IV. Facade

"...You are special, child..."

A racing heart pounded with apprehension in her chest as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Feeling her own hot breath reflecting off the opaque face mask sent little shivers of panic through her that threatened to overwhelm her. Remembering what she'd been taught, she tried to banish the uneasiness and, most importantly, the fear that came with it.

"...You have enormous potential, but you must take upon yourself the responsibility such power entails..."

She felt herself calming down, the sharp hisses of her breath becoming quieter. Everything was dark, her sight totally obscured, but she had made tentative peace with that deprivation. It really mattered not, as long as she controlled how she reacted to it. She had trained for years, this control of herself was far easier than it once had been. She remembered being unable to do more than sit trembling when put in this position, put in a panic by not being able to see, feeling her breath on her face; it strongly reminded her of hiding for her life in whatever cramped, dark space she could find, memories she had no wish to revisit.

"...The Force, and how it works through you, is your responsibility. You must act always to serve others; this is our highest calling. Take no thought for yourself, only for how you might further the true purpose of the Order and the Force, its tenets of justice..."

She felt comfortable listening to the voice's instruction, as she had done for many years now. Her master's soft voice gave her direction, instructed her in wisdom, and taught her control. Her body relaxed and her mind cleared.

"Uphold your responsibility, apprentice."

Light suddenly struck her eyes as the mask was removed from her face. Her senses filled with garish sights and sounds.

She found herself standing on a filthy sidewalk, transports rushing by under fluorescent orange and dirty neon lights that flooded the enclosed city block. The acrid smell of exhaust and spilled fuel pricked at her nose and the bustling roar of city life pounded relentlessly in her ears.

She heard voices, angry, shouting voices, and nudged her way through the thick crowds sharing the sidewalk with her, trying to find the source of the disturbance, feeling a gnawing ache in the pit of her stomach. Shoving past gawking onlookers, she broke through the gaggle and found the commotion.

The shock of the sight raised a stunned whimper from her throat as she found herself back in her worst nightmare.

There were three men, Exchange muscle all of them, beating down a helpless woman. They yelled at her for money as they kicked her, ruthlessly pummeling her when all she could do was scream in pain.

Tears cut wet tracks down her face as she stood watching, unable to move as she relived the worst day of her life. The Exchange men had kept coming back for more money, kept coming back until her dear mother had nothing left to give them. So they took her instead; beat her and raped her and left her for dead. And she had to watch.

An innocent young girl, forced to watch brutes violate her mother simply for how she'd been born.

The terror hardened to a choking wrath as the horrible moment played out before her once again. She was no longer the helpless girl she had been; she was a Jedi. A lightsabre dangled at her side, the Force was hers to command. She would not allow this to happen!

Her vision narrowed until the only thing she could see was the thug closest to her. She saw that he had an irregular scar on his bald head, a row of piercings in his left ear, and a gang sign tattooed on his neck. She was riveted by his hedonistic grin of pleasure as he gripped her dear mother by the hair, holding her up for the other men to beat with their fists.

Hatred for this callous brute, this destroyer of lives, boiled up inside her. She glared in fury, consumed by her need to defend her mother, her need to give her that vengeance she'd not been given that night many years ago.

Screaming her wrath, screaming her need for this monster's blood, she brought her lightsabre to hand and stabbed him through his shoulder.

Suddenly, everything changed. Her mother, the attackers, her surroundings all disappeared except for the man she'd stabbed. He simply stood where he was, facing her with the oddest of looks. The glowing blue blade in his shoulder seemed not to affect him in the slightest.

Her anger faltered, confusion taking over.

And then, everything melted into clarity once more. The walls of the academy coalesced around her, the warm afternoon sun met her eyes, and she saw clearly, for the first time, what she had truly done.

The person standing before her, impaled on her lightsabre, was Master Quatra.

Horror rampaged through her mind as she stood frozen, rationality quickly evaporating in the face of the onslaught of emotions. She belatedly switched off her lightsabre, but knew the damage had already been done. Quatra slumped to the ground.

"What did you do to me!" she shrieked at the Jedi Master who had been her teacher for years, who she had just killed.

There was horror at what she'd done, but also anger, tremendous anger, that Quatra had brought her back to face a time in her life she wanted only to forget. Once started, it seemed her fury at the Jedi could only grow. She'd been used, her terrible memory exploited, for a teaching she didn't understand.

