Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Wow, I am amazed how many readers this story has gained. :) Thanks for following, faving and especially for reviewing!

I have a ton of stuff reserved for upcoming chapters; certain pieces will finally start falling together, sort of… Getting increasingly AU from now on.


Chapter 8: Beasts of Prey

Forty hours.

...Should be enough.

Let's calculate once again:

It's a two-hour march to the crash site of the first. Then to the second. Possibly. Need to reserve altogether maybe five hours… The transition, wait for the night. Estimated four hours in the base and back. Probably even quicker.

Unless things turn…more challenging.

Executing the backup plan takes twenty hours a minimum. This means the Twi'lek girl needs to be located in six hours. Maximum. Or we are walking through the Vulkar front door tomorrow, and it is a bloody bad idea.

Although the current course of action did not exactly glitter with eyesight-blinding splendor in terms of brilliance, the alternatives were even worse. After those two hours we had spent 'negotiating' at the Hidden Beks' base - if the past discussion even could be described in such a positive light - we had walked out with a deal which could be characterized nothing else than hollow.

Rather take it or leave it.

Hell - if there is a pile of shab in front of me, it does not evolve into something tempting. It's totally friggin independent of the manner it is described.

But it was a deal nonetheless. Something to work on. Something to…exploit.

Yes - the other options had indeed offered quicker ways to commit suicide and Gadon Thek, the leader of the Hidden Beks swoop gang, had known it as well as we had. The main obstacle – and it was a relatively large one to put it lightly - was that only one single way…one possible means of getting to the actual swoop racetrack existed.

Precisely, walking to the exact location where Bastila Shan was about to be presented as a prize by the Black Vulkars gang in less than two days of time was entirely out of the question. Bastila Shan's expected position was somewhere near the center of the track, which was an area efficiently separated from the audience by dozens of meters wide pits descending as far down as to the Undercity.

The one way to enter the site without extensive use of Jedi skills, smoke, firepower, and foolhardiness was as a participant. As a racer to one of the swoop gangs.

One competitor per each gang. No exceptions made.

Gadon Thek had offered us the Beks' slot. The opportunity for one from our group to race their swoop bike as the gang's named competitor. Because the offer itself was so tremendously generous that it absolutely made no bloody sense, there obviously was a catch and Thek did not even bother to try to disguise it with finer words.

Sabotage.

That was the price to pay for the favor: to slip into the base of the Black Vulkars and to…modify…their swoop bike in a manner, which could be classified disadvantageous. Thek was not interested in the exact details of the 'how', but what counted was that as the mildly steered consequence Vulkars' bike was not going to race in perfect condition. The way he rationalized it, he did not want any of his Beks to be imprinted to sharp eyes of the numerous security cameras monitoring the base and hard drives of Vulkar computers. To avoid impending retaliation, he needed a group whose affiliation was unknown and who could not be connected to Bek gang colors.

Fair enough? No.

How I silently had formulated the message in my mind: we were disposable.

Two soldiers of the Republic and a Jedi Knight far behind enemy lines with not much more to offer than raw muscle and unfamiliar features. Deemed desperate but skillful enough for carrying out actions of these measures.

For a person who used eye-prosthetics to see Thek was amazingly perceptive.

We had walked away with this deal in grim agreement, but it was evident that this was a game of dejarik pinpointed to shift the internal power distribution amongst swoop gangs and the parts of the m'onnoks, the brute force, were designated for us. Washing the dirty laundry, to rephrase it in a not-so-elevating manner.

It was an acceptable role.

It was acceptable only because contrary to the other options, and whether Thek foresaw it or not, this offered room for movement. It provided possibilities. Eventually, only that was needed.

Because one detail was crystal clear. Ultimately there was only a single objective for our group: to gain access to the swoop racetrack, to physically get to this very strictly restricted location near Bastila Shan.

I did not give a kriff about winning the race.

As a matter of fact nor was I planning to start a swoop bike's rumbling engine and test my skills against other racers... And not only because we were a group of soldiers and not a bunch of swoop racing experts on some intergalactic tourney. But this was a start.

The real question is: one person on the track is a start, but how to get there two?

Increasing manpower on the racetrack was the next logical step because not much could be done from the other side of the pit where the audience was seated, and that was a fact.

How to succeed in that?

