Chapter Six: Descent into Hell
Revan had removed the bandage from her eyes days ago. Her vision hadn't improved much, as there was only artificial lighting available, and apparently she didn't deserve that, but she enjoyed seeing the tiny pinpricks of light filtering between the cracks of the door as it assured her that she hadn't gone blind. Despite the fact that some Jedi referred to normal sight as 'crude matter' and were openly derisive of 'flesh', Revan prized her human sight more than her Jedi senses.
She was also terribly bored. She could no longer sing, her throat having become abrasive and sore from overuse, but she didn't repine overly because of that, for her captors had decided they didn't need to watch her any more. Half of the fun had gone when she could no longer irritate an enemy.
It was hard to find an occupation to divert herself. She had tried cataloguing through her various Force powers to see if there were any that she could use while under the influence of the neural disruptor, but had gotten seriously frustrated and considerably electrified before she was halfway through her list. She had never been one for exercise, and although she sometimes enjoyed telling herself stories, she had always preferred to do so in meditation, which would always add a healthy boost to her imagination. Naturally, meditation was impossible with a neural disruptor. She briefly wondered if the point was to make her go mad, but decided that no one was stupid enough to want a crazy Jedi about.
So, with untold eons alone stretching out in front of her, Revan turned her thoughts to the last remaining task she could think of: escape. Sure, an uninterrupted sleep was a nice plus, but this really was too much of a good thing.
Revan had always had a quick and enquiring mind – pretty much the only thing quick about her. She had never made a study of neural disruptors, but she spent the next few hours trying to build one in her head, trying out different ideas and things. Then she sent out the smallest Force Perception she could manage, focusing on the circlet around her neck. The information she gathered was certainly worth the few shocks she received in return. She could recognise certain components from their shape and discern their function from that, their location and the ideas she had hypothesized in her head.
As far as she could see, if she was to escape, she needed to defuse the power of her neural disruptor. She was worse than helpless with it – she had an idea that it could be controlled via remote, as evidenced by her sudden loss of consciousness when talking to Brejik. She was fairly sure she didn't suffer from narcolepsy.
But if she completely destroyed the neural disruptor, it seemed a cinch that the controller would be alerted. She doubted she would be ready to travel immediately after her efforts. She believed that her only chance would be to fuse the area responsible for the shock treatment, and somehow leave the rest untouched. It would require a figuratively light hand and immense willpower. Revan decided she'd give it a go anyway. At least she wouldn't be bored.
She concentrated slowly, building up her power and protecting it and her will from the shocks that were twitching her body. She couldn't manage this much longer, but she added an extra surge and the room lit up briefly with a sudden web of lightning. There was a muffled thump as she slumped back down to the ground, completely unconscious.
(&X&)
With the Sith files as their passports, Carth and Bastila had no trouble at the elevator to the Undercity. They were both mildly creeped out by the guard who bade them enjoy the weather and gave them a tongue in cheek reminder not to feed the wildlife. Bastila gave him an openly wondering look as they entered the elevator.
"Of all the Sith I can't stand the most, it's the cheerful type," grimaced Carth after the doors slid shut. "They're just so much more…wrong."
"I suppose we should be grateful to the Sith for broadening our views on the varying shades of evil," Bastila pondered as the lift vibrated into action and started the plummet ground-ward.
Carth snorted and continued with the weird conversation. Well, it was going to be a long, boring trip to the Undercity. "That would be handy if I wanted to write a dissertation on the subject."
She sniggered a little at the thought of a scholarly Carth, and replied aimlessly, "That would be a subject filled with ethical and philosophical issues. You could spend decades on it."
"I have better things to do with my time than spend it thinking about the Sith," he said with revulsion.
"Like what?" Bastila asked, and then wished she'd shut her mouth.
He paused, and then forced a light tone. "Well, saving the galaxy, for one."
"You could spend several lifetimes with that goal and still not achieve it," she sighed, not sure if her words were directed at him or herself.
"It's a good thing there are so many of us trying, then," he returned casually, wishing for something to put an end to the subject.
Bastila racked her brain to think of other things to say. She realised, not for the first time, that she had very few things in common with Carth. Their aims for the galaxy were similar. They wanted to help people. They believed the Sith were evil and needed to be stopped. But there was really nothing else. What else could she talk about? Music? Bastila had no time for such things. Travel? She supposed there was that, but Carth didn't seem like the type to rhapsodise over nature's beauties, and to talk of such things on Taris made her physically uncomfortable. Careers? She could pilot a small ship, but never took much pleasure in it. She could talk quite eloquently about meditation and various training exercises, but she would rather suffer through silence than try to coach Carth in the first steps of self-awareness. Mutual acquaintances? She knew Admiral Dodonna and several of Carth's associates, but she had never encouraged personal exchanges and quite frankly wouldn't know what to say. And Carth wouldn't know any of her superiors; even though Revan and he had been on the same ship, Revan had kept to her room at all times.