Quatra was suddenly evil in her eyes. The horror vanished, to be replaced by grim satisfaction.

For all her claims of compassion and care for her, Quatra had returned her into the clutches of her worst nightmares, to the memory she wanted gone and the moment in her life she wish to be free from. Quatra deserved to die.

The sting of the betrayal wrung tears from her eyes.

"I hate you," she whispered to Quatra, who lay silent in death.

She realized she couldn't stay, not at the Academy; the Jedi would arrest her on sight. She'd fallen to the Dark Side. The Jedi would not possibly allow her vengeance on Quatra to go unpunished, they would lock her back into slavery and once again make her that helpless young girl who could do nothing to save her mother or to save herself.

There was nowhere for her to go, but she knew in her heart she could not stay.

Crying from the pain of her master's betrayal, Juhani fled the Jedi Academy.


"I still think they're searching for something."

Mission rolled her eyes and sighed. "No, I told you, they're rakghouls, they don't think about finding stuff. Flesh-eating zombies like them don't think about stuff like that, just where they're going to get the next snack. They probably just smell something they think is inviting and that's why they're pawing all over that wall."

Namenlos scratched his head. He'd learned to trust Mission's word on things like this, but it definitely looked like the three stooped, slimy mutant creatures were patting down the mud-covered wall, as if they were looking an opening of some kind--the same as he, Mission, and Zaalbar were doing.

The three of them were poking around the Undercity - a pit darker and danker than the worst slums in the Lower City - looking around for new ways to get into the Lower City maintenance tunnels, as some of Mission's favorite places to sneak in had recently been repaired and closed over. In the past few weeks he'd been down to Taris's stinking bilges several times with Mission and her Wookiee friend. He and the teenaged Twi'lek girl and, to a lesser extent, her Wookiee friend, had developed an unusual bond since she'd helped him out after the beating he received at the hands of the Black Vulkars, and he often accompanied them on their frequent city-cruising, especially into uncharted territories as they were doing now.

He hadn't had one of his terrible headaches in almost a month, but being alone, even for a short time, was starting to get terrifying. In such times he would try anything - anything - to keep himself occupied, whether by strenuous physical exercise or drawing in his own blood on a vertical banner he hung above his sleep rug. Putting his mind to a task, no matter how inconsequential, was the only defense he had that helped stave off the encroaching feelings of nothingness he sensed in the fringes of his mind, ready to pounce when he was vulnerable. For now, just being with another breathing, thinking individual was enough for him to anchor himself in reality, and that much he was grateful for.

"Are you sure? Look at what they're doing, how they keep moving down the wall steadily. That's not mob mentality. When you smell something you like, and you really, really want it, you don't sniff in a line and hope you're going the right way. They should be going crazy, swarming all around, if they're interested in something food-like, Mission. But they're not."

Mission frowned as she turned back to look, peering over the ledge on which they stood, observing both the dripping expanse of the Undercity spread out before them and the trio of rakghoul monsters sniffing around the base of the massive buttress opposite the one she, Namenlos, and Zaalbar were perched, examining it for possible ways up into the ceiling of the dank underground and into the network of pipes, conduits, and tunnels running just underneath the Lower City, the no-man's land Mission affectionately called the Maze.

"Huh! What d'you know, I didn't even notice." Mission whistled quietly to herself. "I've never seen rakghouls do that before. I always thought they were just rabid monsters who couldn't think. Maybe not."

Namenlos stared out after them, feeling a strange sense of kinship with the universally despised creatures. "Maybe they're more intelligent than people think, but down here they have to act as they do just to survive. This place is brutal, it certainly wouldn't surprise me."

"I guess you're right," Mission said with a shrug. "Let's keep going, there's nothing here."

The chilly damp air of the Undercity was making the pale scar on Namenlos' face throb and he hugged the dark cloth of his cloak tighter to himself as the three of them edged along what was really no more than an enormous cross-brace in the side of the gigantic support. Stray gusts occasionally whipped coils of hair into his face as he labored not to slip on the sporadic pools of muck and unnamed slime covering the ledge.