My mind was furiously mapping possibilities, and calculating probabilities of potential paths while the elevator speeded down almost silently, towards the Undercity of Taris. Shadows of dull anticipation of the upcoming were darkened masks on my companions' features. Stocked up with necessities and a rough understanding of escape pod locations on a datapad containing a map of the area, we were prepared, but not eager. No words were exchanged during the ten-minute journey down.

Undercity was a nasty location.

In addition to the endless horde of rakghouls, somewhere there was the backdoor to the Black Vulkar base. Somewhere down there was also the young Twi'lek girl who supposedly among the very few knew the way there, Mission Vao.

I had often had the feeling inside my gut that the Force had a sense of humor. Now I was suspecting that the Force was bending its head back and shamelessly laughing out loud in glee since the exact same blue-skinned Twi'lek teenager had helpfully pointed Sandra towards the Hidden Bek base at Javyar's Cantina a few hours back. The last sighting of the girl and her seven-foot tall Wookiee companion had been near this elevator, the duo proceeding down to only Force knew where. According to Thek the two often spent time salvaging in the Undercity area so taking a look at the escape pod crash landing sites was only one sensible guess we could make.

A deceleration in the steady movement indicated the end of the journey before elevator doors opened with a slight creak. We stepped out slowly, hands resting on handles of swords or the rifle, eyes scanning the environment for potential threats.

Undercity? Not much of a city.

I thought dryly while laying my eyes on the few dozen, clumsy, deplorable constructions defining the habitable perimeter of the lowest layer of Taris. The village was nothing more than discarded materials such as rusted metal sheets and bars fixed together to form something remotely resembling shelters.

This was a dark, sunless, dead world.

In the distance, I could perceive shadowy shapes of tall, skyscraper-sized pillars. Those carried the weight of the top plates. Up high, here and there were a few still functional panels shedding faint light. Personally, I had no doubt that they were not in the scope of any repair effort…and eventually, eternal darkness would rule over this realm.

Behind the slum village was a ten-meter wall constructed of long metal bars and metal mesh, spiraling barbwire securing the top. It surrounded the area entirely, forming the only safe zone available on this level. The sole, lonely sanctuary. Outside hunted the disease materialized: rakghouls. The beings, which had once walked in human form but now only lived to stalk and prey upon the exact same type of meat they originally had been constructed of.

And if the air of the Lower City had initially seemed thick, this needed a vibrosword to cut through.

The stench was a wall of dampness, mustiness, waste, and death, which invaded my senses with force and I had to press my lips together in order not to grimace in disgust. But I knew that it would not take long before my brain had adjusted itself to the smell and likely after we were done and riding the lift back up to the Lower City, the local air would seem strangely fresh and light for a while.

The villagers were a sad, pitiful looking lot. If we ever had the intention of moving through the village unnoticed, it was easy to see it shatter.

Although the doors of the lift must have had opened numerous of times after the crashes of Republic escape pods, it had not diminished their fear-flavored curiosity towards strangers the slightest. Their number was probably close to a couple of hundred, all clad in rags, covered in dirt and suffering from apparent malnutrition.

That equaled to approximately two hundred eyes momentarily directed straight towards us.

So much for subtlety.

A perfect contrast to the environment, the Jedi was a beacon with her shining red hair and surprisingly yet spotless light brown battle armor.

"Do they still toss people down here?" I enquired quietly between my teeth, revolted of what I saw and not really expecting Sandra to answer.

And she did not; the change in her expression was barely perceptible, but it was there. The pain was breaking through the emerald steel of her eyes. Carth's features were tense, his mouth a thin disgusted line.

Outcasts and their descendants. Murderers, misfits and their children; forced to live in darkness, starvation and surrounded by flesh-eating mutants.

Did I feel pity? No. I was not in a position that I could have allowed such emotions sway my thoughts from the essential, the mission. But a portion of me despised the decaying infrastructure of this planet.

No strength in foundations so diseased…

"There's the gate," Onasi said, gesturing towards the distance. "Let's try to ask around if someone has seen the girl before we go through."

I nodded in agreement, noting that after the initial peaked attention most of the villagers were returning to their daily tasks, demeanor submissive and shunning eye contact. Most of.

The bulk of my focus had already locked to the locations of the two outcasts nearing our group. I let my fingers bend around the grip of the blaster. It was more due to an old habit than an actual intuition of danger closing in - since even after evaluating the situation I did not see any.