A sudden discreet cough alerted her once again to the present. "Have you any ideas about what we should do in the Undercity?" Carth questioned.
Oh, yes. They could talk about what they were going to do. "We need to find Mission and her companion," Bastila reiterated thoughtfully. "Gadon spoke of… a village in which the elevator is located. Perhaps we could ask around. If Mission uses the elevator, they should surely know something."
Carth nodded. "And you'll be fine with that thing? It isn't your lightsaber, but we really can't risk it."
She hefted the Echani brand in her hand and pressed her lips together. No, she would not complain again that she wanted her lightsaber. "Yes, the brand is excellently made. I practised extensively with a double bladed sword before wielding my double bladed 'saber, so I am confident I can keep us safe."
"Good," he replied noncommittally. He would not get in a fight with her in an elevator about who could protect who. Carth had relearned the value of employing silence to preserve the peace. But silence wasn't exactly comfortable right now.
"So, do you use Echani techniques, or strictly Jedi moves?" The rest of the ride down was ignored as they had a pleasant talk about different melee styles and techniques, though Bastila often played the 'Jedi is better so there' card. Carth was content to allow her the supremacy in the argument – he could fight melee, but preferred his blasters. So with the concealed superiority complex of the marksman over the martial warrior, he lent an ear to Bastila's eulogies about Jedi skills and retained his own opinions.
When the door slid open and exposed them to the air of the Undercity, Carth's only ordered thought was well, Taris has hit a new low, and I didn't even think that was possible. Like a rotten fruit, it seemed the more you stripped Taris to see what it concealed, the more disgusted you were. Suffice to say that the Undercity was dank, dark, and the more you saw of it, the more you wanted to forget what you saw.
Bastila had assimilated all of this, but she noticed the pitiful fires and tents of the poor souls eking out a living. Her compassion was stirred, although not to the extent that she couldn't help shrinking a little when two filthy representatives shambled up to her. Their odour was truly offensive – obviously, bathing facilities here in the Undercity were rare, or non-existent.
"You there! Upworlder! You must pay a toll, this is our elevator!" one of them growled, holding out a hand bandaged in rags.
"I can't believe this planet," Carth groused quietly, "even the beggars are trying to shake us down!"
"Who… who are you?" questioned Bastila.
The first one launched into a spiel. "We are the Outcasts, banished and reviled by those who dwell above!"
The other one continued on, his voice much more sincere. "Here in the filth and darkness we claw out a wretched existence, scavenging and begging just to survive long enough to see another wretched day."
"Oh, my," Bastila murmured, reaching back to Carth. "Give me some money."
"What? We don't have much as it is," he quietly refused.
Whatever else the Undercity bred, it apparently bred good hearing. "Oh, come on, we all know how rich you upworlders are," the first one whined. "You wouldn't miss five credits."
"Yes, we would," Carth shot back, his stubbornness roused.
"No, we wouldn't," Bastila snapped, gesturing imperiously.
"Stella, we're really low on funds," Carth warned her.
"Take a look around," Bastila said, veiling the hostility in her voice. "Are we really that badly off?"
Carth sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Fine," he growled, digging a five credit piece out of a pocket and handing it to her.
Bastila immediately turned around and deposited the chit in the second beggar's palm.
"Credits! We have credits, my brother," he crooned, hugging the precious item to his chest.
"Quiet! Or the others will hear and they'll want our credits!" the other cautioned, "We must hide it!" and slinking off again. Bastila was torn between feeling sorry for them and despising them for their animalistic caching instincts. An unwelcome memory bobbed up in her mind: on a rough planet, not unlike Taris, Revan had cautioned her against giving a beggar a donation. Bastila didn't believe her ears, and supposing it to be a test, had gone ahead and gave the beggar money. Directly afterward, Revan took Bastila aside and followed him, showing her the consequences of her actions: in this instance, the beggar she had helped was mugged and robbed, left to bleed in a corner. Bastila didn't ask Revan how she knew what would happen – she didn't care. She had honestly hated Revan at that moment. She still wondered what Revan meant by it.
They proceeded further into the village, the ground uncomfortably moist underneath their feet. Carth kept his composure only by comparing the place to a battlefield. There were times when he was bitterly disappointed by human nature, and the Republic.
