they do not believe that anyone in their right mind would ever embrace the ideology. I know I wouldn't have, if I had the choice. So they steal young children and indoctrinate them. They pound their brains for years upon years until they are sufficiently brainwashed, to the point where they cannot even think another way.
That is slavery, and the Jedi are themselves slaves to it. It is a brutal circle in which the enslaved continue to inflict punishment on succeeding generations, for no other reason than that they cannot imagine life another way.
The bizarre thing about the Jedi is that they do not condone growth. The most enduring and powerful ideologies in history have been flexible, personal, real. They are belief systems that can adjust and still mean something. They are not strict or legalistic. Legalism can never change, it is impossible to achieve, and it is too easy to circumvent.
A flexible worldview, however, is always relevant. No matter how different society becomes, no matter how the galaxy changes, flexibility—personal flexibility—means that the ideology will never fade away. It fills every nook and cranny of life as though it were liquid poured into an obtuse container. It fills everything and makes it whole.
The only religions that ever amount to any truth at all exist this way. The Jedi religion—if you could call their kind of weird self-deprecating mental torture religion—does not promote this type of experience. The greatest and most provocative minds of all time generally adhere to the very ideology or religion that they question. They can explore it because they know it, they are intimate with it, and they believe it. And they recognize what it means to be alive—to be mortal.
If a Jedi tries to think, especially like this, then he is no longer a Jedi. Questions are the enemy of the Jedi. Once he beings to ask questions, he is suddenly outside of the Jedi code and floating around in an intellectual abyss. There is nothing a Jedi can do when he is in this situation. I know it too well.
Once you begin to doubt the wisdom of their teachings—which really do not amount to anything except don't eat, don't drink, and don't be merry—there is no going back. I think that is why so many Jedi have fallen to the "Dark Side" in the past. Once they're out, they're out, and there is no way back. If everything you know was suddenly smashed in one fell stroke, then it would be impossible to function. I believe this is how Dark Jedi become the way that they are: twisted, vulnerable, and self-destructive. They are those who have lost themselves.
And the Jedi have only themselves to blame. To rid the galaxy of the Jedi would, then, rid the galaxy of the Sith. The two are mutually exclusive.
That is why I so desperately want to destroy the Jedi Order; and that is why the called me a "Sith Lord" and a "Dark Jedi" and whatever other hosts of synonymous insults that they fling from their ivory towers.
Surely you, in your wisdom, can see that this is not the case. I am not a Sith. I only want to destroy the Jedi. I want to rid the universe of this malignant tumor that siphons the marrow out of the Republic's fragile bones. If that means they would like think of me as a Sith, then fine, that is their prerogative. But it doesn't amount to any truth.
Maybe you think that this makes me the same as the Sith, because they too want to see the Order crash and burn. But I want to see it die for the good of humanity. Not because I'm evil for the sake of being evil.
I am not evil, as I'm sure you can tell. I may have killed people, but it was because I was trying to achieve the greater good. With the Jedi gone, the Republic would no longer have the bleeding heart that holds it together. As the Republic would wither, it would eventually die. Its death would sow the seeds for a new nation, an improved nation. It would be good.
The military called me a Sith because of this view, but I am not. I am not!
Gamaliel said I was deranged.
But I'm sane…Oh am I sane…
They just can't see it. They're too blinded by their own foolish notions of reality. They just don't understand. Don't you see? I had to force them to understand. It was the only way.
But, once again, I am getting ahead of myself. I have to go back. Back to the first time I began to doubt the alleged wisdom of the Jedi Order. It was actually on that little excursion to Herra, where Elyana was to find her terrorist prisoner and escort him back the Republic for trial.
Now that I think about it, it is a bit ironic that a captured political prisoner began to first sow seeds of discord within the Order and myself.
Of course, that was not the only ironic thing about that trip. Gamaliel, I later realized, had specifically chosen Elyana for me because he wanted to test me. He wanted to see if I could adhere to the straight and narrow—to see if I wouldn't fall when I had to be around her.
Is that not the most despicable act imaginable? Gamaliel—wretch that he is—took an innocent girl, whose only crime was beauty, and threw her lot in with me without her permission. All of this was for some kind of sadistic test. Is that truly something a noble, light-side Jedi would do? Would a Jedi dangle food in front of a starving man? Would a Jedi spend tax funds to lavishly support their own quality of life while the Rim worlds suffered? Yes—you know the answer: they would.
And they would specifically look for a gorgeous girl like Elyana and tell me to watch over her. Someone from the same planet as her. Someone the same age as her. Just for a "test."
Their cruelty warrants violent reaction. And they would get it.
