You remarked to me once that you did not understand poetry, that it has always left you feeling a little bereft, as if the meaning had fluttered away before you could catch it – a cunning, sparkling butterfly that teasingly called to you, just out of reach. But my poems are simple, and that I can promise. They are merely a list, humbly collected, of the ways in which you have pitilessly stolen my heart and the means by which I have devised to steal it back. I could, with accuracy, call you witch, temptress, underhanded siren of tempestuous seas. But I would rather call you, and more fittingly I believe, muse.
The Sith student kept his word; he came back the next day and brought water and food with him. Somehow he had managed to sneak in a satchel of dried meat and oats, which was better food than the Exile had been given in a week. She ate in nervous silence, half-fearing that the food might be laced with poison, but she was unable to call on her Force powers to search his mind for hidden evils. As she devoured the spicy dried meat, the Sith knelt beside her, holding the water carafe and explaining his reasons for aiding her. He seemed mesmerized by her face, staring at her all the time until she pleaded with him to look away; the endless torture and food deprivation had left her gaunt and tattered.
"My family once ruled K'resh and most of Lokan. When the Sith arrived we were not prepared at all for their invasion and their… Evil. It was swift and terrible, they killed whoever and whatever they wanted. They turned my home, our home, into their private battleground. Now they take over everything, eating up planet after planet… They're insatiable," the young man said, taking a sip of the water.
"You're a member of the royal family?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes," he said. "But it isn't as impressive as you might think. The Sith killed my little sister and my oldest sister rules now. That's why I came here, to join the Sith, I mean, I had no chance of gaining the throne and I thought maybe… It's foolish, but I thought I could gain some favor with the Sith, get them to ease the trade lock up and persuade them to let us contact other nations again," he explained, his brow deeply furrowed. The Exile had picked up on the man's nobility earlier, he possessed a very upright air for a mere student; Sith apprentices were beaten and harassed into submission, they skulked around like mistreated dogs, but this young man maintained his dignity. She looked at his sweet face, his stout head with the deeply concerned eyes and pink, boyish lips – what had inspired this prince to volunteer his aid? And his voice, his voice sounded familiar but not in any immediately significant way.
"And your name?" the Exile asked.
"Khai'Shel niK'Resh," he replied, inclining his head. "But you may call me Khai. And yours?"
"I no longer have a name," she said, smiling sadly. "I am my mission, and that is all. There is no use naming something that is marked for death."
"That is exactly what I am hoping to remedy," Khai exclaimed, his voice an excited whisper.
"Don't hope for me, please. You're young, you can get out of here, escape. Just leave, Khai, nothing is keeping you here. If you get off the planet you could leave the Sith behind. Go somewhere far away, somewhere they will never find you and have a life," she said. Her eyes watered; how she wished she could follow her own advice. Khai shook his head and grabbed her hand, pressing it urgently.
"There is a way to save you," Khai said. "There is always a way."
"I might have thought that at one point, I'll admit, but these chains are too powerful. Without the Force I will not be able to free myself," she replied. "Besides, why would you help me?"
"Because your kind have always been dear to my family," Khai replied. "We too can yield this thing you call the Force, but for us it is very different. Those who are born with it are blessed, they are the Prophets, and they are our only guide in the dark times. I see now that my hopes were silly, that joining the Sith was dangerous and childish."
"They aren't just going to let you walk out of here with me," the Exile said. She was beginning to think that this young man was a bit insane or even more likely, delusional. It could also be a trap, she realized, some Sith machination to knock her off guard. Kindness was often taken too literally by the Jedi, and taken at face value friendship could be manipulated and twisted into an evil, hurtful thing. She would not fall prey to this young man's scheme, however open and trusting his countenance was.
"Give me a chance; I know I may not seem like much to you now, but I have powerful friends on the outside."
"You're going to help me just because I use the Force?" she asked, incredulous.