They found the leader of the Outcasts, a serious man who otherwise reminded Carth of Gadon Thek. He was pointed out to them by a man aged by hardship and starvation. Bastila, consumed by pity, offered the man some of their meagre supply of food, but Carth forbore to scold her when the man refused, presenting the information, "My wife was taken by the rakghouls. I can only hope that she is dead. I cannot bear to think of the alternative…"
"Greetings, upworlders," the leader of the Outcasts said in the middle of the silence following, "I am Gendar, leader of this village, as my father was and his father before him. What brings you to our dark and sunless place?"
"No offence, but I can understand why people tend to avoid this place," Carth said.
"Carth! I apologise for him, sir, he is afflicted with a serious condition!" Bastila said, giving Carth an outraged look.
"Hey! What?" Carth said, clueless.
"I understand what your friend means," Gendar said dismissively. "If there is something I can help you with, I will give you information at least, even if I can give you no material help."
"We're searching for a blue Twi'lek girl named Mission Vao, accompanied by a Wookiee," Carth replied.
"I have seen the Twi'lek you mention," Gendar admitted, "though we have never spoken. She usually passes through the village on her explorations with the Wookiee."
"She came here last night," Carth said urgently, "did you see her come back?"
"I didn't personally," Gendar mused, "maybe some of my fellow Outcasts did. I will check around and inform you when I am done." Gendar left them with a troubled look on his face and proceeded to visit some other villagers, either in their cloth homes or where they sat, stood or worked.
"Well, that leaves us unoccupied," Bastila said with dissatisfaction.
"Then, maybe, Upworlder," came a dim, quavery voice from the interior of a tent behind them, "you could listen to my story?"
"Who is that?" Bastila spoke with authority.
"It is I, Rukil, the oldest outcast in the village. Rukil Wrinkleskin, the children call me sometimes. Once I was honoured for my wisdom. And you… are you the herald of prophecy? Do you damn us or save us?" Shuffling into the light was an ancient old man covered in patched up rags. Everything about him was faded and dull, apart from the light glittering in his eyes. That same light made Carth somewhat nervous.
"Be careful. This guy might be crazy enough to be dangerous," Carth said warily.
Bastila scoffed for a moment. As if the old man could possibly be a danger to her, with her abilities! Then she took the time to look at him, and quietly tapped into the Force to reveal truths and deception. "I sense… no danger in him," she said quietly to Carth. "His demeanor may seem crazed, but there is a purpose behind it. A benevolent one."
"I save what I can," she replied respectfully to Rukil, "but I cannot perceive how my fate is linked with yours and your village. Please, sir, explain yourself."
"Can I trust you? Can I place the fate of the entire village in your unknown hands?" Rukil looked at her and Bastila sensed he was about to refuse.
"Rukil, I can be trusted," she said, impressing the Force into her words. Carth shifted uncomfortably next to her. He was pretty sure he'd prefer being bored than this.
Rukil blinked his rheumy eyes. "I can trust you. The fate of my people is contained in their history.
"The great city of Taris covers the entire surface of the planet. There are no farms on the ground, only buildings. For many years, kelp harvests and the creatures of the sea were the only food source. A century ago, rising toxic pollution poisoned the oceans, and famine swept the planet. The rich hoarded the food for their own use, and the poor were left to starve and die. But the poor rose up against this tyranny, and civil war engulfed the planet. Millions died during the fighting, and huge sections of Taris were destroyed or abandoned.
"In the end, the rebellion was crushed. Thousands were taken prisoner, far too many for any jail to hold. So the practise of banishing all prisoners to the Undercity was born. And so we live down here, devoid of all hope, bar one: the Promised Land, and you will lead us there!" Rukil ended triumphantly.
Bastila was speechless for a moment. Unfazed, Rukil continued his story.
"Legends tell of a self sufficient colony deep below the Undercity, founded shortly before the famine, and lost during the Civil War. A paradise where droid servants supply every need. For many years, I searched for the Promised Land, as did my father and grandfather before me. When I became old and grey, my apprentice continued the search on my behalf."
Rukil sighed a moment and shook his head. "Malya, my apprentice, was found dead some weeks ago, killed in her pursuit for knowledge. She did not die in vain, however, and her journal, which holds crucial evidence was returned to me. After all these years, I am that close to the Promised Land!"
Curious, Bastila asked him, "What do you wish me to do?"
"Bastila!" Carth exclaimed. "We're on our own mission here, if you don't remember!"
"This is a chance to help the Outcasts!" Bastila replied passionately.