He kept glancing back periodically at the odd trio of rakghouls as they moved along the enormous T-brace. Close by was an old access ladder that ran all the way up to the dark ceiling, their destination. Mission wanted to check to see if it would get them into the Maze, but once they came to it, they found it covered in the same slime and muck as was everywhere in the Undercity.

Namenlos eyed the treacherous ladder worriedly. "I don't know about this, Mission."

Ascending up into the darkness, away from the dim light of scattered floodlights that could bring no illumination to the vast expanse of underground space, caked in mud and slime, the ladder was a menacing sight. But even aside from the obvious distaste, something else about the prospect of climbing that ladder made the scratchy hairs on Namenlos' neck stand on end.

The Wookiee said something. By his body language, it appeared to Namenlos that he was agreeing with his assessment.

Mission chuckled. "We do stuff like this all the time. This is nothing."

Namenlos shook his head. "I don't know, something about this..."

Again, the Wookiee spoke. Mission threw her hands up in the air.

"Alright, fine, Big Z! You can go first, if you're gonna be so paranoid!" She turned to him. "Oh, Big Z gets like this sometimes. I keep telling him I can look after myself, but sometimes he gets it in his head that he'd better protect me even when everything's perfectly alright."
Namenlos shrugged in acceptance, but the strange feeling did not go away. He made himself stop thinking about it.

The Wookiee started up the ladder, and Namenlos was surprised by how sturdily it stood up to the Wookiee's massive weight. Muck squelched on the rungs underfoot, but the ladder stayed solid as a rock. Mission followed him, and Namenlos took to the ladder last, casting a look back at where he'd last seen the three rakghouls. They were nowhere in sight.

Following the side of the massive buttress, the three of them worked their way upwards. Every twenty feet or so they would pass another cross-brace as they got ever closer to the top. To Namenlos' relief, the rungs gradually dried and got cleaner of the muck and filth the farther up they got. Towards the ceiling, it was mostly choking dust kicked up in plumes from where it had caked over the old rungs, disturbed by the Wookiee's enormous frame.

An unusually strong draft broadsided the three hanging on the ladder. Mission coughed as dust blew straight into her face and her foot slipped for a second. She gave a small gasp of surprise but clung onto the ladder with her other three points of grasp. The Wookiee called something down to her.

"Are you alright, Mission?" Namenlos asked, having momentarily stopped climbing while Mission sneezed the dust from her nose.

"I'm fine," she answered. "Keep on going, Big Z, we're almost there."

Seemingly content Mission was ok, the Wookiee continued the last few feet to the top, where there was a small platform and some rusty steel steps leading up into an access shaft. After helping Mission and him up, the Wookiee gave the door a mighty tug and it creaked open, antiquated hinges squealing in protest.

From above, the refreshing smell of dirty oil, steam, and melted insulation rolled over them, a welcome relief from the pervasive stink of bilge and rotting refuse in the Undercity. Whistles and hisses of bare pipes, some leaking their contents onto the steel grate floor or flashing to vapor, filled the dark confines of the tunnel. Naked bulbs hung at irregular intervals, their eerie halos of steam and smoke providing what little light they could.

Stepping into the passageway, Namenlos pushed back his hood and ruffled his tangled dreadlocks with a hand. Mission craned her neck until Namenlos heard the faint sounds of vertebrae creaking and she let out a sigh, staring down the tunnel both ways.

The young Twi'lek snapped her fingers. "Hah! I know where this is!"

Namenlos frowned. "Where is--"

A sudden vicious snarl interrupted him, coming from somewhere close by but out of sight. The animalistic roar echoed off the walls, making determining the source even more difficult as it bounced off hard crete and steel pipes. The Wookiee growled in warning and Mission's hand instantly went to the blaster at her belt. Namenlos dropped to a defensive crouch, drawing a battered but trustworthy knife from its make-do sheath on his forearm. He held it reversed in his hand, teeth bared as he scanned the murky darkness with sensitive eyes. Unfortunately, with all the vapor and smoke everywhere he couldn't see far into the dark.

Their stalker sounded again, a wet smacking noise of hungry jaws eagerly snapping together in anticipation of a meal. Namenlos growled in challenge.

A shape flew across his vision. Acting out of blind instinct, he slashed at the slobbering mass of flesh, teeth, and claws. The body hit him just as his knife made contact, slamming into his chest while the sharp edge of his weapon pierced pallid skin and drew watery blood. Namenlos roared as he crashed to the ground, trying to muscle the disproportionately heavy sack of meat and jutting bones off of him.

