CHAPTER 10

Disclaimer: The term Star Wars, the Star Wars logo, and all names and pictures of Star Wars characters, vehicles, concepts and items are the property of Lucasfilm Ltd., or their respective holders. There is no attempt to profit by their use. The author is not endorsed by or affiliated with Lucasfilm, Ltd. The author is too poor to be worth the lawsuit.

Dear Senator Merias:

I am most pleased that you were able to keep Taris fully blockaded. We both know that it is in the best economic interest for all involved-something which the military fails to comprehend time and time again. I promise your contribution will not be forgotten in your next fundraiser.

Yours truly,

Davik Kang
Taris Exchange Corporation

Cassus Fett stalked the dimly-lit fortress corridors, a scowl under his helm. His mind was spinning to come up with a way to salvage the situation. He couldn't enter the hall empty-handed, not if he wanted to save his honor. He knew what his father would say, but he wasn't about to die for nothing. Not when there was a defensible position to which to fall back.

Still, by the time he reached the hall, he had come up with nothing. He nearly turned around to head back to the landing pad and leave, even as he raised his hand to the door controls. But that, too, was considered cowardice. No, he would face up to his actions. Surely they all understood by now that Revan somehow, inexplicably, fought with renewed vigor. It was as though he were using a Jedi mind trick on them all, causing them to flee in shame at every battle.

But good luck explaining that to Mandalore. Good luck blaming Jedi sorcery on their losses. The fact that Cassus had at least prevented Revan and Malak from keeping the two Mandalorian fleets separated should have impressed his father. But no. Because after months of being driven back, of having their supply lines constantly ambushed, of nearly being cordoned off from any reinforcements from Onderon, of actually surviving Revan's witchcraft, he'd never been given any credit. Only blame, all while Mandalore barked impossible orders. He wasn't there. He was safe behind his reinforcements, hiding in his fortress at Dxun, orbiting the planet of Onderon that hosted his massive fleet, planning and plotting. He wasn't the one who had to hold the line, to use hit and run tactics to keep Revan from using his sorcery.

Cassus took a deep breath to steady himself, and finally forced his hand to punch the door controls. Entering the room, he bowed deeply and removed his helmet, not daring to look Mandalore in the eye until he was acknowledged.

The air felt heavy. He could hear the breathing of all the generals gathered in the room.

"I see you have returned," Mandalore said at last, disdain dripping from his voice.

Cassus slowly straightened, looking his father in the eye, but he dared not answer.

"Come. Sit. Eat. Drink."

He obeyed, walking to the great table. The clan generals gathered there looked up at him expectantly. Several eyes were almost feral with delight at his impending humiliation. Cassus quietly noted them to himself. The general from clan Ordo, Canderous, particularly caught his eye. It was no small secret that Canderous Ordo had no love for Cassus Fett.

He sat down, to the right of Mandalore, and poured himself mead from the pitcher. He drained it in three great gulps, and poured himself another round. Then he tore a leg off the shared meat platter before him-some great beast hunted earlier in the day-and began to eat ravenously. As was expected. There could be no business without feasting. We eat and drink, for tomorrow we die, as the saying among his people went. His father would likely prefer he die, on whatever impossible mission he ordered, for all the so-called dishonor his retreats had caused. So he ate, angrily digging his teeth into the flesh, and ripping the meat from the bone like a rabid kath hound.

He finished his portion, and wiped the juices from his chin with a sleeve, washing the meal down with another drought of mead. His eyes casually glanced at the other generals, avoiding his own father. They were ignoring him now, attending to their own platters, and striking up their various conversations. Here and there, they laughed heartily, as though there were no war. The torchlight and firelight from the great hearth reflected a sickly yellow-orange on their faces.

So much like their eyes, he thought, and shuddered. He locked that thought away. He preferred not to think of that.

But the fire did bring a wry smile to his face as well. For all their technology, still they clung to their old traditions: Fire at a hearth, torches, a great hall at which the warriors feasted under the banner of their warrior-king. The fire was only proper. It was the fire of judgment-the wrath they all deserved. They could dress up their war with all the so-called honor they wanted. He knew what it really was. They were nothing but murderers and plunderers, and not even for themselves. It sickened him. Not that they were at war, but that they were hypocrites. There was no honor here. Only power. At least he understood that. Honor and power were sore companions. One could not have both. One had to choose. Both could bring respect, but only one could ensure it could be retained. He had chosen power long ago. In this, their overlords were correct.