"And we have a small window of opportunity to help Mission, to rescue your Master, and save the galaxy," Carth retorted compellingly. "We don't have a lifetime, Bastila."
"I…" for a moment, Bastila closed her eyes. The rush of a multitude of feelings that had overwhelmed her that day with Revan and the beggars cascaded over her once again, and her heart became heavy within her. "You're right." With a sigh, she turned to Rukil, and told him, "I'm sorry."
Rukil cocked his head to the side and chuckled wheezily. "We can decide, but that doesn't always mean we choose."
"Let's wait over here," Carth said, drawing Bastila away. She began to take out ties and fix her hair more securely. Carth thought that the twin tails were a bit immature, but remembered her age and temper and remained silent. He hoped things would be a bit more steady once they rescued her Master, but judging Revan purely by her student, he wasn't feeling optimistic.
Gendar came up after some minutes and looked solemn. "I can say with absolute certainty that your Twi'lek friend did not come back either yesterday or today," he said without preamble. "She is still in out in the wastelands of the Undercity, or possibly in the sewers – a few of the villagers have had conversations with her and told me that the sewers are what she was exploring last."
Rukil's raspy chuckle came from behind them as he hobbled closer. Carth turned around and gave him a look, what, you're still here? Bastila was getting distinctly uneasy. She had thought that some of the Jedi Masters were a little bit… shall we say, unorthodox? But she would have welcomed them now.
"You must go into the sewers. I knew that before. My grandfather and father… knew, and my apprentice knew."
"Rukil," Gendar said reprovingly, "no more of your fairy stories. Haven't you done enough damage?"
"I tell truth, young Gendar," Rukil said reproachfully. "They must go into the sewers, and find the journals. The journals my father and grandfather died for."
"This talk of the Promised Land sounds like a myth to me," Carth accused him, "something to keep up the false hope of the villagers, something they can dream about to escape the harsh realities of this existence."
"It is no false hope, upworlder," Rukil insisted doggedly.
"Stop pestering the upworlder, Rukil," Gendar rebuked gently, as to a child.
"After one hundred years of life, I am not worthy of respect, Gendar?"
As the situation seemed likely to devolve and prolong things further, Carth intervened and said, "We're for the sewers now. If we find your things, Rukil, we'll bring them back when we can. Thank you very much for your help Gendar. We have to go now. That's the gate, right?"
With an understanding look, Gendar nodded. Without looking back, Carth and Bastila made for the gateway to the Undercity, the portal between the thick walls surrounding the village. The guard who sat their on guard and who was responsible for the traffic in and out seemed nervous. Carth supposed he would be too in his position. Digging in his backpack, he handed Bastila one vision enhancing visor, and slipped the other over his eyes.
As they stepped out past the gateway and heard the gate snap back into position, both of them were plagued by uneasy sensations. The hairs on the back of Carth's neck stood up and prickled, while an irrepressible shiver ran down Bastila's spine.
It didn't help when strange unidentifiable howls rang from the Outlands. Carth was a brave soldier, but he swallowed convulsively and gripped his blasters tightly before loosing his hold slightly. Bastila wished she had time to slip into a meditation. She did allow the Force to run over her skin and into her muscles for a moment, but she was feeling so unsettled the Force just seemed to scald her slightly.
Carth checked his datapad, glancing up uncomfortably from time to time. "The sewer entrance is up that way," he gestured to the right with his right hand blaster. That was where some of the shrieks had come from.
They were quiet as they advanced slowly, each trying to be careful and silent as they stepped over the moist Tarisian dirt. Bastila's face wavered as she smelt a scorched, acrid smell. Carth halted her with the back of his hand. "Fuel," he whispered, and pointed his blaster ahead at some scoring in the earth, a single line that went from shallow and thin to deep and wide – slightly wider than an escape pod. Carth inhaled sharply and took off at a jog, following the sign in the dirt while scanning for threats. "I can't go past this," he muttered, almost to himself.
Bastila followed awkwardly, her body skewed around to check that they could not be attacked without warning from behind. This made it difficult for her to spot and avoid the various mounds of dirt and piles of debris the Tarisian earth had accumulated over decades, if not hundreds of years. She tripped into the scorched valley, her boots crunching the heat-damaged soil, before jumping back out.
The unearthly screams did not stop. There was a pack of hungry somethings out there.
Then Bastila heard another noise, one that did not fit. It was Carth, who shouted. He saw a lone figure sprawled on the ground, some distance in front of a huge cylinder. As they advanced quickly, the cylinder revealed itself to be an escape pod, hatch open and gaping.
"Is he breathing?" Bastila gasped, as Carth bent down and felt for a pulse.