Dirty claws lanced his arms and neck, the creature snarled in his ear while he wrestled with it. Mission was yelling for him to get out of the way when the slimy creature unexpectedly bashed his head against a large steel pipe, stunning him for a moment. His knife fell loose in his hand, a retaliatory strike glancing off his attacker's arm.

Namenlos felt the weight of his attacker suddenly lift, looked up to see Zaalbar heft the thrashing rakghoul up by the neck and toss it down the tunnel. The slavering mutant snarled as it hit a light fixture, shattering the bulb in a shower of sparks and casting that section of the tunnel into darker gloom. Mission took a few blind shots down the passageway, but missed the rakghoul with each. Namenlos got to his feet and gripped his knife at the tip between a thumb and forefinger, sighting up the target through the darkness.

Just as the creature began to move, to leap for them once more, he hurled the knife.

Even as the blade whistled through the air and the rakghoul made its move, he knew it would hit the target. Just when the mutant reached the apex of his leap, the point of his knife met its bloated forehead, cracked in right between its inky black eyes.

The blade slammed home, burying itself up to its handle in the rakghoul's head, which gave a last groan and crumpled to the floor.

Namenlos was just about to breathe a sigh of relief when the hairs on the back of his neck bristled again, and he could instantly sense another threat moments away from striking. Before he could warn Mission, Zaalbar, the Wookiee, grabbed them both by the collars and shoved them down.

An instant later, a pressurized pipe exploded, filling the tunnel with white plumes of gas and water vapor.

Crouching low to the steel grate floor, Namenlos held the fabric of his tattered cloak over his face to protect his mouth and nose and keep from breathing too much of the gas. He heard Mission coughing, but couldn't see anything through the clouds of vapor, could do nothing to help her.

He carefully got to his hands and knees and felt along the wall as he went to keep his direction straight. The gas stung his eyes, further obscuring his vision, until he had to go by feeling alone. He thought he heard sounds above the hiss of escaping gas and vapor, a high-pitched squeal, the sounds of rubber on steel, but he didn't know what to make of it.

Finally he felt what he'd been looking for, gripped the rough surface of a large wheel valve at the wall. To his dismay, Namenlos found it was old and rusted, just as was everything else, and refused to budge.

Blinking his eyes in an effort to clear his vision somewhat, Namenlos stood to get more leverage on the valve, planted his feet against the floor and gave a mighty twist. He roared in exertion, every muscle in his body straining to close the valve and shut off the flow of gas into the tunnel.

It still did not move.

His arms burned in protest when the wheel did not give way, blood rushing to his head pounded like a sledgehammer, but he refused to give up. He was almost completely blinded by the gas, not even able to see his hands out in front of him, and starting to have difficulty breathing. He knew if he didn't get the pipes sealed off soon, it would be too late.

Abruptly, the wheel started turning. It spun faster even than his hands could keep up with, locking itself firmly shut against the onrushing flow. The hissing sound came to an instant halt.

Dizzy, coughing on the noxious fumes, Namenlos slumped down against the wall. His head was spinning, he was feeling sick to his stomach, and his legs simply couldn't hold him any more. He sat for a moment catching his breath, trying to steady himself. He could no longer hear anything from Mission or Zaalbar, it was quite possible they'd passed out from the fumes already.

With the pipe no longer venting its gaseous load, the air was thinning, but slowly, and he knew there was more he could do to help it along. Unwilling to test his legs, Namenlos started crawling for the access hatch they'd entered through, but was stopped short when a sharp spike of pain suddenly stabbed into his brain, sending him face first onto the floor. He heaved a mighty cough and blood came out with his vomit, the nausea too much.

He could feel the headache taking him over, reducing him to a meaningless mote of life whose inconvenient existence would be repaid by his suffering.

Buried in the agony, Namenlos started clawing forward. He would not be cowed by the pain inside. Though it punished him, he pushed on, exerting his will over his own body, forcing it to do as he commanded.

There were fews things in his life he could control, but he would be master of himself.