At last, the feast came to its end. Contented warriors leaned back in their chairs. Conversation died down, and all eyes turned to Mandalore. Cassus kept his gaze fixed on his empty platter, however, as he waited for his humiliation to begin.

Mandalore rose. Of all the participants, he was the only one not to eat, for that would involve removing his mask. Instead, he played the role of the benevolent ruler, hosting a feast for his warriors. As host, he circled the great table, refilling each and every last cup with mead. He would only eat after his warriors ate-alone, from the leftovers, with his false sense of humility and honor.

At last, he came full circle to his seat at the head of the table, and finished by refilling Cassus' cup.

He seated himself once more. "So," he began, "we have lost our trade route through Balamak."

Cassus merely drained his cup with angry gulps.

"What plans do you have to retake it?"

Cassus straightened in his chair. "With all due respect, Mandalore, I do not think it wise to face Revan head on."

Canderous spoke up. "Mandalore, if we cede more ground, we will lose all our trade routes into Hutt space."

A host of others bellowed their agreement. Cassus only ground his teeth.

"Then it is settled," Mandalore said. "We must retake what is ours. But what shall we do with Revan?"

Cassus swallowed hard, and prepared his own answer. He could not allow himself to be shamed.

"We do as we have been. We ambush his supply lines. He is too far from home. He will withdraw as he weakens. He is in our territory, now."

"Coward," Canderous hissed under his breath.

Cassus bolted to his feet, unsheathing a dagger from his belt. "Care to test me?"

Canderous likewise leaped to his feet, a dagger in his hand.

Mandalore stood, placing a placating hand on his son's shoulder, and holding out the other hand in Canderous' direction.

"Peace, brothers. There are no enemies here."

Both men slowly sat down and sheathed their daggers, but neither removed his gaze from the other.

"My brothers," Mandalore said, "what Cassus has done is wise, but we cannot continue this forever. Revan gains ground. We must eventually face him. Either we do so here, or we do so on his own territory."

Canderous nodded. "Mandalore, he cannot be everywhere at once. A surprise attack on one of his fortified routes to the Core Worlds would force him away from our trade routes, and cut him off from his own."

"Zeltros!" General Bralor shouted. A few others clapped in agreement. Zeltros was situated along a major supply lane for Revan's fleet from the Core. It had also served well in their prior invasion of Duros. It was the key to regaining everything they had lost. Only, Cassus knew it was also madness to try for it again.

"And how shall we keep Zeltros once Revan arrives?" Cassus said.

"Perhaps if we held our ground, we could," Canderous said.

Cassus had half a mind to volunteer Canderous for the job, but he held his tongue. He would not remain Field Marshall much longer if Canderous continued to one-up him. There was no getting out of this one. He knew what would happen next.

And sure enough...

"Such a plan will need many ships," Mandalore said coolly. "Who among you has the courage and honor to carry out the will of Mandalore?"

Cassus spoke quickly and boldly. He would not allow Canderous room to shame him. "I will do your will, my lord. Only, I ask that we send some forces to secure Balamak as a distraction."

It was General Jendri who spoke next. "How will we supply the numbers to take Zeltros if we divide our forces so?" He was no fool, which made him question everything. But at least he did not do so mockingly. For that, Cassus had always highly regarded him.

"Indeed," said Mandalore. "We cannot empty out Dxun too much. Or else Revan will attack us here."

"Taris," said Cassus coolly.

Murmuring erupted at this one word. Canderous shook his head vehemently.

Of course, Cassus thought. The bulk of his clan is there, taking their ease. Wouldn't want Clan Ordo to have to fight like the rest of us.

Cassus held up a hand for silence. "Taris. We move our reinforcements from there quietly. They will take no note. And should they discover our numbers lessened there, no matter. The Republic Defense Ministry is too soft take it. Revan will be too occupied with Zeltros to turn his attention there."

General Jendri nodded, a glint in his eye. "Yes. Taris' orbital defenses and a garrison are more than enough to hold back any attack for many weeks. Time enough to reinforce it after Zeltros is won."