"Yes, he is, but very fast, and his pulse is galloping," Carth muttered, peeling the injured soldier's eyelid back.
Trying to catch her breath, not so much from fatigue as from sudden stress, Bastila scanned as much of the surrounding terrain as possible, before regarding the wounded man. His once pristine Republic Ensign's uniform was in tatters, barely protecting his modesty. Through the gaps of the fabric, Bastila could see gaping wounds, scratched flesh and quite a lot of blood. She tried to stop herself from feeling ill. She had never been on the front lines – she always waged her war from a distance.
"Heads up!" Carth's voice rang out, as he could see some hazy grey smudges moving on the edge of the visible terrain. Bastila clutched her brand tightly, and as the silvery blurs came closer, gave herself up to the Force again, enduring the mild scald on her senses as it settled into accustomed channels in her muscles and nerves.
She was hazily aware, in some dim corner of her mind, that Carth was cursing pretty luridly and from that alone could tell he was really worried. When a target came up, for that was all it was, a target, she looked not at appearance but how to defeat it. Anything else would have to come later.
And then – it was over.
Bastila looked up as Carth grabbed her shoulders. "Are you okay? Did they bite you?" Bastila managed to shake her head. She always felt so stupid and slow when she withdrew from the Force. She focussed on Carth's person. He wasn't damaged either, for a wonder. Her eyes caught the sight of five new figures sprawling on the ground; these, however, were a silvery grey colour, and naked.
With a gasp, Bastila pulled herself up and staggered back, glancing around wildly. "Where's the soldier? The injured man? Did they take him?"
Carth looked up from his perusal of the ground. "We were attacked by only four rakghouls at first, Bastila." She hadn't noticed before, but his complexion was pale, and … was that vomit?
Only four rakghouls? What did he mean?
"He changed, Bastila. The survivor – he changed in front of my eyes. Dammit, and I'd thought I'd seen it all." He huffed out a laugh. "He must have been bitten when he was attacked the first time. He changed, and then charged at you. You put him down without a second look – he'd have got me, if he'd tried it." Carth sighed and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "That's a neat trick you have. Wish I could do that."
You know not what you wish for, Bastila thought, hiding her horror. To have done things without the memory of it – she suddenly thought that she would be more saving with how she used that particular technique.
Author's Notes and Explanations: Firstly, all my reviewers are AWESOME. There is not a good enough word to describe them.
Is it just me or were you offended by Kreia's slights at normal sight? I have to wear glasses, and the first day I got them I was enraptured by everything I couldn't see clearly before. My Revan has simple tastes – she likes colours, too. And sorry if I misused 'Force Perception', if indeed it already exists, but really, what else can you call it?? I have two explanations why Revan doesn't die. One, she's used to electricity, and Two, the collar was designed to elicit pain, but certainly not kill. Dead slaves are worth nothing. There would be safeguards against that. Okay, I guess I am lame. But please suspend your disbelief! This is fiction, and fanfiction at that.
And in the game, who did you want to kill more, Jorak Uln or Uthar Wynn? I would have liked a more 'creative' way to destroy Jorak. Still, with a cheat (to boost my Dark Side) I could totally frustrate him on that last question. That was sweet.
And Kreia was indeed my Revan's first Master, as you can deduce from the chapter. She evidently absorbed some of her lessons. I hated that part in Kotor II, but I'm pretty sure I understand its lesson: every action, right or wrong, has consequences. Maybe Revan thought Bastila too naïve and needed to show her some of the darkness in the galaxy. Or did she just want to alienate the girl and shake up her composure for sport? She may not be a Sith Lord, but she does have a mean streak.
I was going to skip the whole rakghoul serum & Promised Land stuff, but I didn't think Bastila would pass up that sort of thing. I once read a fic that had Mission find the journals the day before, and they never met the Outcasts. Though I would love to do that too, it would be copying! The only thing I'm trying to outright copy here is the game, and I'm trying to make that different, too. And when I first played the game, I tried to do as much as I could on Taris, and when it was destroyed, I thought it might have been because I took too long. (Stupid of me, I know.) But if you put that into a real life situation, that is something that would be considered, no?
How Bastila fights is just a thing I made up. It's influenced a bit by what I've read about Force Rage – but it's the Light Side version. She uses it because *gasp* she's not the best at physical combat. For a Jedi, that is. Why I put it in? Dunno. Just something to write, I guess.
So, have anything to complain about? Talk about? Review about? Review if you have anything at all to say. I wouldn't mind criticism. (I think it would probably be merited. This has not really been my best). I will reply to each one. I do anyway.