"Melar, are you alright?"

I raised my head slowly, brought my eyes into focus. "Jedi girl," I said blankly. "You—"

I cut myself short. I must be delirious, or half asleep still. Think, Revan. Now was not the time to be betraying everything you know. Deception. Caution. Tell her only what she needs to know.

"You were in my dreams," I said instead. "Who are you?"

"My name is Bastila Shan, of the Jedi Order. Do you remember anything about what happened here today?"

"I was scouting the lanes, new hyperspace lanes are valuable, y'know? If I could find one, my family would never— my. . . family?"

I was speaking from the faintly imprinted identity that had assailed me when I first awakened in the morning, but having largely suppressed the information and completely ignored it past its first attempt to integrate itself I found myself surprised by how much detail it contained.

"It's alright, Melar. You've had a hard day. Can you stand?"

I barely suppressed the urge to glare at her, nodded meekly instead and got unsteadily to my feet.

"What happened?" I asked. "The ship, there were soldiers everywhere."

"Yes," Bastila said. "We were attacked. You have heard of Darth Malak?"

I shrugged. Melar certainly didn't get out much, being largely a loner despite the odd insistence on having a family. What sort of identity was that? A loner hyperspace scout, who never returned home and thought nothing about the fact that his job had a high mortality rate? Were the Jedi insane, or did they truly not understand people at all? Who would consider that a cohesive identity? Did they just throw in the 'family' as a way to make him seem sympathetic or something without taking care to work it into the overall fabric of their story?

I've had cover identities that were more cohesive. I've had one-use throwaway cover identities that were more cohesive.

Jedi are idiots. And they actually wondered why Malak and I had chosen to break away at the first chance? It was this kind of staggering incompetence that was rampant throughout their over-indulgent civilization. Who put them in charge, eh?

"Malak and his fleet were waiting for us. It was an ambush. We must have a leak somewhere, we didn't tell anyone where we were going and I don't know how else he could have found us."

I restrained the urge to snort derisively. We'd been planning to take Taris next anyway. It wasn't a terribly important world of its own merit, but it did lie directly along the intersection of two major hyperspace routes. A strategically valuable position to hold.

The fact that Bastila and I showed up here was the larger coincidence. What purpose would the Jedi have in sending a reprogrammed Revan and his Force-bonded Jedi girl to Taris? Or did they know that we would be attacking it? Did they send us specifically to entangle us against Malak's fleet as quickly as possible?

I didn't know what had happened, how they had captured me, or what all they've done to me. They might well have gotten strategy information out of me before wiping and rewriting me. But this battle was a loss for the Jedi. That couldn't have been their plan. Could it?

No, they'd have wanted me and Bastila to work together, win the day. Solidify my identity as a Republic hero, working with the Jedi against the Sith. The fact that Malak was furious over my death, the fact that he struck out with his full force instead of the carefully calculated strike I'd advocated, that threw them off.

I nodded, beginning to get a feel for the attitudes that must have been behind the chaos that had become my life.

The Jedi wanted me to be their hero. The Sith thought I was dead.

Perhaps, if I play my role well enough, they could be convinced to return my active connection to the Force? That may have been their plan all along, only suppress it long enough to be sure their reprogramming had taken, then 'discover' that I was 'Force-sensitive' and 'train' me to be a 'Jedi'.

Hah. That would be idiotic beyond even what I'd already seen demonstrated. But very in keeping with the flow of actions that I'd deduced thus far.

"How do you talk in my mind?" I asked. "It scared me."

I had a harder time than I'd anticipated holding my composure, but if there's one thing I can do it's conceal my true thoughts and feelings. Even from Malak.

Even from Bastila Shan of the Jedi Order.

Bastila smiled. "I saved your life, once. You probably don't remember, probably never will, but an action like that can create a bond between a Jedi and another person. It's unusually strong in our case, perhaps because you were on the very edge of death for a very long time."

My heart skipped faster. If she wasn't lying, and I suspected she would be a terrible liar between her Jedi morals of 'honesty' and her youth and inexperience, then things were far, far worse than I'd expected. A 'very long time' could have been anywhere from hours to months. How much could the Jedi have gotten from me in that time? Everything?

I put my hand to my chest, trying to calm myself, but I was terrified. Yes, I, Darth Revan. Terrified. Did they know about the Star Forge? I had to warn Malak at once.

"Relax, Melar, you're safe now. You're not going to die, the Jedi Masters were able to heal you completely."

Her calm voice did nothing to reassure me. Jedi Masters. Dantooine, no doubt. Only they would be so brazen. Only they would dare tamper with such sacred things as life and Force and bonds and my very connection to life.

"I don't like Jedi," I said weakly. "Never trust someone who can make you change your mind with a wave of their hands."

'Melar' didn't have any such inhibitions. Bastila probably knew that, judging by the ill-concealed confusion on her face. But she couldn't let on that she knew everything about me, or it would make 'Melar' suspicious. And if he'd already expressed distrust of Jedi, then she'd have to be more circumspect about whatever she does next.

I didn't smirk, though I dearly wanted to. I could play this game for as long as it took. She wouldn't get a single thing out of me. None of the Jedi would. Ever again.

"It's alright, Melar," she said. "I promise, I won't use the Force on your mind."

I gave an involuntary snort at that, barely suppressed my inclination to burst into full roaring laughter.