Namenlos retched again, nearly passing out, but finally reached the hatch, threw it open and sucked in a blessed breath of the rancid, stinking, fume-free air. Gratefully, he collapsed at the mouth of the hatchway, feeling the noxious gas dissipating into the reaches of the Undercity. The pain from the headache overcame him then, and he felt himself drifting into that state of half-consciousness where he felt nothing but the emptiness of his mind.

Screaming, he dragged himself upright, refusing to submit to the horrors of that nothingness. Standing awkwardly on his feet, blood rushing to his head, he nearly fell again, but grimly clung to the wall. His head pounded in relentless agony, but he forced himself to endure it.

Namenlos looked around the tunnel, seeing clearly in the darkness. Mission and Zaalbar were nowhere in sight.


On the bridge with several other Jedi, Bastila stood beside Captain Onasi as they prepared to exit hyperspace at Taris. During the journey she'd had the opportunity to work out her apprehension at having perhaps finally cornered Revan, enough so that she was able to stand without anxiety or fear at what lay ahead, only with sense of her duty yet to be fulfilled.

Ever since the day of her fateful mistake, the Jedi Order had been extending its feelers into galactic society deeper than ever before in its efforts to find the Dark Lord. But in months of hard searching through both covert and conventional means, frustratingly little had been gleaned about Revan's whereabouts. It was almost as if he'd simply dropped out of the galaxy, been killed--as, indeed, the Republic had been led to believe. But Bastila knew better than to dare think such a thing; she'd heard the turmoil raging within him, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd found some way to survive.

Her belief seemed to have been proven correct when, a few days past, one of the Jedi's deep undercover contacts in the Tarisian underground passed along a tip that an unnamed Cathar, possibly a Force user, had upset the balance between the rival swoop gangs. The Council were quick to dispatch her and several other Jedi to the task of investigating this latest, brightest lead. While Bastila was at a loss to explain the months of silence from Revan, Sith Lord, and could only wonder what was spurring him not to strike back against the usurper Malak, she felt a palpable sense of relief that perhaps the end of the road was in sight, that the danger his existence posed to the galaxy might finally be nearing its end.

If she could accomplish this, it would be a small measure of atonement for her mistake, and her fair contribution in the cause of justice.

She stole a sideways glance at Carth Onasi, commander of the ship Endar Spire. He was a difficult character, suspicious at her necessary evasion regarding the nature of her mission. It was not his place to know many of the things for which he pressed her, and he seemed to sense that fact, but knowing did not decrease his wariness of her and the other Jedi. Bastila did not fault him for his caution, but still adamantly refused to elaborate beyond the explanation she had already given him.

The galaxy at large simply could not know that Revan still lived. It was for the good of all that she kept this secret from him, that the Jedi would continue keeping it. Feeling sorry that he was not important enough to be privy to this information would accomplish nothing, so Bastila showed only a stony mask of silence and nonfeeling.

Bastila's attention was drawn to the forward windows by the voice of a freckle-faced ensign.

"Captain Onasi, we're dropping out of hyperspace now, sir."

Onasi nodded. "Yes, thank you, ensign."

Bastila lightly grasped the handrail in front of her as the ship lurched in sudden violent deceleration and the familiar sight of the star-studded blackness slammed into view, replacing the blue-white continuum of hyperspace.

Taris, an industrial world that once had been a galactic hub but had since been reduced to backwater status, no longer even contested by the Sith, lay before them a blue-green sphere marred by the sparkling gray swathe of its enormous capital city stretched across the planet's largest continent from shore to shore.

"Captain? We're being hailed, sir."

Onasi turned to the communications officer. "Source?"

"It's the Prime Minister, sir."

He raked his fingers through his hair. "Put him through."

In short order, the glowing blue hologram of Halrand Jynn, Prime Minister of Taris, appeared on the bridge. Captain Onasi bowed respectfully.

"Prime Minister, Captain Carth Onasi of the Republic cruiser Endar Spire."

Hynn did not look pleased. "What is your business? There have been no threats from the Sith since last year, your high command assured us the danger to our planet and our city was passed."

"I know that, Mr. Prime Minister," Onasi explained. He lifted an introductory hand toward Bastila. "I present our representative from the Jedi Order, Bastila Shan. I'm afraid we're on a mission of... vital importance to the security of the Republic."

The Prime Minister nodded woodenly. "The city of Taris has always held the highest regards for the Jedi Order. You are of course welcome to whatever services and aid you may require of us."