"Hey! This is our elevator! Nobody uses it without paying the toll!" the taller of the two young men cried out, demandingly. There was a long, rusty, bent metal bar in his hands, which he held up high likely to fulfill the requirements for his mental definitions for 'threatening' and 'friggin tough guy'.

"Yeah! Five credits!" the other one shouted supportively, equally thin and dirty as his companion and armed with a crude sword.

What the kriff? -

- Lacking the patience of tolerating any forms of delays, I did not hesitate. With one swift and intentionally overt movement, I pulled my pistol from its holster and pulled the trigger once. The ground centimeters away from the taller man's feet exploded, sending dust to his shoes. The man took an instinctive stumbling step back, and a wordless yelp left his lips.

"Keep your distance!" I commanded sharply, not even bothering to lift the pistol up to actually aim anything, but keeping it close to the ready as a pending promise of a quick death. Likely the gesture was all that was needed - pursuing any permanent solutions related to these scumbacks seemed a bit exaggerated since according to the shock on their faces their self-confidence was already crumbling to pieces before my eyes.

"You two – get out of here, now!"

The woman's shout came behind the men, and the two belonging to our fearless-turned-apprehensive welcoming committee seemed almost glad to oblige. She was an outcast just like the men but judging from the resolute tone of her voice likely holding a position a step higher in their internal hierarchy.

"I apologize."

The woman directed her words to me. She was in her early thirties, hair black and long, clothes a mixture of misshaped rags of leather and cloth. Although looking thin but seemingly healthy, I took note of the slight greyish tint of her ashen skin; all in all, those were features of a person who had never walked under a sun. Probably a second-generation outcast, I concluded.

"Not all of us are accustomed to treating visitors from the top in a polite manner. Welcome to our village. I am Shaleena."

"No harm done," I replied neutrally and holstered the pistol, seeing that it was no longer needed.

"Thank you, Shaleena," Carth said, the look on his face open and approachable. "We are looking for a Twi'lek girl who is usually accompanied by a Wookiee. They rode the lift down here a couple hours back. I wonder if you'd seen where they took off?"

The expression on Shaleena's face lightened.

"Mission Vao!" she exclaimed excitedly. "They often come to our village with Zaalbar. Such a nice girl, brings us goods sometimes…"

As it turned out, the outcast was more than willing to help. I compared the rough trajectory Shaleena gave to the map on the datapad while she attempted to drown Onasi with a flood of unnecessary information. The Commander was polite enough to listen.

"If you want anything – just anything - from our village I am sure that Gendar will assist you. He is our leader. …Or…or Rukil Wrinkle-Skin. He is the oldest man in the village and very wise… "

Escape pod number one. A two-hour march, I estimated.

"Let's get moving," I suggested dryly, disinterested in spending any more of our precious minutes in this village. I saw Onasi press a credit chip on Shaleena's open palm, and we proceeded to move through the village towards the gate.

We did not get far.

The lone shriek that rose up to the heights was almost bone shredding in all the horror it contained. And the fear was there; present, pulsating and trembling like a living beast.

…The agony burning inside lungs with every intake of air…

…The adrenaline circling the system, pushing final drops of strength to muscles that already were pulling beyond their limits…

I blinked, trying to comprehend what my senses were hammered with.

…Emotions… Not mine, I understood, taken aback and slightly shocked by the realization.

"A rakghoul." Sandra almost whispered the word.

…And we dashed towards the movement by the gate. The screaming woman, her features a twisting mask of fear, clung desperately to the arm of the guard who was pulling the gate closed.

"Please – don't! He will make it - he will make it! Run - Hendar!"

"It's too late, Hestra!" the guard told her, voice shaking but determined. "We cannot risk the safety of the village!"

The gates closed with a loud clank and the woman collapsed down to her knees as if been physically hit. The wail of agony leaving her lips contained no words.

The two nearing shapes were half a hundred meters away. I held the pistol up, took an aim through the sights and wanted to curse out loud. It was bloody hopeless. I could see it from the running man's enlarged eyes and gaping mouth – how he tried to fill his lungs with air, but how his body had already dozens of steps away met its limits in endurance and speed. The predator only a few meters behind him was closing the distance.

Galloping on all fours and feet-long nails digging to the soft dirt of the ground, it could have been described to move like a giant, muscular hound.

…If the hound in question had been furless, covered only by light grey, slime-oozing skin. And if the hound's head did not comprise of much more than a mouth, which slit it from left to right and revealed a hundred, razor-sharp teeth.