"The Sith talk about you in whispers, they speak of you as if you were the coming of doom, as if you are the end of their world. They fear you and what my people need most is a weapon that inspires that kind of abject terror. I am a proud man, Jedi, but I can recognize salvation when it looks me in the eyes. You are beautiful, Jedi, you glow with an inner light even wrapped up in those dreadful chains," he said, touching a strand of her hair worshipfully. "Tell me, if I can find a way to release you, will you help my family rid Lokan of the Sith infestation?"
The Exile briefly considered telling him the truth, that even if she were to escape, the Sith had likely colonized many other nearby planets, perhaps entire systems, and his family would be crushed under heel if they were even suspected of harboring a Jedi. If Sith like Giresh existed elsewhere than the chances of the Sith threat dying out was almost nonexistent. She had been prepared to encounter cruel men, yes, but she was still surprised by the force of their hatred. And yet, even with the Force inhibited, she sensed something in the young man that encouraged her to believe him. Someone had once told her that small acts of kindness would heal the galaxy and perhaps it was important to keep faith in those seemingly meaningless deeds. This prince's eyes were sincere, yes, but there was something else, some nagging in her heart that said he had an important part to play in her destiny. Rousing herself, she gave him a dazzling smile.
"Yes, Khai, if you find a way to release me then I will gladly stand by your family and do whatever I can to destroy the Sith," she said. It wasn't a complete lie; after all, she had come to this unknown planet with the intent of confronting the Sith Empire. There was another desire in her, she knew, a feverish desire for liberation. She would do anything she could think of to be out of this dank, painful prison and even the long shot would suffice. Desperation, she knew, was a terrible companion and she silently reminded herself to remain cautious and vigilant.
Khai beamed at her, clasping her hand in his.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you. I will not let you down. I swear to you, before the week is out, you shall be free."
- - -
"You're still awake?"
Mission turned around quickly, finding Bao-Dur standing in the corridor, dressed in a thin sleeping robe. She smiled with what little energy she had left and nodded to the seat next to her. Perfectly sensible of his body outlined beneath the robe, she kept her eyes glued to the table. The Ebon Hawk was speeding away from Dxun, guided by the coordinates generously provided by Mandalore and his team of analysts, who gave them their best estimate of the Exile's journey. Mandalore had seemed sad to see them go, clutching the Disciple's wrist with fatherly tenderness.
One sleeve on the Iridonian's robe was pulled up, revealing the blue glow of his electrically attached arm. Mission had often wondered what would happen if she stuck her fingers into the jet of blue light, but she had never felt bold enough to ask him; she assumed the answer would involve her losing one or all of said fingers. He sat beside her and glanced at the row of pazaak cards; she had been playing against herself. In the next room the Disciple was silent, asleep for the moment.
"I don't sleep much anymore," Mission murmured, shuffling the cards skillfully and dealing them. Bao-Dur took up the cards she dealt, keeping his eyes firmly locked on her.
"You have to stop worrying about him," Bao-Dur said gently. "He's remembering more and more. He'll soon be set right again."
"Well, I'm glad you're optimistic. Anyway, it isn't that," Mission said, whispering. "It's about Revan. I received a transmission from Zaalbar an hour ago. She's left the battle, she returned to Coruscant. She and Admiral Onasi disappeared; no one knows where they've gone to."
"What? She's defected?" Bao-Dur hissed.
"Your Exile is on her own, Revan's gone home."
"I knew it," Bao-Dur said, shaking his head in despair. "I knew this would happen. These women get it in their heads that they can take on the whole world, that somehow they don't need anyone's help - "
"Excuse me, what do you mean these women?" Mission asked, setting down her cards.
"Revan… The Exile… It's ridiculous. It will take an army to destroy the Sith, many armies, not one bull-headed woman," Bao-Dur replied. Mission set her mouth in a firm line, studying the Iridonian closely. They had grown closer during their brief stay on Dxun, but not to the point where she could take what he said at face value.
"It has nothing to do with them being women. Besides, she's your General. You said yourself she was a frakkin hurricane on Malachor. Anyway, I don't see the Republic falling over themselves to offer any armies for the job; Revan was just trying to save lives by sacrificing her own," Mission countered.