Bralor smacked the table. "Then we take Zeltros!"

All at once, the generals began laughing heartily, and slapping each other's backs, as though Cassus had merely proposed they find a cantina and have a pint. But the mood change was a positive sign. He had won their hearts and minds. All except General Ordo, who was staring daggers at him.

Cassus merely raised his cup in a mock toast, and drank deeply. If Canderous Ordo wanted a fight, it was a fight he'd get. Right in the front lines with the rest of clan Ordo, where he could have his honor, and die with it.

Bastila sat hunched over the computer terminal inside a salvaged Mandalorian striker ship, which in turn lay inside the Ravager's hangar. Outside the cracked cockpit viewport, technicians were reverse engineering a captured Basilisk droid, one of the few whose self-destruct mechanism had failed to activate. An arc of electricity shot out, causing one of the techs to dodge to the side. The droid's massive, dragon-like body convulsed for a few moments, causing even more techs to scramble away in terror. Then it raised it's head, it's eyes suddenly flickering to life with an eerie glow. Fortunately, one of the techs had kept his head, and pulled the connection to the droid's internal power supply. The robotic beast collapsed to the ground, limp, its eyes dead once more.

But none of the activity outside the cockpit fazed Bastila. She had seen several similar mishaps with that droid over the last few days. It was almost routine for the technicians' mad science experiments to periodically go wrong, which was why they always kept the connection cable to the power supply within easy reach. So Bastila ignored it all, instead staring intently at the progress bar displayed on the computer terminal.

This would be the one. It had to be. It had taken six salvaged Mandalorian ship comm units, two expired decryption keys from said comm units, and one intercepted message from the Defense Ministry to get this far. They were so close to breaking their codes.

She tapped her fingers. Of course it would work this time. Bao-Dur had tried every possible known algorithm, every last known equation solution for the decryption process, based on the computers they'd captured. This was it. It had to be. Then, she could finally report something useful. At worst, she could finally report that breaking their codes was impossible, which wouldn't go over well.

She leaned back in her seat with a weary sigh. Four months. Four months of pouring Revan's caffa. Still, at least Revan was trusting her with more important tasks. In particular, she was his official aide, and as such he had placed her in various assignments that introduced her to the ins and outs of the Republic Navy. Every few weeks, she rotated to a new assignment. She researched strategies, both Mandalorian and Republic, and regularly touched base with various Mercy Corp generals and Naval officers on Revan's behalf. She even attended staff meetings in his stead, and made decisions in them, even though these tended to be less important meetings for which he was too preoccupied to be bothered with. And, of late, she oversaw Revan's pet projects, and reported directly to him regarding their progress.

She was his blasted protocol droid.

Except the actual protocol droid he occasionally tinkered with in the machine shop received better treatment than she did. She worked long hours with little thanks, and he always loved throwing new tasks at her that made no sense. For example, he asked her to draft a task order-only she didn't know what one was. Then there was the time he asked her to relay a reply to the Defense Ministry-only she didn't know the right comm channel. It was like she was being hazed-only, he called it "training." Granted, Revan did do real training with her, and he was a hard taskmaster in this as well.

But none of her assigned activities dealt with her frustration. They only made it worse. She felt useless, like extra baggage along for the ride. Four months of a stalemate, and no end in sight.

She couldn't blame the Mandalorians. She wouldn't want to face her own Battle Meditation either. And while they had not yet associated it with her per se, they knew something was crushing their morale, and they were thus more wary of facing Revan in open battle. The Mandalorians now relied on maneuverability and raid-like strikes to push out from Onderon, similar to how Revan had started out earlier in the war. If ever Revan's fleet found them, they simply withdrew, attempting to outmaneuver him, and found "safer" targets to attack.

Likewise, Revan played the same ambush games they did, trying to cut off supply lines as they did to him. Bastila rarely had the chance to use her Battle Meditation effectively. Not with such short battles. And she certainly wasn't allowed to physically participate in any battle, for fear of harm coming to her. Instead, Revan invented other ways that she could be useful, keeping up appearances that she was just another voluntary Revanchist-a very young Padawan being trained for command, learning the fundamentals of leadership under his wing. She didn't blame Revan for his overprotectiveness, but that didn't mean she didn't feel restless. She certainly hadn't been conscripted to be his personal aide.