It was a bite poisonous as Hell.

Fear and not logic steering his actions, the man's steps were directed straight towards the gate. Naturally, he was taking the shortest route – an act, which was efficiently dooming him. Due to the lack of any angle, his form also covered the creature, the beast's skin efficiently shielded by his flesh.

But nevertheless, I aimed the pistol, let the front sight pole center the rear notch and align with the location of the target.

…The beast had to be slain. It was a fact and not about to change, independent on whether or not the creature was feeding off the man during the moment when I'd be pulling the trigger.

Let's see.

…There was a split second deviation in the rhythm of the hunt. The creature took a quick sidestep, instinctively avoiding irregularities on the ground. Suddenly an opening manifested to the view – I saw a length of grey skin revealed through the sights. My pistol spat out a flying red row of blaster bolts, and I could hear Carth reacting in the same manner on my right side.

Red ammo gashed its shoulder and tore muscle…and it stumbled. But no more than a couple of leaps were left short – the rakghoul had not been startled enough to drop the chase. Too overtaken by the hunger, the pain was not a factor it could fathom. The distance the man gained to the beast was close to nothing.

"Bloody Hell," I cursed out loud, half-growling and mentally swearing at the mesh of the fence that fragmented the line of sight and the man who unknowingly sabotaged all of his own hopes for a savior.

"The window is too small!" Carth shouted, sharing my thoughts. "We'll risk hitting him."

"Aim up."

Those were Sandra's words. Stated with a resolute tone.

…And the rakghoul lost its momentum right in the middle of a leap. The beast rose screeching up to the air, meters high, gnawing and clawing the invisible hand that held its mass.

…Each and every single swear word I had ever heard in galactic basic, Mando'a and a large number of other languages crossed my mind that instant second…

Our blasters sang with a red, high-pitched note. There was no life left in the smoking corpse filled with dark holes which Sandra released to fall to the dry, yellow dirt. The carcass met the ground not far from the man who had now collapsed due to exhaustion. He was visibly shaking, inhaling and exhaling forced breaths, slowly piecing recent events together – shock yet frozen on his features.

I shook my head from side to side and wanted to grimace. The newly awakened rage was a dark, swirling storm cloud within my mind and I had to use every ounce of my willpower not to toss a fairly huge number of blade-edged words towards the Jedi.

There is no room for this – for mistakes of this caliber. Otherwise, we can all just bloody quit and go home.

Instead, I bit the words back, pushed the gate open while the guard watched us in bewilderment and walked out to the field with a long, enraged stride. The woman dashed past me, and soon the couple was a crying, panting mess on the ground.

Need to perform a friggin amputation to separate those two.

"That was a wonderful display of skills, Jedi," I spat out when we were an ear's range away from the village. My mood was sour, and I did not have high expectations on it improving quickly.

"Dazzling, I might say…memorable."

I did not attempt to hide the black blade of poisonous sarcasm in my voice and the anger and frustration from my demeanor.

"You would have let him die…" Sandra said after a moment's silence, her eyes fixed on my features.

"Without a doubt," I said firmly, not letting the steel abate from my voice.

"I wouldn't have considered it for a second. Way better that than to expose our location to every bloody Dark Jedi traversing the Undercity. Or to take the risk of our 'helpful friends' back there directing a patrol of Sith to our tail."

"How much I'd hate to let the guy die… I think Daraz has a point here," Carth told her, keeping his tone neutral. "It's a Hell of a risk you took, Sandra."

The look on the Jedi's features sharpened.

"My duty as a Jedi Knight is to serve the disadvantaged…it is to defend the weak!"

The tone was openly defensive.

The naïve, ignorant being. What were the few years between us could have been decades.

"Our duty," I said, stressing those words, "Is to find and free Bastila Shan and to ensure her safety. The slayer of Darth Revan, the single most important person of the bloody entire Republic war effort, they say… It'll get friggin complicated trying to locate her from a Sith interrogation compartment."

Sandra's steps came to a sudden halt. She heaved out a long sigh.

"All this pain and suffering… It is strong in the Force," she explained quietly, shaking her head and sorrow lingering in her eyes.

"I take it you lived in the Upper City," I stated and saw her nod.