I sigh when I realize how far gone I am with this tangent. I did not know that Elyana was a test for me then. I figured that out later. Then I was just a bewildered yet righteous Knight—nothing extraordinary.
The story was our voyage to Herra.
I stood with Elyana in the midst of a throng of people at the docks. None of them were headed to Herra, though; no one ever goes there.
"What do you know of this place?" she asked me.
"It's a dead world," I said, "it isn't even habitable. There's nothing there but a maximum-security prison. Outside of the complex, the air is not breathable."
"And my trial is just to go there and bring back the terrorist?" she asked.
I shrugged and said, "I guess so. That's all Gamaliel told me."
"That's all he told me, too."
What an asshole.
I never understood the Jedi's fascination with the enigmatic routine. It does not make any sense. Being ambiguous never made something more inspiring or useful. It only makes it worse or does nothing. What is the point, then?
We moved into a small transport, barely able to accommodate five people. That was fine, though, as no one was bound for Herra except for me, Elyana, and the pilot and co-pilot. Actually, that isn't true, the transport was big. But it was mostly for cargo: food, supplies, and riot gear, etc. for the guards and inmates at the prison. It wasn't meant for transporting people, so there was not much room for that.
The pilot and co-pilot stayed in front, leaving Elyana and me by ourselves in the tiny cabin.
We sat across from each other, on two sides of a little plastic table, trying to make small talk to pass the time.
"I can't believe this is my trial," said Elyana, "I thought for sure I'd have to do something crazy. This seems too simple."
"It always seems too simple, that's how the Jedi operate," I said.
She twisted her mouth in an adorably irritated manner, said, "Do you really think something will happen? All we're doing is escorting a terrorist who's already been captured."
"If I were a betting man," I said, "I'd say yes."
"But you're not a betting man, so that makes me feel more comfortable," she responded.
"Was that sarcasm?" I asked.
"If you can't figure it out, then I shouldn't tell you," she said with a smile. I then realized how she had a very biting sense of humor. I'm not really sure where she would have gotten it. The Jedi discourage humor. Humor is part of individuality, and they hate that. I'm sure Gamaliel would have punished her for enjoying herself.
She decided to keep talking at that point, since I wasn't. She asked, "What could happen?"
"I don't know," I said.
She frowned, said, "It seems silly to me."
"Look at you," I said, "questioning the wisdom of the masters. I'm not sure I should be condoning that since I'm technically in charge of you."
She looked at me oddly and said, "That wasn't very good."
I just sighed.
She then said, "Really, I just think it's silly. It's like they were running out of ideas for trials or something and I got this."
"Do you really think that?"
She mused and said, "Maybe."
"You're a funny Jedi," I said.
She raised an eyebrow and said, "If you mean funny 'ha-ha', then yes."
"Well, you're just a feisty little firecracker, aren't you? Modest too," I responded.
"As much as I am enjoying this exchange," she said, "I don't think it's appropriate."
And that was my introduction into the polar world of Elyana Kerensa. She seemed to operate in two different spheres simultaneously. She would never hesitate to poke fun at the Order, but at the same time she would take most of her responsibilities deadly serious. She would do the same thing to me. It was so confusing sometimes because she would make a sarcastic remark to me, but then if I tried to respond she would act like it was beneath her or something. It was a peculiar quirk of hers. But time endeared it to me.
How I love her. Still love her.
I decided to find out some more about her then.
I apologize if this is getting confusing, but I am trying my best to not mix the timelines. Remember: I was not involved with her at this point. The thought of personal attraction was furthest from my mind then. I would not experience that for some time. At this point in the story, we were just acquaintances.
"You're from Cstephon?" I asked.
"Yes, I am," she responded.
"How much of it do you remember?"
She put her hand on her chin and said, "Well, I don't know. How much do you remember?"
"Nothing," I answered. And this was the truth—I really don't recall anything of my childhood.
"Well," she said, "I guess I remember more than you. I was a bit older when the Jedi impressed me."
"'Impressed'? Not joined?" I asked.
She shrugged and said, "I just said what they do."
I motioned my hand as if to say "continue."
She said, "But I do remember a bit. I even went to school a couple years before they came for me."
"How old were you?"
"Eight, I think…? I don't really know."
"That's older than usual," I said.
"Yes," she replied, "but not old enough for disqualification—I guess that's why you're a Knight now and I am just making the grade…we are about the same age."
I thought about this, then said, "It seems weird to me that they would send me to chaperone you when I only just became a Knight—and I don't even know you."
"I guess so."
The conversation went on like that for some time, broaching the inane on most occasions. I found out that she had a sister who she'd not seen for twenty years, enjoyed music, and was allergic to some kinds of nuts. Even the Force cannot prevent those kinds of things.