A nagging feeling pricked at Bastila's mind. Something was not right, but she couldn't place what she felt. "It would be of incalculable aid, Prime Minister, if you would allow us to berth our ship at your space dock."

"Consider it done," Jynn responded, his voice lacking either warmth or cordiality, sheer formality predominant. Bastila's worry grew.

Without so much as an instant's warning, a razor-sharp sword blade erupted through the Prime Minister's chest. He fell lifeless without uttering so much as a gurgle and a menacing figure appeared on the hologram in his place. Attired in gleaming silver armor, he stood casually over the Prime Minister's body as he wiped his bloody sword clean and looked so directly into the transmitter that he seemed to be peering into Bastila's very soul, his expression terrifyingly devoid of emotion.

"At last," the Sith said, "I have you."

At once, a chill colder than anything she'd ever felt before raced down Bastila's spine, while simultaneously she felt the Force screaming in warning.

She didn't hesitate a moment in warning Onasi. "Raise the shields, captain, now!"

He nodded and quickly relayed her command. "And cut that transmission!" he added, glaring back at the Sith's wicked grin.

Hardly a second passed after they raised shields when four Sith cruisers raced in from hyperspace and began firing madly. Carth Onasi began barking out orders faster than she could even follow, and for a moment all she could do was stare in horror at the red curtain of pulsating turbolaser fire bearing down on the lone Republic ship.

The Endar Spire shuddered under the impact of each energy bomb on its shields, and Bastila and several of the other Jedi had to grab handrails to keep from being tossed about the bridge by the ship's violent lurching. Onasi gave immediate orders for return fire and turned back to her.

"Get out!" he ordered.

Despite the circumstances, Bastila was flustered by his presumption. She started to protest "I will remain and aid--"

Another massive hit shook the bridge and alarms sounded, as well as disheartening status reports from the bridge crew.

"We've lost port shields, sir!"

"Incoming boarding craft!"

Captain Onasi winced at the news. "Get off the bridge, get off this ship!" he continued urging her.

Bastila folded her arms. "Captain, if I were to add my Battle Meditation to the efforts of your crew, perhaps there is still a chance--"

Angrily, he shook his head, cut her off. "There's no way that's going to work and you know it! The Sith ships have cut off our escape, they're already getting set to board us, who do you think they want to get? Hmm? Who's important enough that they'd lure us here and spring a trap on us instead of just annihilating us as soon as we dropped out of hyperspace? Answer me that."

Realization dawned on her, then. The Tarisian government must have made a separate peace with the Sith, and had worked in collusion with them to bring her here. It might all have been an elaborate ruse. Malak wanted her powers for himself. He had been frustrated at not having encountered her on a battlefield in months, and sought instead to create his own opportunities to capture her.

The captain was right, it was her responsibility to the Republic to do all she could to escape Malak. The Endar Spire would shortly be overrun with Sith soldiers, Dark Jedi, and as many of Malak's servants as he thought he would need to capture her alive. The battle had been lost before it even started, and for the galaxy's sake - and her own, as well - her primary concern had to be escape. Herself in Malak's hands was potentially more damaging to the Republic than Revan on the loose. It was the only way.

But still, it would feel like an abandonment of everyone aboard.

"Sith boarding parties have landed, captain!"

As Bastila struggled to reconcile her feelings, Onasi decided for her.

"This is Captain Onasi," he spoke into the ship's intercom system. "I'm ordering the immediate evacuation of the Endar Spire."

Bastila frowned as she watched him lean over a console. "What are you doing?"

"Setting the Spire's self-destruct." He gave her a meaningful look. "You and your Jedi really need to be gone."

Another blast rocked the ship as Bastila tried to respond. She found she wasn't prepared for such drastic measures. Again, she felt like a traitor that this was all happening because of her.

"Dear Force, are we really to that point? The battle has hardly begun!"

Onasi gestured out the window, at the Sith cruisers looming like firaxa ready to strike at any instant. "This was a complex deception, ma'am. They're obviously banking on seizing the ship with you on board and anyone else they can get their hands on. I'm going to deny them that and give my crew a fighting chance to get out of this alive. We don't let our equipment or our people fall into enemy hands.

"Now get yourself to those escape pods and just pray the Sith haven't occupied the planet yet, or we're all dead."