So that was it, then. I often forgot that Sandra was of Tarisian origin due to the fact she mentioned it so rarely. I knew that she had not lived here longer than for the first few years of life. But possibly, although Jedi were instructed to avoid attachments, this place still reminded her of…home, sort of. Which, in turn, made all the suffering she witnessed to stab her at a more personal level than what was suitable.

"I think… I never fully understood what it was like down here. I am...sorry. I acted with…instinct, didn't think," Sandra finally said.

A portion of me resented it – how she of all the people let empathy stand in the way of logic when much more important objectives were at stake.

I wanted to press my hands on her shoulders and shake her to reality.

"Keep your focus on the mission, Jedi," I told her bluntly. "Remember what we came here for."

And although I did not say it out loud, I could feel the tension gathering. It was not because of numerous packs of rakghouls traversing, searching for prey all around us. It was more due to the countless number of eyes I - somewhere very deep - knew were watching.


There were no guards outside Revan's quarters. There never were any because they were unnecessary. No one – not a single being aboard this vessel would have entered the Dark Lord's personal quarters without his permission. Far more terrible punishments than death existed aboard the Revenge.

The Lieutenant inhaled one deep breath before touching the door control. Doors slipped open silently.

And what he saw was nothing he had expected…

Although years old the memory was as fresh and kicking as if born yesterday.

The Lieutenant knelt beside the escape pod. It was a sorry-looking construction, sunken a half of its height into the dry and yellow, yet soft Undercity ground due to the impact. Although externally scratched and bent from its original round shape because of the existing large number of dents on all surfaces, internally it appeared to be in a surprisingly good condition.

…Unlike the other two he had visited.

The Lieutenant was certain: this was the pod of the Jedi. Of the prey.

He did not expect to find her there, no reason to do so.

The ground was soft; clay and sand mixed, and the surface had been long since turned into a cacophony of intersecting imprints. Mostly humanoids; soldiers and vultures attempting to strip the metallic carcass of anything even remotely valuable. Even three-fingered footprints of mutants could be seen crisscrossing the surface. Already days ago it had become impossible to track if a lone human had left the escape pod by walking on her own legs…or if she had been dragged away.

The Lieutenant was placing his bets on the latter alternative.

There were also signs of a more recent struggle, both on the stomped ground and in the sight of a radically mangled corpse of a Gamorrean. Not due to a Jedi. It was missing both of its arms - those appeared to be literally torn off, and the Lieutenant had to wonder silently the nature of the creature the Gamorrean had come across.

But this was not what he had come here for, to ponder the Jedi's suspected location. His designated prey was not what he actually preyed upon…

…Because everything had changed aboard the Endar Spire.

It had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - which had steered him towards the only possible decision.

…Ultimately, it had been something else…

He did not have to dig far into his memories to come to a conclusion that it had been close to two years, now. When his path had been forged right before his own eyes.

Two years.

...

The room itself was not conspicuous – it was not a room he had expected a Sith Lord to reside in. It was small, not more than twice the size of his. Simple and practical furniture lacked anything reminiscent of luxury. The color scheme followed the exact same shades of grey than his quarters. He saw the form of a bed there on the other side, covers straight and untouched as if never used.

It was a soldier's room. No question about that.

The table on the other side of the room was buried under many datapads and panels. Screens were dotted with text and flashed with graphical depictions of movements of the fleet. He was taken aback when he took note of a shape of an empty…wine glass? Due to the lack of space on the surface, the foot of the object was crammed between three datapads, and it looked seriously out of place.

But he could not linger on that detail for longer than a heartbeat.

The transparisteel windows adorning the back wall of the room opened towards the convex nose of the Revenge and the infinity, which had lost the dots of illumination and elongated to the wildly glistening light show of the hyperspace.

In front of the exact same windows stood a man, silently watching out of those and observing the repetitious, flashing scenery. His tall body and broad back were covered by a black, hooded cloak, which flowed down his form and reached his ankles. The man carried himself straight, posture upright and pure military. He had crossed his hands over his chest. Although hidden behind his form, the Lieutenant knew with certainty that those hands were covered up to elbows with vambraces…dyed to crimson.

Red – the color of blood. Black – the darkness he commanded, bent to his will. So it was said and rumored.

Darth Revan was standing in front of him. And the still form of the Dark Lord of the Sith did not show any signs…any indication that he had noticed his arrival.

The Lieutenant swallowed once. It was an empty swallow because uncertainty had begun to spread within his mind.