The progress bar crawled along. Did it just move a pixel, or was that her imagination?

"Would you like some caff?" Bao-Dur said behind her.

Bastila heaved a sigh. "I suppose so." She pursed her lips. No one had ever offered to pour her caffa before. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you." Yet another reason for her to like Bao-Dur. He always treated her respectfully. Unlike so many soldiers, who looked down on such a young Padawan giving them orders in Revan's stead. After all, what seasoned soldier would want to be commanded by a nineteen-year-old? The Jedi well into their twenties or older they respected, but not her.

She heard Bao-Dur pad away through the cockpit door. A few minutes later, he returned, placing a steaming cup of the Republic's cheapest caffa in her hand. She took a sip, and swallowed the bitter liquid with a wince.

"Thank you," she muttered, and returned to staring at the screen.

"You know, a watched decryption program never boils. Er, I mean, never finishes."

Bastila smirked at the joke. "I know. But..."

"It might still not work. And for all we know, the message only contains the secret to streak-free windows. Why stress over it?"

"Because we need it to work."

He made no reply, and sat down in the empty seat next to her, tinkering with the diagnostic feed on his datapad.

Of course, there was another reason she was staying up past 0200 with Bao-Dur and the other techs. Revan had a strict policy for all Mercy Corp officers: If you made those under your command stay up late, you stayed up late with them. Bastila had come to realize it was a good rule. No leader was above his men. Revan himself adhered to this rule, and everyone respected him for it. Even she now respected him, though she would barely admit that to herself, let alone to him.

The man worked himself to death. Everyone saw it. Everyone was driven to earn his approval because of it, and that included Bastila, as loathe as she was to admit it. At last, she understood why everyone followed him. Even though she'd likely never fully agree with him (if only for the sake of being obstinate), she found herself admiring him more and more each day. Thinking about what made him so magnetic.

She shook her head from her reverie. It wasn't appropriate to think about anyone like that-to idolize someone. Not that she idolized him, but her train of thought could certainly lead to that. And she wasn't about to become yet another Revanchist zealot.

She rested her chin in her hand, turning her thoughts away. The progress bar had moved a few more pixels.

At least she had caffa to keep herself awake. She took another sip of the bitter drink. Now I know why Revan prefers sugar in his caff, she thought. Then, detecting that her thoughts had wandered back to the same subject, she once more redirected her thoughts. More forcibly, this time.

Fortunately, a flashing box lit the terminal screen, disturbing her from her unsuccessful attempt to think of something-someone-else.

"Bao-Dur!" she called out, never taking her eyes off the screen.

He sprung from his chair, peering over her shoulder. Both their eyes widened.

"You did it!" Bastila said. "But it's in Mandalorian. What does it say?"

"Ah, sorry about that, Commander." He leaned over and typed a few commands. The strange text was replaced with familiar words, although somewhat out of order, the adjectives here and there appearing after the nouns rather than before, or the subject appearing after the verb.

Bastila's eyes skimmed across the text. "Oh Force!" She bolted from her seat. "Five days! When was this message intercepted?"

"Two days ago, Commander. You'd best tell General Revan."

She whipped out her commlink from her robe. "Master," she said.

Nothing.

"Master?"

A garbled crackle met her ears.

"Master!"

"What is it?" came the reply at last, in a groggy tone that said, It's 0200, I just finally fell asleep, and this had better be good.

"We've...made progress," Bastila said, remembering her orders. No one could know they'd cracked the Mandalorians' codes. If word were to reach the Mandalorians of their success, they would change both their plans and their encryption keys. Bastila cleared her throat. "Shall I assemble the staff officers in the briefing room?"

The voice on the other end paused for a moment. "No. Just comm Em and Alek. All of you meet me in my quarters. Tell no one."

Bastila knit her brow in confusion. "All right. May I ask why-?"

"I'll explain later. Is Bao-Dur with you?"

"Yes." She handed her commlink to him.

"I'm here, General," Bao-Dur said, his hand trembling just a bit. Perhaps it was the excitement of the moment, or perhaps he'd never spoken with the Revanchist before.

"Who else knows about this?"

"N-no one, sir. All the other techs are working on the Basilisk droid."

"Keep it that way. And good work." Revan disconnected his comm before Bao-Dur could reply.