We found it increasingly odd that we were on that little excursion together. There really wasn't much to it. All we had to do was play chauffeur, and we weren't even driving.
We arrived at the prison on Herra in due time and were shown onto the premises.
I remember the warden was an unusual man. He was thin and wiry, bald with thick-rimmed glasses. He seemed like a little and inconsequential person, but he had a coldness about him that was unsettling. You wouldn't want to get on his bad side. He even seemed to relish the fact that we were taking one of the prisoners back for trial and execution.
And that brings me to Tandior Versimus. An insane man, by all accounts. He organized the bombing of a Republic building on a distant Outer Rim world. Hundreds were killed. He was a terrorist, and once he was apprehended, it was clear that his attacks were politically fueled.
We escorted him onto the bloated cargo ship quickly and without incident. Tandior himself was a very average man, of a normal build and a forgettable face. I do remember that he had brown hair, but the rest of him is an enigmatic blur to me.
We put him in force cage and then left him to his devices as we departed from the derelict place.
I tried to ignore the man, but he started talking eventually and wouldn't shut up. Eventually I asked him the question that everyone invariably asks a killer: "Why did you do it?"
He smiled at me deviously, then responded, "Why not?"
"You killed a lot of innocent people," said Elyana.
"Silly Jedi," said the man, "what are a few deaths if they bring about change?"
"What is it you bombed?" I asked.
"The Republic embassy on Onderon," he replied serenely, a sort of conniving grin on his face.
"Why?" asked Elyana.
He answered, "The Republic…is very sick." His squeaky voice was disconcerting as he said this. It genuinely frightened me. But then he said, "It needs to be healed."
"How does blowing things up heal it?"
"The Republic…likes to pretend that only the Core exists. Onderon…was tired of it." He spoke slowly, strangely, as though he were savoring every word. He smirked and said, "So…I sent the Republic a message. No representation on Coruscant? Then they get no representation on Onderon. Destroying the embassy was easy."
"Easy? How could it be easy?" I asked.
"It was too easy. The Republic…" he slowed down, continued, "is oh so fragile. I'll bet you didn't know that? Oh but it is. It's a…a…hollow man being blown in the wind. Just a little force, a little push, will knock it down. And then the gusts will blow it away."
We didn't say anything.
"Tiberius has no control…the rim worlds are on the verge of secession. The senate is too bogged down to accomplish anything. And they are too stupid to notice. Eventually there will be a break and they don't even realize it. The noble Jedi, like you, my esteemed companions, are too self-absorbed to do anything about it. Not that they could."
Elyana glared at him.
"I'm just the…tip of the spear," he said and then snickered. "The revolution will still come."
Elyana then said surprisingly darkly, "You'll be dead before then."
"I will," he said, "but that does not matter. More open-minded people will continue our cause."
"I'm not open-minded to terrorism," spat Elyana.
I ignored her comment and asked, "Who else is with you?"
I'll never forget what he said to me after that. He replied with a smirk, "You'll find out…sooner or later."
Now that is foreshadowing that you cannot invent. I do not condone that man's actions. He bombed innocent people. But he was prescient about the disease that rots the Republic. And he was right that it needed to be fixed.
I thought a lot about what he said after he said. I could never approve of his methods, but Tandior knew something I didn't. I could sense it.
I was not closer to breaking with the Jedi then than I was earlier, but I can point out that interaction as one of the first times I had really considered the opposite perspective. The first time I thought about the plight of the other planets.
The remainder of the trip went almost without incident. There was one brief moment when a electro-magnetic current warped with the ship's power and the Force cage went down, but Tandior did not do anything. As the shield fell, he just stood there looking at me. He seemed to be laughing to himself, as though he knew my fate before I did. Or perhaps that is merely the look an insane man lets on. He fakes that he knows what's going on. He wears a mask of intelligence and perceptive thinking, but he really has none of it. It was a very…compelling expression, though.
Power was eventually restored and he stayed in the cage.
Once we returned, we escorted Tandior off of the ship and into the Temple. Security immediately had the man in custody and began taking him away. As he left, he caught my side and said, "So long, Aetius. Do remember what I promised you. And in the morning…don't go upstairs."
I was thoroughly confused by that remark. It kept me pondering what it meant for hours.
Elyana asked, "What did that mean?"
"I don't know," I answered.
We then agreed to split up then. It was late then, and we decided that sleep was the best option. I bade her goodnight and left to go to my room.
That would be the last normal night of my life. I awoke to a horrid noise, the sound of death and destruction. I heard it as I felt it. And I knew immediately what it was: the attack.