Revan must have been completely cognizant of his presence. That was certain; the man standing in front of him was not a man who was caught unaware. So why the silence? Did the Dark Lord expect the Lieutenant to address him? Had he taken too long to arrive? No – it did not make sense. After receiving the Dark Lord's personal orders, he had left his quarters without hesitation. Although Revan was known to be strict and demanding, he was also known to be a realist. He was not an unreasonable man.

So, the Lieutenant decided to stand silent and let seconds spread into minutes.

"Lieutenant," the man's voice suddenly came from somewhere beneath the hood.

"Whom do you serve?"

It was a simple question, stated with a steady tone, and the Dark Lord expected a simple answer. Yet the Lieutenant had trouble forming one. That voice…it had been…

"I have sworn to serve the Sith Empire, Lord Revan," he answered.

"Whom do you serve?!"

The question was repeated, and this time the tone was more commanding, more demanding.

He felt his throat dry up. Revan's voice had been unmodified. It had lacked the mechanical, computer-enhanced edge it had always contained. It could only mean…

Focus, you idiot! - He scolded himself.

There was only one correct answer to the question and, personally, he had no doubt in his mind what it was. He had followed this man during the Mandalorian Wars. He had followed this man to the Unknown Regions. And he was damn sure to follow this man during whatever ordeals he was expected to in the future.

"You, Milord," the Lieutenant replied truthfully.

The room sank into a moment's oppressive silence, and the Lieutenant did not need to have command over the Force to sense that he was being measured. He was being weighted…and he could not avoid picturing a piece of meat before a predator's gleaming eye.

"I sense no lie beneath your words, Lieutenant," the Dark Lord of the Sith stated, tone lacking all emotion. The tall man turned around to face him, and the Lieutenant attempted to comprehend what he saw. He let his eyes linger on the crimson, unique chest piece before lifting them towards his face.

Revan's features were half-hidden by the sharp-edged shadow of the hood, but a portion caught a hint of light. He saw an arc of a lip, a part of a straight nose and pale skin. There was no red-and-black Mandalorian mask covering his face…

A human's face.

"I have an assignment for you, Lieutenant. One, which requires great diligence."

The lips moved.

The Dark Lord let the words hang between them for a while.

"Tomorrow at oh-five-hundred the fleet will drop out of hyperspace over Iridonia. You will leave the Revenge wearing civilian clothing and in a cruiser which is marked to the Republic register."

The tone was monotonous. The Dark Lord walked to the table and picked one of the numerous datapads up.

"Your orders are to travel to Coruscant and enlist in the Republic Navy."

The Lieutenant was quickly piecing the Dark Lord's words together and noted that his heart rate was up a couple of notches. Revan's lips curved slightly upwards in the form of a smile, which did not reflect joy.

"You will become my eyes on the other side of the line, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Milord."

The Lieutenant heard the words leave his lips.

He blinked, and Revan had closed the distance - he was standing right in front of him, and no more the shadow cut the line of sight to his features. The glare of the amber eyes was intense, so fierce that it could have drilled all the way straight into his brain.

Yellow, golden eyes. Eyes of a Sith Lord.

"That is the official story, Lieutenant. What I am about to tell you next shall stay within the walls of this room."

The Dark Lord offered the datapad to him and, stunned, the Lieutenant examined the picture of a young woman – still almost a girl… Those were beautiful features, truth to be told, combined with auburn hair and steel grey eyes.

Why this woman was of interest to the Dark Lord of the Sith?

Revan seemed to sense his confusion.

"Like you are my personal weapon…she is a weapon of the Republic. Of the Jedi. Yet blunt and untrained, but a weapon nonetheless."

Again the lips curved into a slight, joyless shadow of a smile, but the words were stated with a tone hard and demanding as the bedrock.

"I intend to acquire this particular weapon into my possession. Listen very carefully, Lieutenant Weyron, because I shall not repeat my instructions and I most certainly expect you not to fail."

The Lieutenant remembered with the utmost clarity the bewilderment in his steps when he had hurried towards his quarters aboard the Revenge. And the new mission was not on the top of the list of items, which had caused his confused state of mind at the time.

Revan always had a plan behind his actions. Still - there were no exceptions.

Why in the Force's sake the Dark Lord had chosen to reveal his features to him?

It did not make sense, and the Lieutenant did not have anything even remotely resembling an answer, which he could have offered to himself to release his mind from the grasp of the endless maelstrom of questions.