"He spoke to me!" Bao-Dur whispered excitedly, his eyes staring dreamily into vacant space.

Bastila rolled her eyes and snatched her commlink from his trembling hands.

"Do me a favor, Bao-Dur," she said, plugging her datapad into the ship's computer to download the decrypted message.

"Of course, Commander. Anything."

"I know you're tired, but I need you to set up another run of your decryption algorithm. Make sure it's the version that failed. Make it look like you're still at it. Then get some sleep. You deserve it."

She raced out of the cockpit, and off the broken ship, leaving behind a very sleepy-eyed, but still very excited, Iridonian.

Twenty minutes later, Bastila and Malak were standing side by side in Revan's quarters, watching Revan reading the decrypted message from Bastila's datapad over and over again. He was still in a Navy T-shirt and sweat pants, his hair mussed, slouching tiredly on his perch atop his desk.

"Stop leaning in on me," Bastila hissed.

Malak smirked. "Where else am I supposed to stand?"

"You're in my personal space."

"So?"

Revan absentmindedly raised a hand, still studying the datapad. "Play nice, children," he said.

Bastila took a deep breath, counting backwards from one hundred, desperately resisting the temptation to dig her heel into Malak's foot.

Fortunately, a knock at the door saved her.

"Enter," Revan said, at last putting aside the datapad.

Surik strode in, the door swishing shut behind her. "Sorry I'm late, sir. My task force was about to leave."

"I know. Your mission might have to continue without you."

"Sir?"

Revan motioned to her to come closer, and handed her the datapad. Her eyebrows furrowed as she read its contents.

"This is the message broadcasted from Taris that the Defense Ministry intercepted two days ago," Bastila said. "Bao-Dur broke the encryption code."

"Force," Surik said. "Five days?"

"That was two days ago."

"What interests me more," Revan said, "is the other information contained in the message."

Surik squinted as she scanned the message again. "Yes, a shipment of kolto to Taris. What of it?"

Even Malak raised an eyebrow this time, and walked over to Surik (which only took half a step in Revan's cramped quarters) to stare over her shoulder.

"If you're referring to the use of Exchange ships to smuggle kolto from Manaan to the Mandalorians," Bastila said, "then I'm not quite sure what exactly you find interesting. I think the defense of Zeltros is the more important subject to discuss."

Revan crossed his arms, shaking his head. "It's not what they're smuggling, or even who is doing the smuggling. It's when and where."

Surik was the first to make the connection. "The Taris orbital defense system."

"Precisely," Revan said with a curt nod.

Surik turned to Bastila. "They'll have to disable the orbital defense system to receive the shipment."

Malak nodded in understanding. "And they'll only lower it if the ship has the proper codes, and arrives on schedule."

"Which is five days after they launch their assault on Zeltros," Revan said. "And incidentally, as the message indicates, Taris will have been emptied of a large portion of its fleet for the assault."

Bastila shook her head. "What good is any of that information? It's not as though we could intercept the shipment anyway. It would be next to impossible to determine their flight plan."

"I disagree," said Revan. "By now the Exchange must know the optimal routes to avoid detection from the Republic fleet. There are only a few places they could pass through in relative safety. And we know they will need to refuel. They will also need to arrive at their destination relatively on time, which means they will have to use major hyperspace lanes."

Malak nodded. "Kashyyyk."

"Yes. We've been leaving that lane wide open, per the Senate's request that Czerka maintain a vital trade route. It's also out of the way, safe enough to refuel, and only a few days out from Manaan. Besides, Czerka won't report an Exchange freighter. They're all legitimate businessmen, after all." Revan said that last sentence with venom.

Bastila raised her eyebrows. "So we're going to both defend Zeltros and attack Taris at the same time?"

Revan shook his head. "No. That would tip them off that we've broken their codes. We'd lose any chance of taking Taris."

Malak's brow furrowed. "You're not seriously considering leaving Zeltros undefended?"

"They're not entirely helpless. We do have a garrison there."

"But the Mandalorians are putting everything into this!"

"Sir," Surik interjected. "You know I'd follow you anywhere, but I have to say I never thought you'd consider going here."