"Oh and that worked out brilliantly, didn't it?" he scoffed. "Now she's run off with the Admiral of the Republic forces. Don't you get it, Mission? Revan's sending a message: It's hopeless, turn back now, have a life while you still can."
"You can't speak for her," Mission whispered fiercely. "You never even met her, I did. I know she went to war with the best intentions and when she figured out she was in trouble she left. Wouldn't you do the same? What if you went to fight the Sith by yourself? Can you imagine how lonely that would be? And what if I was waiting on Dantooine for you?"
Mission covered her mouth. She had gone too far. It was never supposed to be about them, and she knew better than to hint that they figured into the equation. They were supposed to be delivering the Disciple, dropping him like a proton bomb on the Exile in the hope it would give her the extra edge she needed and tip the balance of the war. Whatever happened to she and Bao-Dur was inconsequential in the midst of so much responsibility, and she didn't want to invite too much intimacy. It was pointless, she knew, to encourage him when they might be dead any day.
Bao-Dur smiled sadly at her and moved his chair closer.
"Say that again," he murmured.
"Say what?" she asked, blushing deep blue and looking away.
"…That you would wait for me."
"You know I would, Bao, but that's not the point. We might be heading for big trouble, in fact, I know we are. What's the use in starting something now, here, at the end?" she asked, fighting back tears. A memory winked at her from far off, a vision of her standing among friends and compatriots on an alien beach, a love-struck Captain and his Jedi love hand in hand while their friends looked on. What had Master Bindo said? She didn't want to remember, it would only make things more difficult.
"You're young; you shouldn't talk like you have nothing left. We can't exist just for other people. We can risk our lives, sure, and we can help the Disciple, but someday we have to be selfish, Mission. I can be selfish, and if this is indeed the end, then I'd rather go out smiling, selfishly, wouldn't you?" Bao-Dur asked, placing a warm, inciting hand on her knee.
"No," she said softly, turning back to him. "Forget smiling. I'd much rather go out kissing."
"Kissing? Kissing who?"
Bao-Dur grinned, leaning toward her, falling hopelessly into her orbit. Mission wanted the tension to last forever, for that moment to stretch on and on so she could keep feeling his mouth getting closer, keep smelling his warm-earth scent.
Then a sound ripped through the hull of the ship, and for a moment, Mission thought they had collided with an asteroid. But it was the Disciple; he was awake and screaming as if he were being torn slowly in half. She jumped out of her chair, sprinting into the sleeping quarters where she found the Disciple sitting bolt upright in his bunk, sweat pouring down his neck. The cords in his throat stood out and he was clutching at his chest. In the dim glow of Bao-Dur's arm he was cast in a ghostly blue light. He looked even paler than usual, caught up as he was in his fit of hysterics.
"What is it?" she demanded, sitting on the bed beside him, feeling his feverish forehead.
"We must hurry," he whispered, choking on the words.
"We're going as fast as we can," Bao-Dur replied, filling up the doorway.
"No," the Disciple croaked. His eyes were wide, filled with something, some terrible knowledge or sight that Mission could only imagine. "The danger… A snake in the bed, from the bowels of the earth in the… We must hurry."
"What are you talking about? Did you see something through the Force?" Mission asked, smoothing his hair away from his damp forehead. She had filled this role before, calming Revan on many of her sleepless, nightmare-ridden nights.
"She needs us, Mission," the Disciple murmured, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. "The Force is crying, sobbing, as if already in mourning. Can you not hear it?"
Mission looked over at Bao-Dur who licked his lips nervously in the dim light. He nodded at her and she winced; now two of them had felt it and she knew it was only a matter of time before her command of the Force sent her the same desperate message. She turned back to the Disciple and pushed on his shoulders lightly until he lay down again.
"Try to sleep," she said, forcing a motherly smile. She hated playing the grown-up; why couldn't Bao-Dur take care of his friend sometime? "We'll get there as soon as we can. Until then, we just have to believe… Everything will work itself out. It has to."