Revan had chosen to hide his features behind the infamous, featureless Mandalorian mask before he had walked to the Mandalorian Wars as a Jedi Knight, as the Revanchist. The Lieutenant had heard rumors of a vow being pledged. A personal commitment taken place.

And as far as he had learned to understand the essence of the Revanchist, the General, and the Dark Lord of the Sith, the mask was his face and his symbol. Revan was an enigma, sheer power bound and forged into a man's shape. A force of nature.

Revan was not a man.

…But he was. In fact, the Lieutenant had seen glimpses of those features aboard the Revenge more than once… The young, dark-haired human male had usually worn simple Dark Jedi robes and carried one or two lightsabers on his belt. Naturally, the Lieutenant had grouped him to the numerous Jedi-turned-Sith walking the hallways and crowding training areas. The Revenge enclosed over five thousand people inside its hull and to that amount could be fitted both strangers and familiar faces.

Frak.

He had even exchanged a few short words with this particular Dark Jedi. Without being aware of with whom he had discussed. All these years Revan had walked among them while rumors had circulated around the shroud of mystery that surrounded the man.

The Dark Lord had not been what he had expected, had he been able to summarize his expectations in a coherent manner. The man carried far less years than the Lieutenant could ever have seriously predicted. This young man, the strategic mastermind – whom he now estimated to be a couple of years younger than himself – had supposedly beaten Mandalore the Ultimate in hand-to-hand combat. He had destroyed the very soul of the Mandalorians. He had forced the Republic on its knees and so close to beg for mercy that an unsaid desperate plea was all that remained.

How old he had been at the beginning of the Revanchist intervention during Mandalorian Wars – even twenty?

And then it all had come to a halt. The Dark Lord had met his own demise. In the hands of a Jedi, a Jedi named Bastila Shan.

The Bastila Shan who was right at the core of the personal mission the Lieutenant had received from Revan.

"You shall report only to me, Trask. I have the greatest confidence in your skills."

Those were Revan's final words to him. And the sentences said in that room were the orders he had followed. Until the situation had changed so radically that there had been no Revan to report to. But Lieutenant Trask Weyron, also known as Ensign Trask Ulgo at the Republic Navy, had continued to provide the Intel he had initially been requested of. Eventually, he had given Darth Malak's Empire the coordinates of the Endar Spire.

To hide a Jedi hunter amongst the Jedi. That was very Revan, indeed…

When explosions were shaking the hull of the Spire, he had been heading to an agreed rendezvous point…and stumbled upon a change of plans when he had come face-to-face with a dark barrel of a blaster pistol belonging to a fresh bunkmate he had not ever met before. And after getting hold of the initial shock, he had continued to play the game...because his orders were to keep his cover by any means necessary. But moreover, because he wanted to see, to understand what the heck was going on. In the end, he had ended up playing the game against Bandon, who very well knew who the Lieutenant was, and due to not much more than a kriffin' gut feeling. An intuition born of an old memory. It was idiotic, but there was no way he'd been able to let it pass.

As said, it had not been only the skills of the man, which had caught his interest - had steered him towards the only possible decision. Ultimately, it had been something else.

Because in combination with the skills had been the face.

…Features belonging to the dead man.

Bastila Shan was his official prey. But he was sure that others were pursuing the same hunt, apparently using forged Sith IDs to travel between city layers. He believed that they were on this route because Bastila Shan had never left the Undercity by riding the elevator. It was a logical assumption. Likely she had never walked out of the escape pod, either. Which meant that there were other ways out of here.

He reactivated the stealth field generator and shouldered his rifle. Rakghouls or no, this was an excellent location to wait.

He was risking everything because of this and did not even understand what in the wildest and the bloodiest of Hells was going on... But there was only one way to find out.


A/N2: Thanks for reading!

So, yeah. I got this idea back in 2011 when I started writing this story that what if Trask actually was a Sith spy (the infiltrator I've hinted towards)? It never made much sense to me why'd the guy be running back to his own room in the middle of a battle...unless he actually had a reason to go there (and I'm not referring to a 'let's wake up a bunk mate I've never met'-type of a reason). There, he came face-to-face with someone looking exactly like an old master and an amnesiac Revan obviously had no clue then (and wasn't even that impressed). Anyways, I've got something planned for the guy.

Hmm, let's see if the paths of the hunter and the pawn finally cross again… Next chapter will tell. ;)

Reviews are appreciated!