Revan sighed. "I know it sounds calloused. But if we approach this war reactively rather than proactively, we'll end up with the same stalemate at best. At worst, we'll be pushed back from Zeltros and have to start all over again. We need to make progress. The way I see it, the Zeltrons might very well fare better if we're not there, the way Cassus Fett likes to bomb things. Occupation is a better fate than a fight to the death."

Bastila bit her lip worriedly. She couldn't believe what was coming out of Revan's mouth. A chill silence fell in the room, each person lost in his own thoughts.

At last, Revan spoke again, his head bowed. "I know what I am asking you to participate in is... It's a lot to ask of anyone. I will take full responsibility for the outcome. I only ask that you consider the lives saved in the long term. Right now, we are fighting a war of attrition. If we don't liberate Taris now, the chance may never come again."

Malak and Surik looked at each other, exchanging a message that neither Bastila nor Revan could decrypt. At last, they turned to Revan. "We're with you, Master," Malak said.

All eyes turned to Bastila. She shook her head vehemently. "The Defense Ministry will never approve of this. And neither do I. The entire garrison at Zeltros will be wiped out!"

"Which is why we're not telling the Defense Ministry," Revan said. "Nor will we tell Admiral Dodonna or any other Naval officer. The information we've learned here doesn't leave this room."

"Speak for yourself," Bastila said, her hands on her hips. "They have a right to know the numbers game you're playing with their resources. And if you think that the Jedi Council will approve of the way you are about to use me as a resource, then think again!"

"Great victories can only happen at great risk," Revan said. "This is why I decided to leave the Defense Ministry out of the loop this time, until we knew more of the message contents. They don't have the nerve to make the politically incorrect decisions, and I'm sick of them practically disarming us in this war."

Bastila snorted. "You're only proving them right. You should be tied up in a straight jacket for considering this!"

"Look, Bastila. I don't want to make this choice, either. But it must be done. You need to think of all the lives it would cost to defend Zeltros if we stood behind her. Hundreds of thousands would die, and we wouldn't have even gained any ground. Taking Taris will likely save more lives. We can flush the Mandalorians out of Zeltros once the Ord Mantell fleet is freed from laying siege to Taris. Surely you can see that the numbers work out better this way? That we save more lives in the long term?"

"No," Bastila said. "I don't. And I'm going straight to Admiral Dodonna with that message. She deserves to know."

She spun around to head for the door, but at a curt nod from Revan, Malak slid in her way, blocking her exit. Bastila turned around to face Revan once more, a look of doubt mixed with betrayal on her face.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Revan said.

What little admiration for her Jedi Master she still had left drained from her at that moment. "I thought you had honor," she said. "I guess I was wrong."

"You seemed to have confused me with a Mandalorian," Revan said, a pained sarcasm dripping from his voice. He avoided looking her in the eye, and instead gazed absently at the floor from his perch on his desk.

"Well you're no better than a Mandalorian."

His eyes shot up to look at hers. She could read pain in them. Her remark had cut him deeply, for she could have paid him no greater insult. But what surprised her most was that he seemed to care how she saw him. A blink of his eyes later, and the pain was gone, replaced by cold determination.

"What now?" Bastila asked. "Am I just another number to dispose of?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Revan said with a sly smile. He shifted his gaze to the towering man behind her. "Alek, how long until your task force is done resupplying?"

"Just under an hour. Why?"

"Tell Admiral Karath to proceed on his mission without you, and that you'll rendezvous with him in three days at his destination."

"Are we going to use his task force to attack Taris?"

"Yes, but don't tell him that just yet. We'll tell him when we meet up with him. By then he'll have just barely heard about Zeltros, and he'll be too far out to do anything about it. My question for you is, do you think we can convince him to attack Taris rather than reinforce Zeltros?"

Malak nodded. "I think he'd love the chance to drive the Mandos off Taris, Master."

"Very well," Revan said. He turned to Surik. "General, have Commander Qel-Droma take over your mission. Make up an excuse."

"Sir?" Surik said. "May I ask what we're doing?"

Revan slapped his hands to together, rubbing them with a grin, directing his gaze toward Bastila. "Padawan Shan, how would you like to go on a field trip to Kashyyyk with us?"

Bastila's only reply was to stomp her heel into Malak's foot. Half a moment later, she was knocked out cold, but not without first being satisfied with hearing Malak's howl of pain.