She took a breath, as though calming herself. "Are you injured, Melar?"

Did she have to say my 'name' every time she spoke? Was this supposed to be subconscious reinforcement of my fake identity? Or was she really as much of an irritation as she seemed?

"I don't know, probably. The ship was crashing, and there were Jedi trying to kill me, and I only barely escaped on a shuttle, and I crashed. . ." I rambled, tilting my head as though trying to remember. I took advantage of the opportunity to critically assess my body. I'd been ignoring a number of pains during my escape to the lower city, none life-threatening.

"The people trying to kill you weren't Jedi," the Jedi girl said. "They were Sith, enemies of the Republic."

I shrugged. "Looked like Jedi to me. Waving laser swords around like anything. Slicing up walls and doors." I'd survive, but without the ability to draw on the Force to strengthen myself it would be an uncomfortable few weeks.

"Were the lightsabers red?" she asked, patiently, as though to a young child.

I resisted the urge to laugh again, put on a confused expression. "I suppose. Does that matter?"

"Red crystals are unnatural, created when a Dark Force user, like a Sith, forces their crystal into a bond without consent and mutual agreement."

Actually, red crystals were created by a Kyber becoming bound specifically with the Dark Side of the Force, either on its own or through coercion. You could bond a crystal of any colour to yourself, the crystal's colour really only denoted the ratio of Dark-to-Light Force power within the crystal itself.

The Jedi Guardians were the only group to use pure blue - purely Light - crystals. The Consulars held a tint of Dark Side power in their green blades, while Sentinels held a considerable amount of Dark in their yellow crystals. And only a thin amount of Light, in fact, which could explain why such a large contingent of Sentinels had joined Malak and myself.

And as far as I could tell, having a 'Dark' or 'Light' crystal meant in practice absolutely nothing. The more closely the lightsaber matched your personal alignment, the more comfortable you felt with it, but it didn't make it easier to use or more powerful.

My own alignment was a deep purple - heavy red, heavy blue. Nothing soft or shallow about it. However, these solely-Dark-crystal lightsabers I'd taken from Shone and Devre would still work perfectly fine for me. I was around enough Dark-only Sith on a regular basis that I was more than used to Dark Side power. It felt almost as comfortable as my own sabers would have.

I wouldn't try to change my sabers' crystals, even if they were pure Jedi blades, or worse, weak Jedi blades. Trying to rebond a crystal rarely worked and just isn't worth the effort. It often led to them cracking and becoming unstable, or losing their Force-sensitivity almost entirely. But a dead Kyber still powered a lightsaber, as those 'grey' Jedi who went running around with silver sabers proved.

The Jedi just ignored the fact that, like crystals, Force-users could be in contact with both sides of the Force. It wasn't a Light or Dark dichotomy, being strong in one didn't in any way preclude mastery of the other.

Being 'grey' just meant you were weak in both. Being purple meant you were strong in both. Like me.

"You seem skeptical," the Jedi said.

"Oh, do I?" I asked. "I was just thinking about my. . . hyperspace. . . scouting. . .tricks. Some people get things so wrong."

"You can talk to me, about anything," she said softly. "If you want to talk about hyperspace scouting, I'll listen. I can't guarantee I'll understand it, but I'll listen."

I snorted. This layer of false memory wasn't detailed enough for that conversation to go anyplace. If Jedi weren't such idiots she'd have known better than to encourage me toward a topic that would only lead to confusion.

I had to get off this planet.

Well, that was one place to start.

"I have to get off this planet," I said. "I don't like it. Those crazy Jedi are going to keep trying to kill me, I just know it."

"They're Sith, not Jedi," she insisted gently. "I'm a Jedi, we help people."

"Like you helped Dxun?" I demanded, without thinking. Onderon's moon had been one of the first places to fall to the Mandalorian invasion, and one of the last to be reclaimed. By me, I might point out. Not the Jedi. Not the Republic. Me. Revan and Malak and our 'rogue' Jedi, and the loyal soldiers who followed us.

"That was years ago," the Jedi replied.

"Eh," I said, returning to my affected apathy. "I don't keep up with galactic news much out on the fringes. You took it back, then?"

"Yes," she said, looking uncomfortable.

"So, how do we escape this place?" I asked.

She seemed relieved at the change of subject. "I'll think of something. Right now, we need to get to a safer place. These lower streets are overrun with gangs, and this one you've stumbled into isn't the most friendly. Come with me."

I shrugged and followed. I'd have to be careful with this girl, I kept forgetting that she was bonded to me now. For my assumed identity to hold, she'd need to sense emotions that matched my words and actions. I was fairly nearly an expert at assuming false identities, but they were always a hollow physical facade. Never before had I been forced to assume a persona to such a deep level.

I could only hope the experience wouldn't leave me irreparably changed. There was probably nothing to worry about, but as I followed a Jedi without hesitation or protest, I did. And I knew I'd not be able to stop worrying until I was safely back at my best friend's side.

Wait for me, I called out to Malak, instinctively, before I could think it through.

The Jedi girl sensed my call, paused in her stride for me to close the few feet of distance. She looked at me oddly, but I ignored her.

Time to become 'Melar Whatsisname' in mind as well as memory. I shuddered, then consciously suppressed my own thoughts and emotions, allowed the imprint to seep through me.

My 'family' needed me to get out of this alive, and preferably with the Republic's promised extravagant payment.